
Glass. 
Book 



S03G 






THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



EGBERT MONTGOMERY, M.A. Oxon 



COLLECTED AND REVISED BY THE AUTHOR. 




LONDON: 
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 

1854. 






LONDON : 
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTER?, WH1TEFR1 ARS. 



mi 

SJUO 



GENERAL PREFACE. 



"Grod Himself is Truth; in propagating which, as men display a greater 
integrity and zeal, they approach nearer to the similitude of God, and 
possess a greater portion of His love." — John Milton. 

"Lux crescit indies: per adversa ad victoriam enititur Veritas: multis de 
rebus posteritas aliter judicabit. Deus ! Tu6 judicio stat caditve, 
quicquid stat vel cadit : quod per me operari dignatus es, tuere : lectorum 
et mei miserere. Tibi est gloria, et esto in perpetuum ! " — Bengel. q 

Several works of the author's having been for some period out of print, 
an opportunity offered itself for publishing a collected edition of his 
poetical works in one volume, and the result is now before the public in 
the present volume. The different poems of which this edition consists, 
for several reasons, are not arranged in chronological order; they com- 
mence with " The Omnipresence of the Deity," which was written in the 
author's nineteenth year; and are followed by "The Christian Life," his 
latest production in a lengthened form. Each poem has been diligently 
revised ; and that one (" Luther ") which, from its peculiar difficulties, 
seemed to require the most elaborate revision, has been extensively corrected ; 
and, in many places, re-written and newly arranged. 

" Commenta opinionum delet dies ; Naturae judicia confirmat," is a 
Ciceronian maxim equally useful for authors and readers to recollect 
and apply: and since a long preface is an infliction few people like 
to endure, the writer will be as brief as decorum will allow, on the 
present occasion. Each of the works contained in this volume is accom- 
panied by th.e Preface which originally introduced it to the world, and is 
best calculated to explain the nature and design of what is there attempted. 
Hence, a few general remarks are all which shall now be obtruded on the 
reader. 

The late accomplished scholar and critic, Kerchever Arnold,* in 

* In his " Theological Critic." 



GENERAL PREFACE. 



a comment on " The Christian Life," said that, " with the exception 
of "Wordsworth, few writers had experienced extremes of criticism 
equally with the author of that volume." How far or not this was 
correct, others will decide ; but if the reader desires to have one illus- 
tration of what Arnold meant, he has only to compare the criticisms on 
Poems which appeared more than twenty years ago, from the pen of 
Professor Wilson in the pages of "Blackwood's Magazine," with reviews 
on the same works, in its Northern cotemporary. One thing is unde- 
niable, viz., to a vast extent the history of Criticism abounds with 
examples of condemnations reversed, and approvals unconfirmed. The 
proper effect of this fact is, not to provoke sardonic triumph on the one 
hand, or splenetic ill-humour on the other : but, modesty of mind ; diffidence 
in pronouncing our opinions ; and that genial state of heart which prompts 
us rather to encourage effort than depress it, — these are among the moral 
benefits which this contrast between individual strictures and popular 
decisions, is calculated to produce. 

Some of the poems which this volume contains, have stood the test of 
nearly a quarter of a century ; and under the protection of this fact, an 
author can scarcely be accused of unseemly confidence in expressing his 
hope, that such productions cannot have entirely failed in finding a 
welcome in the catholic sentiments, and a home in the common heart, of 
Mankind. Differ as we mav in our standards of individual taste* it will 



* A true critic is an intellectual benefactor to mankind ; and in the priesthood of Letters, 
no function ought to be considered more sacred than that of conscientious criticism. But it 
cannot be denied, something more than intellectual power, correct taste, dialectic skill, and 
classical erudition, are required for the constitution of such a critic ; and that is — a 
principle of moral elevation and sacred rectitude, which lifts them above what is conven- 
tional, into the pure region of ideal Beauty and abstract Truth. Meanwhile, all who 
appreciate mental culture lament to see Criticism lose its legitimate influence; and 
to hear, when works are eulogised, the ordinary question — "Who is the friend?" when 
they censure — " Who is the foe ? " Many palliations may be offered for such a state of things ; 
among them, not the least would be, the ever-recurring novelties in the world of publication, 
which defy the energy of the most honest reviewer to overtake their number, and appreciate 
their claims. Let it be also remembered, we are living not only at a period of great 
intellectual excitement, but when the deepest Problems and most difficult Questions 
of our common Humanity, are being analysed around us. Hence, there are few volumes 
which can be discussed simply and exclusively on the basis of their own isolate merits. 
They impinge upon a myriad associations ; and the critic, with every desire, perhaps, to be 
impartial, is unconsciously swayed by one-sided influences derived from political bias, 
personal feeling, or sectarian prejudice. Meanwhile, looking to our common nature ; 
remembering our Fatherhood in Cod, our Brotherhood in Christ, and His Mystical Body 
the Church, our safest excess is on the side of charity, when we pronounce a critical 
judgment upon, the writings of others. It is easy to be severe; but always noble to 



GENERAL PREFACE. 



be admitted by the varied schools of Criticism, that, after all, Public 
Appreciation is the ultimate Judge by whose decisions "writers, whether 
in prose or verse, are permanently affected. Every author must be 

be just. We may think it right to chastise arrogance and expose pretension; but let it 
never be forgotten, he who wilfully commits intellectual injustice, is a moral criminal. He 
writes, indeed, behind the Press; but he acts before his Cod; and is, therefore, as truly 
responsible for the influence he exercises in printed words, as he is for the example he exhibits 
by personal character. 

Much, perhaps, of what now appears arbitrary and capricious in criticism upon the Fine 
Arts, would be removed, if the Judgment to which they are submitted were better trained for 
the office it attempts to fulfil. But, unfortunately, a profound work on the Principles of 
Taste and the Philosophy of Criticism, is a boon yet to be conferred on English Literature. At 
present, there seems to be no common standard, no decisive test, unto which a final appeal can 
be made. All seems to be accidental preference ; or individual caprice. Of course, we are 
not unmindful of Lord Kaimes' "Elements of Criticism," "Blair's Lectures," &c. ; but 
neither of these works approaches to the philosophy of Criticism and Taste. 

Thus, in the present state of diffused literature, a youthful reader, who has a modest fear 
of his own powers, and desires to have the taste disciplined and judgment guided by*our 
leading Reviews, finds himself in a frequent dilemma ; that is to say, he perceives the same 
work which is eulogised as a masterpiece of intellect by one critic, denounced as the perfection 
of imbecility by another ! and, in either case, he is ingenuous enough to believe, that these 
contrasted judgments are pronounced with candour and discrimination. Now, at this point 
of intellectual experience, a comprehensive Treatise on the true Principles and Philosophy 
of Criticism would be a refuge to which he might resort, for guidance and instruction. 
But the limitation of a mere note will not allow us to proceed ; we will, therefore, terminate 
it by adducing one or two extracts bearing upon the general subject from writers of acknow- 
ledged authority. 

Dugald Stewart, in his "Philosophical Essay," (p. 428, &c.,) observes, "Although, in 
ancient languages, the word 'Taste' was certainly not employed in that metaphysical 
acceptation which has now become so familiar to the ear, it is evident that the analogy which 
led to the metaphor did not entirely escape the ancient critics. Quintilian, in particular, 
speaking of this very power, observes, ' that it is not to be communicated by instruction any 
more than the sense of taste or smell.'' (?) And with respect to some of its objects, he tells us, 
'•they are -perceived by a latent judgment of the mind, resembling the decision of the palate.' 
' Quod sentitur latente judicio, velut palato.' " The same delightful Essayist, also, quotes a 
curious passage from the "Thesetetus" of Plato. "There is no question," says Socrates in 
this Dialogue, " concerning that which is agreeable to each person, but concerning what iritt in 
time to come be agreeable, of ivhich all men are not equally judges. You and the cook may 
judge of the dish on the table equally well; bat while the dish is malcing the cooh can better 
foretell what will ensue from this or that manner of composing it." How exactly does this 
coincide with that remarkable expression which Lord Chatham applied to the taste displayed 
in landscape gardening, when he spoke of its "prophetic eye." Again, Stewart thus alludes 
to morbid fastidiousness and one-sided individualism, in criticisms on the Fine Arts : " 'The 
tragedy of Douglas (says Cray in one of his letters) has infinite faults ; but there is one 
scene (that between Matilda and the old peasant) which strikes me blind to all the defects.' 
* * * Such also was the feeling which dictated a memorable precept of La Bruyere, of which 
I will not impair the force by attempting a translation. ' Quand une lecture vous eleve 
1' esprit, et qu'elle vous inspire des sentimens nobles et courageux, ne cherchez pas une autre 
regie pour juger de l'ouvrage; il est bon, et fait de main de Ouvrier.' How different both 
sentiments, from that fastidiousness of Taste, by an affectation of which it is usual for little 



inwardly conscious how far or not his aims are noble, his inspirations pure, 
and his mental endowments consecrated to the sacred function of glorifying 
their Divine Original, by promoting the real elevation of mankind. If 
indeed "whatsoever things are lovely and of good report" (Phil. iv. 8) 
actuate his energies, and inspire his faculties, then may he boldly endeavour 
to fulfil the Mission of mind unto which he conceives himself called. Under 
the banner of those sublime words, "None of us liveth to himself" 
(Bom. xiv. 7), let him be faithful to his Conscience and his Creed; and 
leave the issues with Sim in whose hands our destinies both for time 
and eternity repose. 

Nam pro jucundis aptissima quseque dabvrat Dt 

Carior est illis homo quam sibi ; 

Permittes ipsis expendere numinibus, quid 

Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris.* 

minds to court tbe reputation of superior refinement!" (p. 464). In producing, however, 
this fastidiousness, whether affected or real, various moral causes, such as jealousy, rivalship, 
personal dislike, or the spleen of conscious inferiority, may conspire with the intellectual 
defects which have been mentioned ; nay, the same moral causes may be conceived to be so 
powerful in their influence as to produce this unfortunate effect in spite of every intellectual 
gift which nature and education can bestow. It is observed by Shenstone, that "good taste 
and good nature are inseparably united;'''' and although the observation is by no means true 
when thus stated as an unqualified proposition, it will be found to have a sufficient foundation 
in fact to deserve the attention of those who have a pleasure in studying the varieties of human 
character. One thing is certain, "that as habitual deficiency in good humour is sufficient to 
ivarp the decisions of the soundest taste, so the taste of an individual, in proportion as it 
appears to be free from capricious biases, affords a strong presumption that the temper is 
unsuspicious, open, and generous." (p. 465.) 

On the difficult subject, whether Taste be an ultimate principle, and as to what constitutes 
its absolute Standard, Blair speaks with much truthful discrimination in the following passage. 
("Lectures," vol. i.) — "Taste is ultimately founded on an internal sense of beauty, which is 
natural to man, and which, in its application to particular objects, is capable of being guided 
and enlightened by reason. Now, were there any one person who possessed in full perfection 
all the powers of human nature, whose internal senses were in every instance exquisite and 
just, whose reason was unerring and sure, the determination of such a person concerning 
beauty, would be a perfect standard for the taste of all others. But as there is no such living 
standard, no one person to whom all mankind will allow such submission to be due, what is 
there of sufficient authority to be the standard of the various and opposite tastes of men ? 
Most certainly there is nothing but the Taste, as far as it can be gathered, of Human Nature. 
That which men concur the most in admiring, must be held to be beautiful. His taste must be 
held to be just and true, which coincides with the general sentiments of men. In this standard 
,we must rest. To the sense of mankind the ultimate appeal must ever lie in ivories of taste. If 
any one should maintain that sugar was bitter and tobacco sweet, no reasoning could avail to 
prove it. The taste of such a person would infallibly be held to be diseased, merely because 
it differed so widely from the taste of the species to which he belongs. In like manner, with 
regard to the objects of sentiment, or internal taste, the common feelings of men carry the 
same authority, and have a title to regulate the taste of every individual." — (pp. 38, 39.) 

* Juv. Sat. 10. 



GENERAL PREFACE. 



If, in the pursuance of such hallowed purpose, he awakens abiding 
echoes in the heart of Humanity, he will be grateful unto the Supreme 
Author of good. If, on the contrary, he finds he has overrated his 
powers, and does not reach the goal where he hoped to arrive, he must 
endure the result with Christian resignation. Although he has not 
succeeded in procuring fame, let him remember no public career is 
a failure, if the Intellect has been trained, and the "Will disciplined, 
by purifying labour and elevated effort. Indeed, compared with the 
spiritual expansion of a man's own nature, how worthless is mere reputation, 
were it possible to be wide as the universe, and lasting as eternity! 
Constituted as our fallen world is, the proud achievements of intellect, 
apart from all moral consideration, will never cease to fix and fascinate the 
regards of mankind. But, He who " made himself of no reputation" has 
revealed unto mankind a " more excellent way" in those awful words, 
which prophetic Conscience reverberates : " What shall it profit a man, 
if he shall gain the whole icorld, and lose his own soul?" 

One point remains, unto which the author may now be permitted 
to refer. In a series of poems extending from the verge of boyhood unto 
mature life, it must be expected, during so long a period, a writer's 
sentiments and opinions on themes of vital interest will undergo various 
modifications, and exhibit corresponding developments. In the present 
instance, it would be uncandid not to confess, that the catholic Attributes 
of the Church, and her Sacramental connections with the One Almighty 
Head of His Mystical Body, when the author published his early poems, 
were almost doctrinally ignored and popularly forgot. Hence, between his 
first and last production, a theological reader will detect expressions and 
thoughts which attest the power and presence of those Spiritual Influences 
awakened around him, during the period referred to. But surely, it would 
be a harsh injustice to brand all modifications of religious Sentiment as 
apostacies ! Supposing them to be a conscientious growth of our spiritual 
and intellectual Being, and controlled by those supernatural aids, obtained 
by all who seek them in faith and prayer, — no honourable mind will 
condemn them as mere inconsistencies. More or less, such variations in 
mental and moral life are almost inevitable. Again : no author who com- 
pares what he wrote at nineteen, with what he has published at forty, can 
realize the comparison without a feeling of self-correction. If he be a 
devout man, he will at once confess, that had some of those high and 
hallowed Themes to which his youthful powers were consecrated, been 
deferred to a later period of life, he would have discussed them with 



GENERAL PREFACE. 



more reverence, fullness, and depth, than his earlier pages now exhibit. 
But, perhaps, it may be replied, although this regret is, in a moral 
respect, a sound one, it is both useless and unphilosophical. According 
to the will of Providence, a man can no more forestall his intellectual 
development, than he can anticipate his physical vigour. Each is 
analogically subject unto time and experience; and depends upon those 
gradational laws by which mind and body are changed and controlled. 

The writer will now conclude these imperfect remarks by appending a 
letter from the poet Wordsworth,* in relation unto that manly spirit of 
mental independence an author should exhibit towards his own pro- 
ductions. It was addressed unto him nearly twenty years since, in reply 
to an epistle written under extreme dejection ; and will be found full of 
dignity, sobriety, and good sense. The eulogistic paragraphs on " The 
Omnipresence," &c, are omitted ; and those portions alone retained which 
may be as suggestive to some of his youthful contemporaries, as the author 
trusts they proved unto himself. The Preface unto which Wordsworth 
alludes, will be found in the present volume ; and serves to introduce an 
edition of " The Omnipresence of the Deity," published in 1835. 



From "Memoirs of Wordsworth" vol. ii. p. 294. 

"February, 1835. 

" In your letter, for which also I thank you, you allude to your Preface, 
and desire to know if my opinion concurs with yours on the subject of 
sacred poetry. That Preface has been read to me, and I can answer in 
the affirmative ; but, at the same time, allow me frankly to tell you, what 
most pleased me in that able composition is to be found in the few con- 
cluding paragraphs, beginning, — ' It is now seven years since,' &c 

" I cannot conclude without one word of literary advice, which I hope 
you will deem my advanced age entitles me to give. Do not, my dear sir, 
be anxious about any individual's opinion concerning your writings, how- 
ever highly you may think of his genius, or rate his judgment. Be a 
severe critic to yourself, and depend upon it no person's decision upon the 
merit of your work will bear comparison in point of value with your own. 
Tou must be conscious from what feeling they have flowed ; and how far 
they may, or may not, be allowed to claim, on that account, permanent 
respect. Above all, I would remind you, with a view to tranquillize and 
steady your mind, that no man takes the trouble of surveying and 
pondering another man's writing with a hundredth part of the care which 



GENERAL PREFACE. 



an author of sense and genius will have bestowed upon his own. Add to 
this reflection another, which I press upon you, as it has supported me 
through life, viz., that posterity will settle all accounts justly ; and that 
works which deserve to last will last ; and if undeserving this fate, the 
sooner they perish the better. 

" Believe me to be faithfully, 

" Tour much obliged 

"W. WOEDSWOBTH." 



For the able and accurate Index which accompanies this edition of his 
collected Poems, the author is entirely indebted to the taste and judgment 
of the Eev. Joh^ Twtckoss, A.M., &c. 



CONTENTS. 



THE OMNIPKESENCE OF THE DEITY 



Page 

1 

, 27 



30 
31 
32 
33 
34 
35 



39 

40 
41 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE 

the idea of god 

god creates 

our duty is our glory 

the first man 

mind of little children 

soothing charm of time 

christ the grand refuge 

power of the dead ' 

bodily suffering 

god's image 

the dying girl 

the hospital 

social, and yet alone . . 

great untruth . . . 42 

the weeping christ 43 

vanity of all created good • . . . . . 44 

voice of god in the cool of the day 45 

god's curse upon the ground 46 

weep not for the dead . . .47 

GLORY OF DEPARTED SAINTS ib. 

THE RELIGION OF SOLITUDE . . . . . ' 48 

FIRST EXILES 49 

MODERATION . . ib. 

INFANCY IN HEAVEN . . . . . 51 

DIVINE WALK 52 

STRIVE NOT WITH THE SPIRIT 53 

A BELIEVER'S WISH . . . . . . . . . ' . . .54 

HERE WE HAVE NO ABIDING HOME. 55 

OUR TRUE COMPANION 56 

OUR MORROWS BELONG TO GOD 57 

SILENT PRAYER . ib. 

MUSIC AND THE EVIL SPIRIT 58 



CONTENTS. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE— continued. Page 

MAKE THEE AN ARK 59 

THAT I HAD WINGS ! 60 

THE ARKLESS DOVE 61 

THE BOW OF PROMISE 62 

CHRIST IN COMMUNION WITH THE SOUL 63 

DEPARTED, NOT DEAD 64 

PREVAILING INTERCESSION , 65 

LIFE IS A FADING LEAF 67 

A FOUNTAIN IN THE DESERT 68 

MEDITATION AT EVENTIDE 69 

MORAL POWER OF HARMONY 71 

THE REDEEMER'S SIGH 72 

MAN S HEART, DECEITFUL ABOVE ALL THINGS ib. 

EXPRESSIVE NIGHT 73 

THE PRAYERLESS 74 

DREAD SACRIFICE 75 

PERFECT PEACE . . ■ 77 

STARRY DREAMS 78 

CHRIST OUR PORTION • 79 

ANGELS 80 

RELIGION AND THE SEA 81 

IDOLS IN THE HEART 82 

INFANTS AND INFANCY 83 

PARADISE OF THE DEAD 84 

SUBLIME OF PRAYER 85 

REPENTANCE 86 

HEARTS WHICH HAVE NO ECHOES 88 

INSPIRATION OF THE PAST 89 

RELIGION OF THE YOUNG ib. 

SYMPATHY OF CHRIST 90 

NO PEACE FOR THE WICKED 91 

INFANT DEATH ' 92 

A PERFECT WILL 93 

CHIEF OF SINNERS 94 

DIVINE THIRST . . . . . . 95 

THE HEARTS TREASURE ib. 

WISDOM OF PRAYER 96 

CONVICTION, AND CONFESSION 97 

BELIEVER'S DESTINED WORK 98 

SACREDNESS OF FLOWERS 100 

INGRATITUDE TO ANGELS . . . . . 101 

FOLLOW CHRIST ib. 

NAME WITHOUT NATURE 103 

THE HOMELESS ONE 104 

FIRST SOUL IN HEAVEN 105 

GUILTY FEARS 107 

JESUS TEMPTED . . 108 

VOICE OF THOSE NO MORE 109 



CONTENTS. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE— continued. Page 

SINFULNESS OF SIX 109 

WORLD OF SPIRITS 110 

GLORY OF THE MOUNTAINS 112 

OUR PATTERN IN TEMPTATION . . . . . . . . . .114 

REASON AND DEATH 115 

THE POETRY OF SPRING 116 

BEATITUDES — POOR IN SPIRIT 117 

THEY THAT MOURN 119 

MEEKNESS 120 

RIGHTEOUSNESS . . .121 

BE MERCIFUL 122 

PURE IN HEART . . 124 

PEACEMAKERS 125 

THE REVILED 126 

SILENCE OF THE SOUL 127 

SENTIMENT OF FLOWERS 129 

RECONCILIATION 130 

ANGELIC MINISTRY . 131 

INFANT FELLOWSHIP WITH GOD . ,. . . . . . . . . 132 

THE SINGLE EYE 133 

MY FIRST-BORN . . . ' . . . . 134 

JUDGE NOT 135 

AWFULNESS OF SPEECH 136 

LET US PRAY 137 

DIVINE FAITHFULNESS . . . 138 

REVERE THE DEAD . 139 

POWER OF THE REDEEMER'S EYE . . . 140 

THE GATES OF LIFE 141 

SPIRITUAL DECLINE 143 

GUIDING TENDERNESS OF GOD 144 

POETRY OF CLOUDS AND SKIES ib. 

TWILIGHT OF OUR BEING 145 

THE BLESSED VIRGIN 146 

MARIOLATRY ib. 

OUR TRUE CENTRE 148 

mother's GRIEF 151 

DIVINE SECRETS ib. 

THE TWO BOOKS 152 

BAPTISM 153 

CATECHISM 155 

CONFIRMATION 156 

MARRIAGE .........' 157 

VISITATION OF THE SICK 158 

BURIAL OF THE DEAD 160 

CHURCHING OF WOMEN 161 

COMMINATION 162 

PRAYERS AT SEA 163 

GUNPOWDER TREASON 164 



CONTENTS. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE— continued. Page 

THE MARTYR KING 165 

RESTORATION OP THE ROYAL FAMILY ib. 

THE ACCESSION 100 

ORDINATION . 167 

EUCHARIST 168 

GOD SAVE THE CHURCH 169 

LUTHER: OR, ROME AND THE REFORMATION 173 

CENTRE OP REVEALED TRUTH 181 

CHRISTIANITY 182 

MYSTERY OP SUFFERING 183 

WISDOM COMES FROM WOE 184 

GRIEF AND GLORY ib. 

HUMAN NEED, AND DIVINE SUPPLY 185 

THE SOLITARY MONK 186 

PROLOGUE AND PREPARATION 187 

MIGHT OF THE PRESS ... . ■ 188 

BOOKS AND THE BIBLE 189 

GOD'S HEROES 190 

MARTYRDOM 191 

IMPERFECT AT THE BEST ib. 

LUTHER, AND THE AGE 192 

OMNIPOTENCE OF FAITH 193 

THE CHILD PROPHESIES THE MAN 194 

GENIUS, SOLITUDE, AND SYMPATHY . . . , 195 

UNIVERSITY 196 

FALLEN NATURE IN RELIGIOUS FORMS 197 

REVIVAL. . 198 

PREACHER AND PULPIT 199 

FIRST SERMON ib. 

METROPOLIS OF ANTICHRIST . . ib. 

INDULGENCES 200 

REFORMATION 201 

JUSTIFYING GRACE ib. 

GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MAN 202 

INSPIRATION OF THE IDEAL 210 

MAMMON AND MATERIALISM 211 

COVENANT OF HEARTS 212 

DISTINCT BUT UNDIVIDED . • ' ib. 

CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP 213 

UNION IN THE CROSS ', 214 

FRIENDS IN HEAVEN 215 

SUBLIME OF HISTORY 216 

MORAL RESULTS 217 

SYMPATHIES OF NATURE . ,' 218 

ASSOCIATIONS 220 

RETROSPECT . . lb. 

FRIENDLY CAPTURE 221 



CONTENTS. 



LUTHER— continued. Page 

NIGHT IN THE WARTBURG ib. 

PATMOS 223 

SPIRITUAL LONELINESS ib. 

REACTION 224 

TOIL AND THOUGHT lb. 

DARKNESS IN THE HOUR OF LIGHT 226 

MENTAL RESURRECTION 227 

IDEAL RAPTURES 228 

AFFECTIONS MADE FREE 229 

LUTHER MARRIED 230 

POWER OF PRAYER 231 

DOMESTIC LIFE, AND WEDDED LOVE 232 

COMMUNION WITH NATURE 233 

PARADISE RESTORED 234 

CATECHISM 235 

HUMILITY WITHOUT FAITH . • 236 

ANGELIC CONTEST 237 

FALLEN ANGELS 238 

GOD OF THIS WORLD . . 239 

LIFE A SPIRITUAL CONFLICT 240 

OMNIPRESENCE OF THE SPIRIT 241 

PAPAL ROME 243 

A CHURCH BY INVERSION 244 

VICTORY OF FAITH 245 

THE MAGIC CITY . • • . . ib. 

THE MAN OF SIN 246 

HOPE AND HARP OF PROPHECY 247 

ROME SHALL FALL 248 

SEVENTH VIAL SOUNDED 249 

ANTICHRIST 250 

MILLENNIAL VISIONS ib. 

TIME AND ETERNITY 251 

PARADISE OF THE DEAD 252 

FAREWELL 253 

CHAMBER OF DEATH 254 

"DEAD, YET SPEAKETH " 255 

JESUITS AND JESUITISM . 260 

CONFESSION AND CONFESSIONAL 268 

MORAL RETROSPECT 270 

BRITISH CHURCH • • • 272 

MATERIALISM AND ITS CREED 273 

SOURCE AND RELIEF OF UNREST *'&• 

ASPIRATIONS 274 

APOSTROPHE TO ENGLAND 275 

SABBATH MORN lb. 

THE TEMPLE OPENED 276 

DAY OF THE LORD 277 

EVENTIDE 278 



LUTHER— continued. Page 

MOONLIT SCENE 280 

NATURE AND THE CROSS ib. 

HUSH OP NIGHT 281 

FINAL APOSTROPHE 282 

WOMAN : THE LIGHT OF HOME 289 

SATAN: OR, INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD 323 

OXFORD: OR, ALMA MATER 387 

THE MESSIAH 453 

MINOR POEMS :— 

WELLINGTON: OR, THE HERO'S FUNERAL 535 

INTRODUCTION ib. 

A COMPARISON ib. 

NIGHT-SCENES ON NOVEMBER 17 ib. 

MIDNIGHT 536 

DAWN ib. 

MORNING ib. 

THE PROCESSION FORMS ib. 

THE CHARGER 537 

MILITARY SCENE ib. 

FUNERAL-CAR ib. 

A LIVING SPECTACLE ib. 

EUROPEAN HOMAGE 538 

VETERANS AND MOURNERS ib. 

PROCESSION TO THE CATHEDRAL 539 

FAREWELL ib. 

st. Paul's ib. 

THE BURIAL 540 

CONCLUSION 541 

nature's analogy ib. 

MORAL CONTRAST ib. 

PATRIOTISM ib. 

THE PEOPLE 542 

THE HERO lb. 

FINAL APOSTROPHE 543 

SHADOWS OF DEATH 547 

VISION-SCENES ib. 

CONTRASTS ^ ib. 

ANTICIPATIONS 548 

ANALOGIES ib. 

ASSOCIATIONS ib. 

LIFE A GRADUAL DEATH ib. 

STREET FUNERAL . ib. 

ANGEL OF DEATH ib. 

HIS TRIUMPH 549 

DEATH'S PROGRESS ' . . . ib. 



CONTENTS. 



SHADOWS OF DEATH— continued. Page 

DEATH HAS NO HISTORIAN . . . . 549 

IDEAL VIEWS . ib. 

DYING SAINTS 550 

DEATH NEVER PAUSES . . . ib. 

STORM . . . ib. 

SHIPWRECK . 551 

THE CREW . ib. 

CALM AND LANDSCAPE . . . ....... . ' . . . ib. 

INFANCY . . . ib. 

THE DEAD INFANT ib. 

CHURCHYARD 552 

BETRAYED AFFECTION . . . . ib. 

SECLUSION AND DEJECTION ib. 

PARTING HOUR • . . ib. 

YOUTHFUL GENIUS ib. 

INSPIRATIONS ib. 

PENALTIES AND PAINS 553 

PESTILENCE ib. 

CITY OF THE PLAGUE ib. 

MOONLIGHT SCENE • • • 554 

LOVERS ib. 

CONSUMPTION . . . . ib. 

THE LOVED ONE DIES 555 

WAR ib. 

FIELD OF DEATH - . . . . ib. 

THE CAPTIVE . . • . . ib. 

THE METROPOLIS AND DEATH 556 

THE DESERTED ONE . . . . . ib. 

THE UNDESCRIBED ib. 

DEATH'S UNIVERSAL REIGN . 557 

WHAT ALL HAVE FELT ib. 

HUMAN FATE ib. 

PAST AND FUTURE . . . . ib. 

PREPARATION ib. 

ALLEVIATIONS 558 

SPIRITUAL TRIUMPH ib. 

RETROSPECTIONS ib' 



PARTING THOUGHTS 



ib. 



I 

A VISION OF HEAVEN • • • • • 560 

A VISION OF HELL 563 

UNIVERSAL PRATER * 56 ? 

THE STAGE COACH 674 

SCARBOROUGH • • • 581 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS :— 

INFANTS AND THEIR GLORY 587 



CONTENTS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— continued. Page 

NOBLENESS OF FAITH 588 

WORDSWORTH ib. 

FORTY LINES ON WELLINGTON 590 

" BETTER DAYS " ib. 

ENGLISH PEASANTRY 591 

STARLIGHT ON MARATHON 592 

LONDON BY MIDNIGHT 593 

PAINS OF GENIUS 295 

THE CATARACT ib. 

VALE OF CLWYD 596 

ELLESMERE LAKE 597 

ORGAN BOY 599 

BALLAD SINGER 600 

STANZAS FOR MUSIC ib. 

SUMMER WAVES ib. 

MARTUS 601 

vive l'empereur ! ib. 

DEATH OF CORINNE 602 

C^SAR ON THE BANKS OF THE RUBICON ib. 

A THOUGHT 603 

MORNING ib. 

NOON ib. 

NIGHT 604 

SPIRIT OF TIME ib. 

HYMN 607 

HYMN . . ib. 

A DREAM OF WORLDS . ib. 

A FADING SCENE 608 

THE DEPARTED YEAR 609 

REFLECTIVE STANZAS .... 612 

BEAUTY 613 

A DAUGHTER'S APOSTROPHE TO A DEPARTED MOTHER 614 

STANZAS . . . ib. 

THE CRUCIFIXION ib. 

STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION 616 

THE DREADFUL PRAYER 617 

INFANCY . . ib. 

BEAUTIFUL INFLUENCES 618 

LOST FEELINGS * 619 

THE TRANCE ib. 

TO * * * * 620 

LONELINESS . ib. 

STANZAS . 621 

STANZAS ib. 

A SAD THOUGHT 622 

THE TOMB OF GRAY . . . . ib. 

THE MINSTREL'S FUNERAL 623 

PROVIDENCE 625 



CONTENTS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— continued, Page 

IN MEMORIAM 625 

DIVINE OMNISCIENCE ib. 

SOVEREIGNTY OF DIVINE GRACE 626 

THEOLOGY FOR MOTHERS ib. 

A MOURNFUL TRUTH &. 

god's infants ib. 

HEAVEN POPULOUS WITH INFANT SOULS 627 

THE HEARTS SANCTUARY ib. 

"THE holy child JESUS " ib. 

REASON AND FAITH 628 

GOD IN MATERIALISM ib. 

THE CHURCH IN CANADA 629 

THE INSPIRATION OF DREAMS ib. 

SACREDNESS OF INFANCY 630 

CHRIST IN THE HEART'S CLOUD ib. 

THE WORLD'S MARTYRS ib. 

THE PEOPLE AND PRAYER BOOK . 631 

INDIVIDUAL PROVIDENCE ib. 

A PRODIGAL'S RETURN , . ib. 

MORAL INFLUENCE 632 

THE LAKE OF BEAUTY ib. 



ALPHABETICAL LIST OF FIKST LINES TO CHKISTIAN LIFE. 



A beauty clothes the hectic cheek 

Abide with us ! sustaining Lord, abide 

Abide with us, dear Lord! abide . 

Above, below, mysterious all 

All that of Eden now remains 

Although the birthday of this God-made 

earth 

And didst thou choose the narrow path 

And must we, now the God-man reigns 

And wert Thou by the prompting Spirit led 

And did The gentle Saviour sigh . 

And must a father slay his only child . 

And wilt thou bring a virgin heart 

And yet, forbid it, reason, faith, and love 

Around us moves this magic world 

As Christ was God in flesh array'd 

As Lord of this terrestrial sphere . 

As pants the hart for living brooks 

A speaking magic in poetic skies . 

As time grows old, the earth from heaven 

receives 

Ave Maria ! blest o'er women all . 
Banquet of bleeding Love, by Christ prepared 
Beauteous words ! with glory burning 
Bird of beauty ! upwax-d soaring . 
But when at length a signal cloud reposed 
By gentleness, God .... 
Chill o'er yon heath autumnal shadows fall 



Page 
39 
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ior 

72 
3S 
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76 

144 

67 



Come to the desert where sad Jesu went 

Could Fancy, in some dream sublime . 

Enthroned in vast eternity . 

Eternity of waters ! there Thou art 

Eye of the Lord ! in whose omniscient ray 

Friend of the friendless ! Thou art there 

Fond mother, with thy wakeful ear 

Go, cast thy burden on the Lord . 

God save the Church ! and guard Her free 

Grief, more than revelation tells . 

Hail to the bright and blissful Choir . 

Hark! bree2y anthems from the new-born 

spring 

Heroic guide of Judah's race . 

How blessed are the pure in heart 

If they who stand behind the soiu-ce . 

How glorious are the mountain-Kings ! who 

overawe the soul .... 

How like a spirit shrieks the startled Wind 
How soothing, when the noise of day is o'er 
Humility doth mark .... 
I love the still romance of lonely fields 
I love to hear the wizard tones 
In hush'd eternity alone 
In mother's love there hides a spell 
" It is not good for man to be alone " . 
I will not sigh for vast domains . 
I wish I lived where Jesu reigns . 



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71 
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49 
54 



xxii ALPHABETICAL LIST OF FIRST LINES TO CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Lone nature is no loneliness to me 

Lord, and whither shall we go 

Lord of the blissful worlds above . 

Low in the dust, oh ! let me lie 

Men are not dead because they die 

Men call it wisdom, when they grow 

Men of faith's heroic mould . 

Most awful booms that word 

" My heart is cold I cannot pray " 

My thoughts are with the dear and dead 

My first-born ! when I heard thy faint low 

cry 

Mysterious infant ! on thy fairy brow 

My years are in the yellow leaf . 

Not poet's lyre, nor painter's line . 

Now, Heaven and Earth in finish'd beauty 

rise 

Oh, burning plague-spot on the brow of Time 

Oh, paradox divine, as deep . 

"Oh ! that with me, as in the months of yor 

Oh, weep not for the holy dead 

Our centre true is God alone . 

Our Fathers, where be they . 

Our fathers, where are they . . 

Our morrows unto God belong 

Pale mother ! art thou weeping . 

Pity the dead ! — nay, rather mourn for those 

Pure glory of forgiving Love . 

Saviour of spirits ! if the burden'd life . 

Say, why do sceptic hearts decline 

Sermons in sickness heaven can preach 

Shades of the soft and stealing night . 

She dies, as countless martyrs die 

Sin colours all we do and prize 

Since all we love on earth must die 

Some hearts lie wither'd in their transient 



spring 

The bells are tolling with a dreamy chime 
The dead in body are in soul alive 
The dew-drop, in whose mirror lies 
The depths of ocean rest unseen . 
The ghastliness and gloom of death 
The hand of Him who framed the earth 
Their names and numbers who can tell 



Page 

48 
35 

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36 

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78 



The Lord, who once celestial radiance threw 
The mountains shall from earth depart 
The noblest wealth our world contains 
The placid azure of thy pensive eyes . 
There is religion in the common earth 
There is a mute but mighty voice in tears 
There is no rest for man below 
There was a time, when earth appear'd 
The sheep who know the shepherd's tone 
The World exults to crucify . 
There was a time, in ages dead 
This world is like that Creature vast 
Thou art not dead, my vanish'd one 
Thou beauteous Morn of sainted rest 
Thou dost, O God! transcend the All 
Thou liquid bow of beauty and of grace 
Though earth abounds with choral streams 
Though ruin'd, deathless man is noble still 
Though sumless mercies teem around . 
Though youth's bright world looks fresh and 

fair 

Thou little'trembler, robed in white . 
" Though what I do ye know not now 
Thou, who didst rend the heavens to be 
Thy ways, O Lord, are unlike ours 
Two Books we have, all other books above 
Two Wills alone may cause our world to move 
Two worlds around us act and move . 
Under the burning eye of heaven . 
Wake, power divine, awake . 
We do not pray, because we move 
We ought to dread what Speech can do 
When first rebellion in the Will began . 
When God to man His awful Image gave 
When plaintive knells peal sadness o'er the 

wind 

When time shall lay his lenient hand . 
With awful gloom when Moses brought 
Who can explain the living dust we bear 
Whom have I in the heavens but Thee 
Why should the reas'ning sceptic dare . 
" Ye shall not surely die " 
Te bright-wing'd Choir ! who in the rays 
Ye silent poems ! which from nature's book 



Pace 

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138 

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100 



"Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from Thy presence? — If I 
ascend iip into heaven, Thou art there : if I make my bed in hell, behold Thou art there. 
If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea ; even 
there shall Thy hand lead me, and Thy right hand shall hold me. " — Psalm cxxxix. 7 — 10. 

' ' Thou sole Transcendency ! and deep Abyss 
» From whence the universe of life was drawn, 

Unutter'd is Thy nature — to Thyself alone 
The fathom'd, proved, and comprehended God ! " 



THE 



OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



PREFACE 

TO 

THE TWENTY-FIFTH EDITION. 
(1848.) 



The present Edition of the following poem is 
accompanied by some descriptive lines entitled 
"Scarborough,"* -which appear for the first 
time, in their enlarged form, among the mis- 
cellanies contained in the volume. In addition 
to this, a few other poems of a meditative charac- 
ter have also been transferred to the position 
they now occupy. Beyond this brief notification, 
little requires to be said. However, it may not 
be obtrusive for the Author to refer to a theo- 
logical difficulty almost inseparable from a metri- 
cal work which endeavours to celebrate the 
Omnipresence of God in a simple and popular 
form. What he means will be understood, per- 
haps, by the following considerations. 

Kevelation is not absolute, but relative ; that 
is to say, the language of the Bible, though 
inspired, is necessarily finite, and refers not to 
what the Godhead may be in Its Divine Essence 
absolutely considered, but rather unto those 
mutual relations which subsist between the per- 
fect Creator and the imperfect creature ; conse- 
quently, all the knowledge which we possess of 
the Divine Nature must be analogical; or, in 
other terms, a knowledge of relations existing 
under a presumed resemblance. This necessary 
view of the Deity has been powerfully treated in 
Dr. King's celebrated ' ' Discourse on Predestina- 
tion," which speaks as follows on this subject: — 

"It is in effect agreed on all hands, that the 
nature of God, as it is in itself, is incompre- 
hensible by human understanding: and not His 
nature, but likewise His powers and faculties, 
and. the ways and methods in which He exercises 



* This Poem will be found among the Miscellaneous 
Subjects at the end of the volume. 



them, are so far beyond our reach, that we are 
utterly incapable of forming exact notions of 
them." * * * " We ought to remember that 
the descriptions which we frame to ourselves of 
God, or of the Divine attributes, are not taken 
from any direct or immediate perceptions that 
we have of Him or them ; but from some observa- 
tion we have made of His works, and from the 
consideration of these qualifications, that we con- 
ceive would enable us to perform the like." * * 
* * "Thus our reason teaches us to ascribe 
these attributes to God, by way of resemblance 
and analogy to such qualities and powers as we 
find most valuable and perfect in ourselves. If 
we look into the Holy Scriptures, and consider 
the representations given us there of God or His 
attributes, we shall find them generally of the 
same nature, and plainly borrowed from some 
resemblance to things with which we are ac- 
quainted by our senses." * * * "And this 
brings me to the second head, which I proposed 
to myself in this discourse, which was to show 
you why God and heavenly things are, after this 
manner, presented to us in Holy Scripture. And 
the first reason I shall offer is, that we must be 
either content to know them this way, or not at 
all. I have already told you, and I believe 
every considering man is assured, that the nature 
and perfections of God as He is in Himself, are 
such that it is impossible we should comprehend 
them, especially in the present state of imper- 
fection, ignorance, and corruption, in which this 
world Hes. He is the object of none of our 
senses by which we receive all our direct and 
immediate perception of things : and therefore if 
we know anything of Him at all, it must be by the 
deductions of reason, by analogy, by resembling 
Him to something that we do know, and are 
acquainted with." — "This analogical knowledge 
of God's Nature and Attributes, is all of which 
we are capable at present ; and we must be either 
contented to know Him thus, or sit down with an 
entire neglect and ignorance of God, and finally 
despair of future happiness ! " 



So far, then, as the use of analogical terms 
is involved, a poem on The Omnipresence is 
intimately connected with forms of language, 
partaking of analogy and moral resemblance, 
presumed to exist between the relations which 
men bear to men, and God bears to all man- 
kind ; thence a danger arises of our humanising 
the Idea of Divine Omnipresence, as though God 
were present by local diffusion, and a kind of 
infinite expansion. This, of course, is not correct, 
because it would be more accurate to assert that 
all place is present unto God, than to affirm 
that Qod is present to all place. In order, then, 
to protect the reader from this erroneous con- 
ception of the Omnipresent nature of Deity, the 
following propositions, from one of the noblest 
of our divines, are worthy our deepest con- 
sideration : — " Our knowledge of God is mostly 
withdrawing from Him, or denying to Him, in 
our conception, any weaknesses or imperfections 
in the creature. As the infinity of God is a 
denial of limitation of being, so immensity or 
omnipresence is a denial of limitation of space : 
and when we say God is totus in every place, 
we must understand it thus, — that He is not 
everywhere by parts, as bodies are, as light and 
air are ; He is everywhere ; that is, His nature 
hath no bounds ; He is not tied to any place, as the 
creature is, who, when he is present in one place, 
is absent from another. As no place can be 
without God, so no place can compass and contain 
Him." * * * "The essential presence of 
God is loitliout any division of Himself." "/ 
fill heaven and earth,'''' not part in heaven and 
part in earth ; I fill one as well as the other. 
One part of His essence is not in one place, and 
another part of His essence in another place ; He 
would then be changeable ; for the part of His 
essence which were new in this place, He might 
alter to another ; but He is undivided everywhere. 
As His eternity is one individual point, though 
in our conception we divide it into past, present, 
and to come, so the whole world is as a point to 
Him in regard of place ;" &c. &c. 

In a deeper strain, and with more fulness of 
doctrinal significance, the religious metaphysics 
of Coleridge have been brought to bear on the 
popular notion of Christ's omnipresence, as 
realised by the worshipping faculties of our 
nature. In his "Idea op Church and State," 
(4th Ed. p. 1 29, ) he thus writes : " ' Where two or 
three are gathered together in my name, there 
am I in the midst of them.' The true import 
of these gracious, soul-awing words, is too 
generally overlooked. It is not the comments or 
harangues of unlearned and fanatical preachers 
that I have in my mind, but sermons of great 
and deserved celebrity, and divines whose learn- 
ing, well-regulated zeal, and sacred Scriptural 
views, are as honourable to the Church as their 
piety, beneficence, and blameless life are to the 
Christian name, when I say that passages 
occur, which might almost lead you to conjecture 
that the author had found the words, '/ will 



come and join you,' instead of ' / am in the midst 
of you:'' passages from which it is difficult not 
to infer, that they had interpreted the promise as 
of a corporal co-presence, instead of a Spiritual 
immanence ('6ti ixevst. iv tjijuv) ; as of an individual 
coming in, or down, and taking a place, as soon 
as the required number of petitioners was com- 
pleted ; as if, in short, this presence, this 
actuation of the I AM (el/ud eV ytceVo) avTwv) were 
an after consequence, an accidental and separate 
result and reward of the contemporaneous and 
contiguous worshipping ; and not the total act 
itself, of which the spiritual Christ (one and the 
same in ail the faithful, ) is the originating and 
perfective unity. Even as the physical life is in 
each limb and organ of the body, all in every 
part, but is manifested as life, by being one in 
all, and thus making one all ; even so with 
Christ, our spiritual life. He is in each true 
behever, in his solitary prayer, and during his 
silent communion in the watches of the night, 
no less than in the congregation of the faithful : 
but He manifests His indwelling presence more 
characteristically, with especial evidence, when 
many, convened by His name, whether for prayer 
or for counsel, do through Him become one." 

Such are some of the aspects under which 
theological Science would have us contemplate 
the omnipresence of Divine Personality. But 
let it not be forgotten, that unto us, the bap- 
tised and believing members of Christ's Church, 
pure and apostolical, — The Incarnation is both 
the centre and circumference of the manifested 
Jehovah ; and since the Humanity of the Re- 
deemer is literally related unto the limiting 
conditions of space and time, we are not heretical 
in associating our ideas of God in practical 
connexion with the local and the temporal. 
After all, however, dogmatic severity of state- 
ment, and metaphysical acuteness, are neither 
necessary nor suitable in a poem that mainly 
addresses itself to the sacreclness of the religious 
sentiments, and which is designed, not to feed the 
intellect with doctrinal truth, but rather to reach 
the conscience, and radiate through the character, 
by means of the beautiful, and good, as emotion- 
ally perceived. Nor let us hesitate to remark, 
God is not revealed unto us in Scripture in that 
cold, stiff, and scientific manner, in which scholastic 
theology delights to consider Him ; but rather, in 
His adorable Personality, as a reconciled Father 
in Jesus Christ, abundant in mercy, clothed with 
the mysterious tenderness of the Incarnation, 
and commending His Attributes unto our moral 
affections, far more than unto our intellectual 
faculties. For this reason, the creed of a God- 
taught peasant, whose religious life moves onward 
with patriarchal simplicity, is approved in 
Heaven, prized by angels, and more in accordance 
with what our Church teaches, — than all which 
barren Metaphysics inculcate touching the omni- 
presence of Deity. R. M. 

51, TORRINGTON SQUARE, 
August 21th, 1848. 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



PKEFACE 



THE THIRTEENTH EDITION. 



(1834.) 



"Itraa-iv 01 uiu.vtiju.bvoi — St. ChRYS. Hom. 

"Si ipsius Poesecs ultima origo quseratur, ad reli- 
gionem oninino videtur referenda. Hujusce originis 
non obscura indicia etiamnum prae se fert Poesis, 
eo quod sacram et celestem rnateriani veluti pa- 
renteni suam et educatricem ardentissirno affectu 
semper amplectatur; hue veluti ad germanam 
patriam amet recurrere, ibique et lubentissime 
versetur et maxime vigeat." — Lowth's Pb^lec. 
i. pp. 20, 21. 

The Author cannot permit a revised edition of 
this Poem to appear, without a grateful retrospect 
of the reception it has obtained from the public. 
Many thousand copies have circulated in this 
country, and various foreign editions have also 
been published. To seem ungratified by such 
success would be an affected insensibility. And 
should the reader imagine he detects a vanity in 
this confession, the Author can assure him that it 
is subdued by a recollection of the vast dispro- 
portion which may exist between the popularity, 
and the merit, of any production. 

The present edition has undergone a careful 
revision ; the suggestions of critics, both hostile 
and friendly, have been duly regarded ; and 
many passages which savoured of exaggeration, or 
obscurity, have been omitted or amended. The 
additional hues that accompany it, will be found, 
perhaps, not discordant with the general tone and 
tenour of the work ; while the sentiments which 
now conclude the first part, may remove an ob- 
jection which has existed against the deficiency 
of Christian allusion in those passages of the 
poem illustrative of nature, and its effects on a 
contemplative mind. * 



* A mere poetical belief of a Divine Presence in the 
glories and harmonies of nature, if unaccompanied by 
a deep recollection of God's moral attributes, forms but 
a false and perilous theology. Pope's "Essay on 
Man," exquisite and sublime as many portions are, 
tends (according to Bishop Home and other ethical 
critics) to an imaginative Deism ; and those who have 
analyzed the spirit of their writings, will find that 
Shelley, with his system of "plastic nature," and 
Lord Byron, in his references to the Deity, — differ 
very Title from the Lucretian doctrine, by which we 
are taught, 

" Omnis enim per se Divum natura necesse est 
Immortali sevo summa cum pace fruatur 
Semota a nostris rebus, sejunctaque longe." 

Lucret. lib. i. 
To such a cold and sterile system, Clarke thus alludes, 
(Evid. of Nat. and Rev. Relig.)— "How handsomely 
soever these men may seem to speak of the natural 
attributes of God, of His knowledge, wisdom, and 
power ; yet neither can this opinion be settled on any 



A preface is an infliction which most readers 
deem superfluous ; yet the author will venture 
to brave their repugnance, and to proffer some 
remarks on the present occasion, however unim- 
portant they may appear. 

A love for the IDEAL is enthroned in every 
reflective mind ; and though there may be 
periods, when a perception of the Beautiful and 
the Unseen appears to slumber, or be palled, — 
this earthly dimness which overclouds the bright 
instincts of the soul, soon passes away. All that 
concentrates itself round the thought of man's 
Eternity may be referred, more or less, to a 
passion for the Ideal ; and Religion, while emi- 
nently practical in its lofty influence, is ever 
attracting our Spirit to contemplate that paradise 
which blooms in the regions of hereafter. What 
is there noble in the records of Mind, to which 
the Ideal is entirely unrelated ? — The crown 
which the eyes of the Martyr miniatured as he 
closed them in flames ; the divine imitation which 
Meekness and Righteousness picture before them 
in the war of life ; the grand discoveries which 
the prophetic dreams of Science anticipate, when 
she contemplates the worlds of air, or fastens her 
gaze on the wonders of earth ; and, finally, that 
faultless Model which Grenius ever images, in her 
toils and pains, — -all -these, in a great degree, 
arise from that dominion which the Ideal exercises 
over mankind. To assert, therefore, that this 
no longer exists, libels the character of the 
human Soul. 

Now, it is the privilege of Poetry to adumbrate 
in language that glory, loveliness, and sublimity, 
which the creative eye of Imagination beholds. 
The living and the actual are neither perverted 
nor forgotten ; and while the truth and sternness, 
the passions, principles, and working-day realities 
of life are described with severe fidelity, the 
yearnings of the soul for perfection, and its deep 
sense of the infinite and the i mm ortal — may be 
interpreted and described. The Ideal and the 
Actual thus move hand in hand along the page of 
poesy, each lending the other its native influence ; 
as light and shadow over a landscape contribute 
a divided charm, and blend with the beauty of 
the whole. 

To the minds of those who think the art of 
converting pence into pounds the noblest objects 
of human pursuit, — observations on the benign 
influence of poetry will sound like the mere 



certain principles, nor defended by a consistent 
reasoning ; nor can the natural attributes of God be 
so separated from the moral but that he who denies 
the latter may be reduced to a necessity of denying 
the former likewise : — he who denies the justice and 
goodness of God, or which is all one, denies the 
exercise of those attributes in inspecting and regarding 
the moral actions of men, must also deny either His 
wisdom, or His power, or both ; and consequently 
must needs be driven into downright Atheism." — 
This opinion may be paralleled by a maxim of 
Tertullian. — "Deum negat auferendo quod Dei est." 
—Adv. Marc. c. 3. 



b2 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



prattle of puerile enthusiasm. And yet, though 
it may harmonise with the doctrines of an utili- 
tarian to decry poetry, and to shed the mildew 
of his irony over every work which attempts to 
reveal it, — he is as tasteless, as he is unphiloso- 
phical ; and, while professing to triumph over 
the dreams of Sentimentalism, proves himself to 
be the wildest of all visionaries : for, is he not so, 
who thinks and writes as though ' ' profit and 
loss" were the be-all and the end-all of Man's 
existence ; and considers him only as a creature 
for time, while the instincts of Eternity already 
throb in his bosom ? Now, next to the reno- 
vating power of Religion, true Poetry confronts 
this worldly epicureanism with a sacred defiance ; 
and, viewing man in his twofold responsibility, 
for time and for eternity, — appeals to him with 
a voice that is echoed from the depths of his 
intellectual being. 

Lord Bacon has defined poetry to be " feigned 
history ; " * thereby shewing what may be termed 
the spiritual reality of the poetical Ideal. 
Fallen from its first estate, and sullied though it 
be, the Soul yet retains some lineaments of the 
Divine Impress ; and when the beautiful and good 
are presented for its approval, they are at once 
recognised as pertaining to those primeval attrac- 
tions which Grod intended to form its chief 
delight. 

If it were not so, what has made the visions of 
Milton immortal ? — It is the antetype which they 
have found in imaginative souls, that accounts for 
their immortality. Divinity moves within and 
around us ; and over the chaos of our troubled 
minds there often broods the calming breath of the 
Almighty. And as the earth, though the living 
bloom of Eden no longer arrays its surface, to 
the gaze of true Sentiment presents dream-like 
traces of a Paradise no more, — so, to the eye of 
poetical Faith, does the soul reveal faint but 
sublime reflections of the original brightness it 
had, when man walked with God, and conversed 
with angels, without fear. + 



* " The use of this feigned history hath been to give 
some shadow of satisfaction to the mind of man in those 
points wherein the nature of things doth deny it, the 
world being in proportion inferior to the soul, by 
reason whereof there is, agreeable to the spirit of 
man, a more ample greatness, a more exact goodness, 
and a more absolute variety, than can be found in 
the nature of things. * * * And therefore it (viz. 
poesy) was ever thought to have some participation 
of divineness, because it doth raise and erect the mind, 
by submitting the shows of things to the desires of 
the mind ; whereas Reason doth truckle and bow 
the mind unto the nature of things." — Vide Ar>v. 
Learn, b. ii. 

t ' ' Hence in all the ages and countries of civilization, 
Religion has been the parent and fosterer of the fine 
arts — as of poetry, music, painting, and the like, the 
common essence of which consists in a similar union 
of the universal and the individual. In this union, 
moreover, is contained the true sense of the ideal. 
Under the old law, the altars, the curtains, the priestly 
vestments, and whatever else was to represent the 



"With reference to sacred poetry, as the writer 
has been favoured with much critical admonition, 
it will be but courteous in him to offer a few 
candid remarks in return. 

Encouraged by the reception of his first work, 
the author presumed to proceed in the compo- 
sition of kindred poems, intended to embody and 
portray whatever was allied to the Imaginative 
in natural and revealed religion. But, in the 
meantime, there rushed forth a wild flood of what 
was called, "Religious poetry :" the consequence 
might easily be anticipated : a tempest of severe 
censure arose, and voices of sarcasm rang loudly 
in the ears of the public. But the storm has 
long subsided : and those ' ' bubbles " which rise 
from time to time in the streams of our periodical 
journalism have broken, burst, and died. Far be 
it, therefore, from the author to interfere with 
the privileges of oblivion ; or revive for a moment 
that which has long since been forgotten. Still, 
he may be allowed, perhaps, without the slightest 
acerbity, to protest against certain doctrines 
which were then promulgated. It is quite right 
to lash what is arrogant, profane, or impiously 
absurd ; and good taste will discriminate between 
him whose devout song arises from an adoring 
heart, and one who struts into the Holy of Holies, 
and shouts an Eupj/ca ! over the ark of divine 
Mystery. But there is a vast difference between 
correct taste and false censure ; and if, on the 
one hand, a perversion of sacred poetry has 
disgusted our feelings, the rashness of erroneous 
condemnation, on the other, has equally offended 
a sound judgment. 

From numerous fallacies frequently ventured 
on this subject, let the following be selected ; — 
themes of religious grandeur are not adapted for 
poetical treatment, because tliey can receive no 
additional glory from the pen of the poet. Now, 
this dictum, if it contain anything, involves 
the supposition, — that nothing but what poetry 
can intrinsically elevate or magnify, is fit to be 
poetically described — which amounts to palpable 
absurdity. Did it never occur to the critic, that 
poetry can be glorified by a subject, though it 
may be inadequate to impart any glory to it ? — 
Can poetical description always equal what it 
describes ? — The brightness of the sunbeam, the 
tenderness of moonlight, the hues and harmonies 
of twilight, the sublimity of ocean, the terror of a 
storm, or the pastoral loveliness of an English 
landscape," — have perhaps never been vied by 
representations in verse ; nay, how much is there 
in the meanest cottage flower, which the descrip- 
tions of language can never equal ! And thus, 
analogically, with sacred Poetry. It is con- 
versant with the Sublime, the Beautiful, and the 
Holy, in their most perfect combination ; it dreams 
on the verge of Heaven, and is permitted, ever 
and anon, to have a faint view of the thrones 



beauty of holiness, had an ideal character ; and the 
temple itself was a masterpiece of ideal beauty." — 
Coleridge. 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



and veiled Seraphim, and haply to drink in, with 
unsated ear, the melodies which are wafted from 
the songs of the redeemed. 

Now, poetry cannot increase the vastness or 
sublimity of those objects and emotions which the 
Bible contains and excites ; but, in the contem- 
plation of them, as they exist with reference to 
our own destiny, — it derives an elevating purity 
which no other sources of inspiration can supply. * 
In fact, taken in the full and philosophical 
meaning of the words, sacred poetry comprehends 
whatever is sublime in Religion, grand in Morals, 
holy in Man, or attractive in Nature : and, as it 
is possible for a poem under a sacred title to be 
utterly profane, so it is certain, that where its 
true characteristics exist, — there the elements of 
the loftiest inspiration abound. Passion in its 
utmost intensity, and pathos in its profoundest 
effects, may also be comprehended within its 
scope ; so that, when a writer decries sacred 
poetry, he must either be the victim of tasteless 
delusion ; or, be petrified into apathy with regard 
to all that is great and good. 

And what a range is there for a writer, 
thoroughly impressed with Eternity, and con- 
vinced that Revelation is a Voice from out its 
deep, — in subjects of sacred magnificence ! Man 
is no longer regarded as the mere slave of im- 
pulse, but the heir of an immortal destiny ; the 
material world is not only viewed as a visible 
Symbol of that Beauty which is behind the veil, 
but the full meaning of an awful passage, + where 
St. Paul describes the whole creation groaning 
with unutterable pangs for deliverance from the 
curse of sin — is exemplified and illustrated : 
and, finally, Grod is not only recognised as the 
great I AM on the throne of eternity, but as a 
parent reconciling the world to Himself, through 
the sacrifice of His adorable Son. 

True, poetry on sacred themes is liable to 
egregious imperfections. While we are in this 
bodily frame, the obstructions of sense will cloud 
our dreams of what is spiritual and impalpable. J 
Turgidity of expression, dimness of meaning, 
and false elevation, will inevitably occur; and 



* "I can truly affirm of myself, that my studies 
have been profitable and availing to me, only so far 
as I have endeavoured to use all my other knowledge 
as a glass, enabling me to receive more light in a 
wider field of vision from the Word of G,od. * * * 
Digress for a few moments to another book, likewise 
a revelation of God— the great book of His servant, 
nature. That, in its obvious sense and literal inter- 
pretation, it declares the being and attributes (?) of 
the Almighty Father, none but the fool in heart has 
ever dared gainsay ; but it has been the music of 
gentle and pious minds in all ages ; it is the poetry 
of all human nature, to read it likewise in a figurative 
sense, and to find therein correspondencies and 
symbols of the spiritual world." — Coleridge. 

t H'cccrct yi XTitrts (Tvo-nvcc^u xcti orvvoohlvii &xgt too vDV, 
x. r. X. — Rom. viii. 22 

X Ovtcjs cc.iu.7ixd.vov TOig iv <rcifx.cc.Ti, Stxot r£* trct)[x.acrix£iv 
xolvtyi yivicrdoci fjciroc rcuv voovy,ivuv. — GllEG. Naz. Disc. 34. 



it is an author's duty to be perpetually alive to 
these imperfections. A critic, however, who is 
noble in mind as well as cultivated in taste, will 
not detach his view from all that may otherwise 
merit approbation, to fix it on such errors ; no 
more than a man who enters a garden, would 
neglect the fruits and flowers, to search for 
insects, or examine grubs. 

But it is time to terminate a preface which 
has expanded far beyond the writer's original 
purpose ; and as it may be many years before he 
intrudes on public attention again, — he cannot 
take his prefatory farewell, without acknow- 
ledging the forbearance with which his imperfect 
writings have been received. Whatever the 
sceptic in an author's modesty may imagine, — of 
the varied imperfections crowded in his pages, 
no one has been more conscious than he who had 
the greatest reason to regret them ; and it is 
hoped, that in the new editions of his poems which 
are about successively to appear, the revision 
they have each undergone, will manifest the 
sincerity of this avowal. 

It is nearly seven years since this poem was 
published ; and how much he has been indebted 
to it, for the personal friendship and sympathy it 
has gained him in hearts and homes, where, but 
for its introduction, he had been a stranger, — can 
only be understood and appreciated by those who 
have had the same reasons to be grateful. But 
this recollection is not unmingled with melan- 
choly : for in our retrospect of a few years, how 
much is there that the sigh of memory would in 
vain recal ! — Many who greeted his first attempts 
have gone to their rest ; and many a voice that 
counselled and cheered him in his onward path, 
has been hushed in the grave. Alas for our 
affections, if this life were all ! — we should indeed 
be of all men "most miserable." 

But the hope of Immortality makes the dawning 
heaven of our earth ; and he who clings to this, 
will alone be enabled to speculate rightly on life 
and conduct, and on that which is to be revealed 
beyond the grave. In the flush of youth, an 
exciting love of reputation is too apt to domineer 
over the mind ; but the experience of a few years 
cools this down to its proper state, and more and 
more are we inclined to feeL 

"La Nominanza e color d'erba, 
Che viene e va ; e quei discolora, 
Per cui vien fuori della terra acerba. " 

The appreciation of fame is laudable under 
certain moral limitations; but our motives of 
action should ascend to a far higher source. — 
And, would that a deeper view of what forms 
the true greatness and glory of the mind more 
thoroughly pervaded our literature ! How much 
that is low, would then be exalted ; how much 
that is servile, made free ; and, where now envy 
and malice strut their miserable hour, how soon 
would magnanimity and genius, hand in hand, 
complete their bright career ! But in the Avar of 
emulation the noble aims of mental exertion 



G 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



Boon evaporate ; the noise, and not the power, of 
reputation alone is prized ; and under a mania 
for literary prominence on the public stage, 
ambition darkens into envy, and disappointment 
is soiired into rivalrous contempt. 

Yet may the eye of the contemplatist repose 
on a more attractive scene ; and behold in the 
varied ranks of learning, science, and taste, men 
who stand apart from the emulations around 
them, — silently building their monument of fame ; 
or, from time to time sending forth streams of 
thought that refresh and invigorate the world of 
truth. And yet, to those who estimate fame by 
the talk of the tongue, rather than by the homage 
of the mind, the works of such men seem to 
languish in unappreciated excellence ; * but it is 
far otherwise : the noble thought, the wise 
reflection, or the beautiful idea, — each has its 
hour and scene of influence ; though often, like a 
trackless angel on some errand of love, — acting 
silent, secret, and unobserved. 

Let it never be forgotten, that as good and evil 
are the two antagonistic Influences at war in the 
world, so every writer, whatever his intellectual 
rank, ranges himself on one side or the other : — 
it is a glorious reflection that he co-operates, 
however humbly, with the former ; and infinitely 
awful to be found, however triumphantly, with 
the latter ! 

When the paleness of death was on him, and 
his hand shook with almost its last tremor, 
Coleridge wrote, as it were, under the very gaze 
of the Almighty, — " It is the most ennobling of 
all privileges to be a Christian, "-j* With meek 
but fervent sincerity does the writer of these 
lines echo the sentiment of that eloquent man ; 
and if, in the seclusion of his after life, he may 
venture to think he has brightened a mental 
dream, or afforded a ray of pure enjoyment, it 
will form one of the few pleasures which time 
can neither weaken nor destroy. 

Strand on the Green, Kew. 
mh August, 1834. 



* The biographer of Wordsworth tells us that the 
first edition of "The Excursion" occupied five years 
in being sold, and the second edition an equal period ; 
and thus ten years were required to exhaust 1000 
copies of "the Excursion," the two editions being 
each only 500 ! Such was the appreciation which 
Wordsworth then received; But, "tempora mu- 
tantur " now. 

f In the spirit of a deep and sublime philosophy, 
he observes, in one of the admirable notes appended 
to his Essays on Church and State : — " Christian love 
is the last and divinest birth, the harmony, and 
unity, and godlike transfiguration of all the vital, 
intellectual, and moral powers. Now it manifests 
itself as the sparkling and ebullient spring of well- 
doing, in gifts and in labours; and now as a silent 
fountain of patience and long-suffering, the fulness 
of which no hatred or persecution can exhaust or 
diminish." 



"By day the present, hut at nisht, tbe past 
Prevails : a moonlight tenderness o'er things 
Departed, sheds a lond and dream-like gloom." 

'Tis dreaming midnight : from unnumber'd spires 
Funereal wails for the departed Day 
Arise, as from a host of yawning tombs ; 
Awhile the wafted echoes float around, 
Then faintly ebb upon the spectral air, 
xlnd melt to muteness through the starry skies. 

There is a voiceless melancholy that wakes 
The heart's mysterious chords, until they stir 
Like air by music charm'd, when on the verge 
Of time's unfathom'd gulf the dying Hours 
Drop into dark eternity.— A Day 
Is dead ! and, with it, many a breathing Shape 
Of life shall breathe no longer. Many an eye 
That smil'd upon the morn, is film'd and cold ; 
And many a heart that leap'd with living joy, 
Lies spiritless, and still ; — a solemn thought, 
Truth-born and deep : but Life o'ershadows death 
Beneath her giant wings ; and day from day, 
And hour from hour recedes ; yet, unappall'd, 
We dream and dance along life's varied road 
Till death arrests us, and our graves are dug, 
And o'er us hangs oblivion's moveless pall : 
Then, some dark thinkers, when they pause and hear 
A dusky steeple moaning to the clouds, 
Will sigh, and say, "Another day is dead ! " — 
And thus rolls on tbe sea of human fate, 
In ruthless havoc over hearts and souls. 

'Tis midnight ; and before me lies outspread 
A sleeping City, with its towers and domes 
All shapeless and sublime ; or, darkly girt 
With funeral air, save where the casement sheds 
Its lambent smile around : And here, alone, 
With few to bless, and bless 'd by few, I dream 
And muse, until Imagination grasp 
The universe ; and trace in every isle 
That gems the sea, and every land which blooms 
Beneath the sun, the sleepless power of God, 
Who with a veil of love invests the world. 

But see ! the Moon unrobes, and from her face 
Beauty goes forth, and fills the heavens with light, 
Till the vast concave blossoms out in stars. 
At such an hour, while day -worn Nature sleeps, 
And Silence walks the world, pervading God ! 
Awe-smote, before Thy vision'd Throne I lay 
A lowly gift of unaffected song, 
Though meritless, sincere. — But who shall paint. 
Or mirror forth thy majesty supreme, 
Almighty, vast, and terrible Unknown, 
Whom dread Eternity itself adores ! 
And yet, on earth some faint reflections fall, 
From Thine infinity of brightness shed ; 
And poetry, the heart's true seraph, finds 
Creation's glory in Thy shadow seen. 

If aught, then, of the mind's devotion warm 
The page, where feelings from the fountain-soul 
Gush into glowing verse, from Thee deriv'd, 
Direct them, God ! and may they glide the world 
Around, and win to Heaven harmonious Mind. 

Bath, March 2nd, 1828. 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



PART I. 



ANALYSIS OF PAET T. 



The Poem opens with an apostrophe to the Deity — 
He was, ere Time began — Vision of the Creation — 
We cannot escape the Omnipresent God — He per- 
vades all things — Allusion to His appearance on 
Mount Sinai — The Red Sea — Nature attests the 
presence of her Architect — The impossibility of 
perfectly tracing the Deity's influence : we can 
only select those scenes which impressively demon- 
strate it — The thunder — -the ocean-tempest — The 
Presence of the Deity felt in the repose of Nature — 
The calm which succeeds a storm — Aspirations 
awakened by a view of the setting sun. 

The hand of God is next traced in a rapid view of 
the Seasons : — Spring — Mountains — Sacred feelings 



kindled by the sight of an august ruin — The Conva- 
lescent — The Heavens — A moonlight walk— The 
soul conscious of its celestial origin — Every clime 
an object of the Deity's care — Condensed view 
of His providence — Not only nature, but human 
life, in all its diversified forms, regulated by Him. 
But there is a far sublimer sense in which a 
Christian enjoys a Divine Presence in creation, and 
therefore, this part of the poem is concluded by 
a consideration of the doctrine which Christianity 
reveals, by whose light the glory of nature is 
rendered more glorious, and all the beauty of 
outward things becomes a symbol of that which is 
unseen. 



Thou Uncreate, Unseen, and Undefined, 
Source of all life, and fountain of the mind ; 
Pervading Spirit, whom no eye can trace, 
Felt through all time, and working in all space, 
Imagination cannot paint that spot, 
Around, above, beneath, where Thou art not ! 

Before the glad stars hyinn'd to new-born 
earth, 
Or young creation revell'd in its birth, 
Thy Spirit moved upon the pregnant deep, 
Unchain'd the waveless waters from their sleep, 
Bade Time's majestic wings to be unfurl' d, 
And out of darkness drew the breathing World. 

Primeval Power ! before Thy thunder rang, 
And Nature from eternity outsprang ; 
Ere matter form'd at Thy creative tone, 
Thou wert ; Almighty, Endless, and Alone : 
In Thine own Essence, all that was to be, — 
Sublime, unfathomable Deity : 
Thou saidst — and lo ! a universe was born, 
And Light flash'd from Thee, for her birth-day 



The Earth unshrouded all her beauty now ; 
The kingly mountain bared his awful brow, 
Flowers, fruits, and trees felt instantaneous 

life :— 
But, hark, creation trembles with the strife 
Of roaring waves in wild commotion hurl'd, — 
'Tis Ocean winding round the rocking world ! 

And next, triumphant o'er the green-clad 
earth, 
The universal Sun burst into birth, 



And dash'd from off his altitude sublime 
The first dread ray that mark'd commencing 

time ! 
Last, came the Moon upon the wings of light, 
And sat in glory on the throne of night, 
While, young and fresh, a radiant host of stars 
Wheel'd round the heavens upon their burning 



But all was dismal as a world of dead, 
Till the great Deep her living swarms outspread : 
Forth from her teeming bosom, sudden came 
Uncounted monsters, — mighty, without name ; 
Then, thick as dews upon a twilight green, 
The living creatures rose upon the scene. 

Creation's master-piece ! a breath of God, 
Ray of His glory, quicken'd at His nod, 
Immortal Man came next, divinely grand, 
Glorious and perfect from his Maker's hand ; 
Last, softly beautiful as Music's close, 
Angelic Woman into being rose. 

And now, the gorgeous universe was rife, 
Full, fair, and glowing with created life ; 
And when th' Eternal, from His starry height, 
Beheld the young world basking in His light, 
Amd breathing incense of deep gratitude, 
He bless'd it, — for His mercy made it good. 

And thus, Thou wert, and art, the Fountain 

Soul, 
And countless worlds around Thee live and 

roll ; 
In sun and shade, in ocean and in air 
Diffused, yet undiminish'd — everywhere : 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



All life and motion from Thy source began, 
From worlds to atoms, Angels down to Man. 

Lord of all being ! where can Fancy fly, 
To what far realms, unmeasur'd by Thine eye ? 
Where can we hide beneath Thy blazing sun, 
Where dwell'st Thou not, the boundless, view- 
less One ? 
Shall Guilt couch down within the cavern's 

gloom, 
And quiv'ring, groaning, meditate her doom ? 
Or scale the mountains, where the whirlwinds 

rest, 
And in the night-blast cool her fiery breast 1 — 
Within the cavern-gloom Thine eye can see, 
The sky-clad mountains lift their heads to 

Thee ; 
Thy Spirit rides upon the thunder-storms, 
Dark'ning the skies into terrific forms ! 
Beams in the lightning, rocks upon the seas, 
Roars in the blast, and whispers in the breeze ; 
In calm and storm,inHeaven and Earth Thou art, 
Trace but Thy works — they bring Thee to the 
heart ! 

The fulness of Thy Presence who can see 1 
Man cannot live, great God ! and look on Thee ; 
Around Thy path the quenchless lightnings 

glow, — 
Thy Voice appals the shudd'ring world below. 

Oh, Egypt felt Thee, when, by signs unscared, 
To mock Thy might the rebel monarch dared : 
Thou look'dst— and Ocean sever'datthe glance ! 
Undaunted, still the charioteers advance ; 
Thou look'dst again — she clash'd her howling 



And Storms in triumph revell'd o'er their graves ! 

On Sinai's mountain when Thy glory came 
In rolls of thunder, and in clouds of flame ; 
There, while volcanic smoke Thy throne o'ercast, 
And the mount shrunk beneath the trumpet- 
blast, 
How did thy Symbol blind all Israel's eye, 
How dreadful were the gleams of Deity ! 

There is a voiceless eloquence on Earth, 
Telling of Him who gave her wonders birth ; 
And long may I remain th' adoring child 
Of Nature's majesty, sublime or wild ; 
Hill, flood, and forest, mountain, rock, and sea, 
All take their terrors, of their charms from Thee, 
From Thee, whose hidden but supreme control 
Moves through the world — a universal Soul. 

But who could trace Thine unrestricted 
course, 
Though fancy followed with immortal force ? 



There's not a blossom fondled by the breeze, 
There's not a fruit that beautifies the trees, 
There's not a particle in sea or air 
But Nature owns Thy plastic influence there ! 
With gaze devout still be it mine to see 
How all is fill'd and vivified by Thee ; 
On the vast scene of earth's majestic view, 
To paint Thy glories, and to feel them too. 

Ye giant Winds ! that from your gloomy sleep 
Rise in your wrath, and revel on the deep ; 
Lightnings! which are the mystic gleams of 

God, 
That glanced when on the sacred mount he trod ; 
And ye, black Thunders ! that begird His form, 
Pealing your loud hosannahs o'er the storm ; 
Around me rally in concentred might, 
And strike my being with a dread delight ; 
Sublimely musing, let me pause and see, 
And pour my awe-struck soul, God ! to Thee. 

A thunder-storm ! — the eloquence of heaven, 
When the thick clouds, like airy walls are riven, 
Who hath not paused beneath its hollow groan, 
And felt omnipotence around him thrown ? 
With what a gloom the ush'ring Scene appears ! 
The leaves all fluttering with instinctive fears, 
The waters curling with a fellow dread, 
A breezeless fervour round creation spread, 
And, last, the heavy rain's reluctant shower, 
With big drops patt'ring on the tree and bower, 
While wizard shapes the bowing sky deform, — 
All mark the coming of a Thunder-storm. 

Oh, now to be alone, on some vast height, 
Where heaven's black curtains terrify the sight, 
And watch the clouds together meet and clash, 
While fierce-wing'd lightnings from their con- 
flict flash ; 
To see the caverns of the sky disclose 
The buried flames that in their wombs repose, 
And mark the lurid meteors fall and rise, 
In dizzy chase along the rattling skies, — 
How quakes the Spirit while the echoes roll, 
And God, in thunder, speaks from pole to pole ! 

And thou, weird Ocean ! on whose awful face 
Time's iron feet can print no ruin-trace, 
By breezes lull'd, or by the storm-blasts driven, 
Thy tow'ring waves uplift the mind to heaven. 

Tremendous art Thou ! in thy tempest-ire, 
When the mad surges to the clouds respire, 
And like new Apennines from out the sea, 
Thy waves march on in mountain-majesty. 
Oh ! never can the dark-souled Atheist stand, 
And watch the breakers boiling on the strand, 
Nor feel Religion from the sea arise, 
And preach to conscience what his will denies ; 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



g 



His heart is wiser than his head would be, 
And awe instinctive tells, God, of Thee ! 
He hears Him in the wind-heav'd ocean's roar, 
Hurling her billowy crags upon the shore ; 
He hears Him in the horror of the blast, 
And shakes while rush the raving whirlwinds 
past ! 

But not alone, when waves and whirlwinds 

rise, 
And wing their voices through the startled 

skies ; 
Not in the storm, the thunder, or the sea, 
v Alone we feel thy dread ubiquity : 
In calmer scenes, and the unruffled hour, 
Our still'd hearts own Thine omnipresent power. 

List ! now the cradled winds have hush'd 
their roar, 
And infant waves curl gamb'ling to the shore, 
While Nature seems to wake up fresh and clear 
As Hope emerging from the gloom of fear, 
And the bright dew-bead on the verdure lies, 
Like liquid rapture upon beauty's eyes, — 
How heavenly 'tis to take our pensive range, 
And mark 'tween storm and calm the lovely 
change ! 

First comes the sun, unveiling half its face, 
Like a coy virgin, with reluctant grace, 
While dark clouds skirted with a slanting ray 
Roll, one by one, in azure depths away, 
Till pearly shapes, like molten billows, lie 
Along the tinted bosom of the sky : 
Next, breezes murmur with harmonious charm, 
Panting and wild, like orphans of the storm ; 
Now sipping flowers, now making blossoms 



Or weaving ripples on the grass-green lake ; 
And thus, the Tempest dies : and soft, and still, 
The rainbow drops upon the distant hill : 
But now, while bloom and breeze their charms 

unite, 
And all is glowing with a rich delight, 
God ! who can tread upon the breathing ground, 
Nor feel Thee present, where Thy smiles 

abound ? 

When Day hath glided to his rosy bower, 
And twilight comes — the Poet's witching hour, 
And dream-like language from the soft-toned 

wind 
With pensive cadence charms the list'ning 

mind, 
Then nature's beauty, clothed with dewy light, 
Melts on the heart like music through the night. 

And not in vain, voluptuous Eventide, 
Thy dappled clouds along th' horizon glide : 



For oh ! while heaven and earth grow dumb 

with bliss 
In homage to an hour divine as this, 
How sweet, upon yon mountain's azure brow, 
While ruddy sun-beams gild the crags below, 
To stand, and mark with meditative view, 
Where the far ocean faints in hazy blue, 
While on the bosom of the midway deep 
The emerald waves in dimpling splendour leap ; 
Here, as we view the gorgeous Priest of time, 
Wrapp'd in a shroud of glory, sink sublime, 
Thoughts of ethereal beauty spring to birth, 
And waft the soul beyond the dreams of earth. 

And who hath gazed upon the bright-wing'd 

Morn, 
Breezy and fresh, from out the ocean born ; 
Her rich-wove cloud-wreaths, and the rainbow 

hues 
From heaven reflected on creation's views ; 
Or mark'd the wonders of a day depart, 
Nor felt a heaven-caught influence at his heart] 
Through all the seasons' varying course of love, 
Who hath not traced the Spirit from above 1 
The howl of Winter in the leafless wood ; 
The ice-bound torrent, and the whelming flood ; 
Or Summer's flush, or Autumn, robed in grey, 
Whirling the red leaves round her bleak-worn 

way,— 
All tell one tale of Heaven. But thou, young 

Spring ! 
Glad as the wild bee on his glossy wing, 
Bedeck'd with bloom, and breathing life around, 
Within thy breast Elysian charms abound. 

The mercy-fountains of Divinity 
Now stream through all, with vigour full and 

free; 
As if unloosen'd from their living source, 
To carry with them spring's creative force. 
The sky is garlanded with waves of blue, 
Like ocean dawning on the distant view ; 
The sun lies mirror'd on the radiant streams, 
The sea-waves gambol in his noontide beams, 
The boughs hang glitt'ring in their locks of 

green, 
And airy poets carol to the scene ; 
While sea, and sky, and land, and fragrant 

Earth 
With her rich promise budding into birth, — 
Seem, like a heart o'erfill'd with sacred love, 
Glowing with gratitude to Him above. 

Terrific giants that o'erlook the sea, 
Enormous masses of sublimity, 
Ye mountain-piles ! Earth's monuments to 

Heaven, 
Around whose brows the reeling storms are 

driven, 



10 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



Whether in climes where 'bove the ice-chain'd 

deep 
Ye rise in piles magnificently steep, 
Or where in living bloom your bosoms swell, 
And fierce and far the headlong torrents yell, — 
Where snow-drifts whiten, or where sunbeams 

warm, 
Your brows are girdled with almighty charm ! 

When drops the sun in yonder western deep, 
The waves unruffled, and the winds asleep ; 
And isles of beauty float the brilliant sky, 
While Fancy muses with enamour'd eye ; 
Then comes the hour to fascinate the sight, 
Where the wild mountain rears its massy height. 
There, as we gaze, mysterious thoughts begin 
To stir th' immortal spark that burns within ; 
Till Wonder starts with a bewild'ring fear, 
As if the advent of our God were near ! 

And where, beneath the stern decree of time, 
Columns and temples sink in age sublime ; 
Where by the ruin'd battlements are heard 
The wailing sorrows of some midnight bird, 
While low winds mutter through the roofless 

halls, 
And ivy-boughs bend weeping o'er the walls, 
Imagination loves to stand and dream, 
And mark yon ruin in the moonlight gleam, 
Till summon'd Ages startle from their sleep, 
And plaintive Mem'ry turns aside to weep ! — 
Or view, when sunset drinks the forest-breeze, 
Where some grey abbey glimmers through the 

trees, 
And on the turrets evening's pallid rays 
Gleam like the glory of departed days, 
How soon the cloister'd stillness of the spot * 
Brings heaven around us, till the world's forgot ; 
While Retrospection draws the moral sigh, 
And dreams embodied move before her eye. 

Great Architect of worlds ! whose forming 
power 
Presided o'er creation's natal hour, 
Stamp'd man Thy miniature, and bade him run 
A race of glory, till his goal be won ; 



* In Mr. Charles Butler's Life of De Eance, there 
is a passage which may be quoted as illustrative of 
that feeling of awe inspired by a venerable ruin. 
Speaking of the Abbey de la Trappe, he writes — 
"All travellers who have given a description of it 
agree that the monastery and its environs present a 
scene which even the strongest mind cannot view 
without a sentiment of awe. At a small distance 
from the monastery, a dark forest encircles it on 
every side ; and eleven lakes, the water of which is 
always of a dismal hue, and always stagnant, form 
around it, in two circles, a double moat. The solemn 
stillness of the scenery completes its horror." 



When wan Disease exhales her withering breath, 
And dims his beauty with the damp of death ; 
At some still hour the holy sigh will swell, 
The gushing tear of gratitude will tell 
That Thou art by, to temper and to tame 
The trembling anguish of the fever'd frame. 

But oh ! when heal'd by love and heaven, 
we rise, 
With radiant cheek, and re-illumin'd eyes, 
Bright as a new-born sun, all nature beams, 
And through the spirit darts immortal dreams. 
Now for the bracing hills, and healthful plains, 
And pensive ramble when the noontide wanes ; 
Now for the walk beside some haunted wood, 
And fancy -music of a distant flood; 
While far and wide, the wand'ring eye surveys, 
And the heart pants to pour away its praise ! 

But, turn from earth to yonder glorious sky, 
Th' imagin'd dwelling-place of Deity. 
Ye quenchless Stars ! so eloquently bright, 
Ye radiant Watchers of reposing night, 
While half the world is lapp'd in blissful dreams 
And round the lattice creep your fairy beams, 
How sweet to gaze upon your placid eyes, 
In lambent beaut}- looking from the skies ! 

And when, oblivious of the world, we stray 
At dead of night along some noiseless way, 
How the Heart mingles with a moon-lit hour, 
And feels from heaven a sympathetic power ! — 
See, not a cloud careers yon pathless deep 
Of molten azure, — mute as lovely sleep ; 
Full in her pallid light the Moon presides, 
Shrined in a halo, mellowing as she rides ; 
And far around, the forest and the stream 
Wear the rich garment of her silver beam. 
The lull'd Winds, too, are sleeping in their 

caves, 
No stormy prelude rolls upon the waves ; 
Nature is hush'd, as if her works adored 
The night-felt presence of creation's Lord. 

And now, while through the ocean-mantling 

haze 
A mournful lustre tremulously plays, 
And giimm'ring loveliness hath veil'd the land, 
Go, stranger, muse thou by the wave-worn 

strand : 
Cent'ries have glided o'er the balanced earth, 
Myriads have bless' d, and myriads curs'd their 

birth ; 
Still, beauteously yon starry watchers glare, 
Unsullied as the God who throned them there ! 
Though moral earthquakes heave th' astounded 

world, 
xlnd king and kingdom from their pride are 

hurl'd, 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



11 



Intensely calm, they hold their bright career, 

Unheedful of the storms and changes here : — 

We want no hymn to hear, nor pomp to see, 

For all around is felt divinity ! 

The wing'd heart flutters to ascend above 

To Him whose nature and whose name are 

Love. 
And if revered ones, from their hallow'd sphere, 
May witness warm Affection's faithful tear, 
At this deep hour they hear the mourner's sigh, 
And waft a blessing from their homes on high. 

Stupendous God ! how shrinks our bounded 

sense 
To track the triumphs of Omnipotence ; 
From sky-clad mountain, to the deepest den, 
From the mean insects, to immortal men ; 
Bless'd with Thy brightest smile, dare we 

confine 
Paternal Providence, supreme as thine ] 
Far as the fancy flies, or life-stream flows, 
From Georgia's desert to the Greenland snows, 
Where space exists, Thine eyes of mercy see, — 
Creation lives, and moves, and breathes in Thee! 
Unseen, but felt, Thine interfused Control 
Works in each atom, and pervades the whole ; 
Expands the blossom, and erects the tree,* 
Conducts each vapour, and commands each sea ; 
The Laws of Nature Thy decree fulfil, 
And all Her powers but realise Thy will. 

E'en now, while tragic Midnight walks the 

land, 
And spreads the wings of darkness with her 

wand, 
What scenes are witness'd by Thy watchful eye, 
What millions waft to Thee the prayer and 

sigh ! 
Some gaily vanish to an unfear'd grave, 
Fleet as the sun-flash o'er a summer- wave ; 
Some wear out life in smiles, and some in tears, 
Some dare with hope, while others droop with 

fears ; 
The vagrant's roaming in his tatter'd vest, 
The babe is sleeping on its mother's breast ;' 
The captive mutt'ring o'er his rust- worn chain, 
The widow weeping for her lord again, 
While many a Mourner shuts his languid eye, 
To dream of heaven, and view it ere he die, — 
And yet, no sigh can swell, no tear-drop fall, 
But Tjgou wilt see, and guide, and solace all ! 

And thus, a Preacher of eternal might, 
Sublime in darkness, or array'd in light, 



: Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees — 
Lives through all life — extends through all 

extent — 
Spreads undivided— operates unspent. "—Pope. 



In each wild change of glory, gloom, and storm, 
The starry magic, and the mountain-form, 
Art thou, — dread Universe of love and power ! 
But, higher still the Muse's wing may tower, 
And track the myst'ry of almighty ways, 
Through paths that glitter with the solemn rays 
The awful noon of revelation shed 
From Calv'ry,— when the God Incarnate bled. 

For what is Nature,* though religion seems 
To lend a tone to all her winds and streams ; 
To whisper. God ! when night and darkness creep 
Round the dim trances of Creation's sleep ; 
To teach a prayer when twilight hush descends, 
And the mute bough in adoration bends ; 
Or bid the woods a leafy anthem raise 
When the rich verdure shines with emerald rays : 
Or spring, the Angel of the seasons, pours 
A tide of beauty round exulting shores : 



* In reference to the boasted, but unreal, connexion 
between certain facts of physical science, and the 
truths of God's moral government, Dr. Chalmers ably 
and eloquently observes: — "It is all true that this 
is a very enlightened age ; but on what field has it 
acquired so flattering a distinction ? On the field of 
experiment. The human mind owes all its progress 
to the confinement of its efforts within the safe and 
certain limits of observation, and to the severe 
restraints which it has imposed upon its speculative 
tendencies. Go beyond these limits, and the human 
mind has not advanced a single inch by its own 
independent exercises. All the philosophy which has 
been reared by the labour of successive ages, is the 
philosophy of facts, reduced to general laws, or brought 
under a general description from observed points of 
resemblance." * * * * "Tell us a single discovery 
which has thrown a particle of light on the details of 
the Divine administration, — tell us a single truth in 
the whole field of experimental science, which can 
bring us to the moral government of the Almighty 
by any other road than His own Revelation. Astro^ 
nomy has taken millions of suns and systems within 
its ample domain ; but the ways of God to man stand 
at a distance as inaccessible as ever ; nor has it shed 
so much as a glimmering over the counsels of that 
mighty and invisible Being, who sits in high authority 
over all worlds. The boasted discoveries of modern 
science are all confined to that field within which the 
senses of man can expatiate, — they all serve to exalt 
the Deity, but they do not contribute a single iota to 
the explanation of His purposes, — they make Him 
greater, but they do not make Him more comprehen- 
sible. He is more shrouded in mystery than ever. 
It is not Himself whom we see, but His workman- 
ship ; and every new addition to its grandeur or 
variety, which philosophy opens to our contemplation, 
throws our understanding at a greater distance than 
before from the mind and conception of the sublime 
Architect, — every new triumph, which the mind of 
man achieves in the field of discovery, binds us more 
firmly to our Bible ; and, by the veiy proportion in 
which philosophy multiplies the wonders of God, 
do we prize that book, on which the evidence of 
history has stamped the character of His authentic 
communication. " 



12 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



Say, what is meant ? — a soft mysterious glow, 
A breath too pure to live on earth below, 
An evanescent luxury of thought, 
Cull'd from the feast Imagination brought, — 
But, frail and feeble, as the charm that dies, 
When the dead waken upon mem'ry's eyes.* 

When lived the Age, or where the clime so 

rude, 
What island nursed in billowy solitude, 
Where dreams of God were never known to 

shine 
Round a dark soul, with imagery divine 1 
The Heathen through his cloud of error saw, 
A faint reflection of celestial Law ; 
E'en the grim savage, when his eye commands 
A broad extent of green-apparel'd lands, 
Or views the Tempest wave his cloudy wing 
In sultry darkness o'er the world of spring, 
Can hail the image of some dreamt Unknown, — 
A sceptred BEING on his boundless throne. 
Then boast not thou, whose spell-bound eye 

can see 
In nature's glass reflected Deity ; 
From whence does moral elevation flow, 
What pang is mute, what balm prepared for wo, 
Though ocean, mountain, sky, and air impress 
Full on the soul a felt Almightiness'2 
Can Ocean teach magnificence of mind ] 
Is truth made vocal by the deep-voiced Wind 1 
Can flowers their bloom of innocence impart, 
Or tempt one weed of vileness from the heart? 
Can thy benevolence, all bounteous Sun, 
Thou burning Shadow of the brightest One ! 
Array our souls with emulative beam 
Like thine, to glad life's universal stream ] 
From yon pale stars does purity descend, 
And their chaste beauty with our spirit blend] — 
Alas, oh, God ! if Thou alone art found 
When most creation with Thy smile is crown'd ; 
Rather in blindness let this outward eye 
Be dead to nature, than Thy throne deny, 
Raised on the pillars of Redemption's might, 
And dazzling angels with too deep a light ! 

There is a Presence spiritually vast 
Around Thy Church, arisen Saviour ! cast ; 



* The sum is, that Divine truths are not immediate 
objects of the understanding ; for then we should be 
able to have a full idea, knowledge, or apprehension 
of them. But they are mediately so by communi- 
cation, and what therefore we can have no apprehen- 
sion or notion of, but as they are communicated or 
represented to us. It is this gives act to that capacity 
of the mind, which was only potential before ; for as 
objects are visible to the natural eye, but not without 
the interposition of light, so neither are heavenly objects 
to the intellect, but by the intervention of some agent, 
which can be only God. — (Ellis on Knowledge of Divine 
Things, p. 130.) 



A holy Effluence, an unspoken Awe, 

A Sanctity which carnal eye ne'er saw, 

A pure, impalpable, almighty Sense 

Of peace, by reconciled Omnipotence, 

Which hallows, haunts, and makes a Christian 

mind 
Rich in all grace, celestially refined : 
Mere Nature's worshippers can never feel 
The fulness of that high seraphic zeal 
Which veileth all things with religious light, 
And works unwearied in Jehovah's sight : 
Thought, dream, and action, — ev'ry pulse of 

soul 
The awe of Christ will solemnly control ; 
Girt by The Spirit, wheresoe'er we rove, 
True Faith is feeding on His word of love. 
Nature is now a more than nature far ; 
Each miracle of sun, or moon, or star, 
Each sight, and sense, and sound of outward 

things, 
Seems haunted by august imaginings ; 
A dream of Calvary around her floats, 
And oft the dew of those delicious notes 
By angels once in Bethlehem's valley pour'd 
Descends, with all their melody restored, 
Till peace on earth ! to pardon'd man good 

will! 
With tones of heaven the ear of fancy fill.* 



* As a fuller and more thoughtful development of 
the Divine Spirit's work and office in the Church, and 
consciousness of our redeemed Humanity, the author 
ventures to append the following extract from a poem 
written in maturer life : — 

Mysterious Spirit of the ceaseless mind ! 
Heart of the Church, as Christ the only Head ; 
Soul of our souls, in supernat'ral light ; 
Unbounded, deathless, and transforming Grace 
And Love, and Wisdom ! — Thee I now invoke ; 
And to Thyself presume to consecrate 
Pages, — that whatsoe'er of hallow'd power 
They have, from Thee alone their truth receive 
And virtue. Oh ! thou Sempiternal Life, 
Breathe o'er this effort, and with force array 
Whate'er is feeble ; and with heavenly touch 
And tone their meaning so affect and fill, 
That onward to the inner mind of man, 
Or Central being, where high Conscience holds 
Her seat august, and faith's dominion acts, — 
What truths they cany may be safely borne 
Beyond the heartless, and above the vain 
To warp, or weaken. Here beneath the arch 
Of midnight, solemn, deep, intensely calm, 
Thy presence would I realise ; and lift 
Mine awe-struck nature to the heights unseen 
Of Essence uncreate,— where Thou art third 
In Godhead, where the Fountain Sire is first, 
Second, the Filial Word, and All supreme 
In One co-equal, co-eternal Three 
The God tripersonal and true, complete. 

Descend, pure Spirit ! light and life and love 
Without Thee, are not : poetiy is Thine, 
Reason, and science, and majestic arts, 
The heaven-born virtues, intellectual powers 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



13 



PAET II. 

' Of finer mould, and far sublimer view, 
Whate'er his lot ; on Fortune's envied mount 
High-throned, or lost in the secluded vales 
Of lowliness, is he whose hopes are built 

In Heaven : 

Not all the pomp and pageantry of worlds 
Reflects such glory on the Eye Supreme, 
As the meek virtue of one holy man ! — 
For even doth his angel from the face 
Divine, beatitude and wisdom draw." 



ANALYSIS OF PART II. 

The second part of the Poem is devoted to a consi- 
deration of the Presence of the Deity, as influencing 
Human Life — In our journey through the world, 
we cannot but admit an overruling Power — The 
paternal care of the Deity — Consolation thence 
derived in scenes of woe — Pictures of a street- 
wanderer and an exiled captive — The hopes im- 
parted to the soldier, by his confidence in the 
presence of God — The Sailor — Storm and wreck 
described— His consciousness of Preserving Provi- 
dence. 

As misfortune is observed by God, so, in like manner, 
the crimes of the wicked cannot escape Him — 
Picture of a murderer — Darkness ; its varied influ- 
ence depicted — Penitence — The young convict — The 
maniac boy — The arctic traveller— The missionary. 

The Sabbath — Feelings excited by the tones of an 
organ swelling through a cathedral — The village 
christening — Rapid survey of the common lot. 

As God has been defined "Love," we may be assured 
that He eminently favours virtuous affection — The 
marriage scene — Raptures arising from the retro- 
spections of the virtuous — Picture of a grandsire, 
sitting by his winter fire, and retracing the scenes 
of his life — Friendship. 

Death— Apostrophe — Picture of a dying old man, 
attended by his daughter — The Funeral — The 
Almighty Presence. 

Along the barren world as doom'd we roam 
By devious paths to one perennial Home, 
In tears or smiles we own the o'erruling Hand 
That beckons on to that celestial Land, 
Where, harbour'd all, life's billows sink away, 
And the bright spirits bask in heaven's im- 
mortal ray. 



With all pre-eminence of grace or gifts, — 

Are but as glances from Thy glory cast, 

And caught by Mind. But, who Thy sway can tell? 

For at tne first, the heavens and all their host, 

Moon, stars, and planets, — from Thy hand derived 

Their radiance, from Thy wisdom learn'd thy paths. — 

And Earth is thine ; her elementary laws, 

Her motions, harmonies, and living hues 

And beauty, are but emanated powers 

From Thee, great Beauty's archetypal Seal ! 

While Man himself, (that miracle of forms) 

Into his mould was copied from Thy cast 

Ethereal ; and the whole of truths inspired, 

Prophetic Utt'rance, or mirac'lous Deed, 



And happy thou ! through all the change of 
time, 
Whom sorrow cannot burden with a crime ; 
Whose joyless heart and never-lighten'd care 
Can nobly scorn the refuge of despair. 



Which was, or is, or shall be, — are but rays 
Sent from Thine Essence to created mind. 

Without Thee, more than night Egyptian reigns ; 
Duty sublime would stern distraction be, 
Commanding what our impotence alarms, — 
To love that Holy which our hearts abhor 
By nature : but Thy promised aid attends, 
Arches our being, like the roof of heaven, 
Where'er we wander ; and to Will perverse 
Such power imparteth, that the precept takes 
Thy Presence with it in each task assign'd. 

Thou teachest God ; and Man himself abides 
In fact unfathom'd, till thy light reveal 
The two eternities of coming truth 
Within Him folded, — like a double germ 
Soon to expand in heaven or hell complete. 
And hence our Nature grows an awful thing ; 
We thrill eternity in touching Man ; 
For, from the eye-balls of his living head 
Outlooks the Everlasting ! — though eclipsed ; 
While every heart-pulse in the life of faith 
Throbs with Thy Spirit, Inspiration's Lord. 

And now, O Spirit ! at the noon of night, 
Under the arch of this poetic sky 
While all around me breathes the hush of heaven, 
Thee I invoke, this erring strain to crown : 
Without Thee, — 'tis but vanity and voice 
And mere vexation, into language thrown ; 
But with Thee, weakness is itself made strong, 
While nature's darkness turns to light divine. 
And if with me one aspiration dwell 
For truths, beyond philosophy to preach 
Or master ; if one thought this perill'd mind 
Inspire, where Thou, God of grace, art seen, 
Prevenient Spirit ! 'tis from Thee derived. 
And oh, if life with all its loneliness, 
The glow of youth hath still in heart retain'd ; 
If all the waste, the fever, and the fret 
Of buried pangs beyond the world to know 
From boyhood in its bleakness ; e'en till now, 
Have not untuned me ; but a tone have left 
In concord with the beautiful and bright ; 
If nature thrill me, with as keen a joy 
As in the poetry of pensive youth 
It ever did ; if such for bliss remain, 
Blent with far deeper things, by suff'ring taught, 
And faith transmuted for the life within, 
As onward through a bleak and heartless world 
My pathway windeth to the waiting tomb, — 
Spirit of Glory ! take my gratitude, 
And sanctify the closing strain I sing : 
Bear with my soul ; Thy blessing o'er it breathe, 
And all who love the Master whom I serve. 
Divine Emmanuel ! peace may all thy Church possess, 
Till faith shall in sublime fruition end, 
All symbols cease, all sacraments retire, 
And earthly Sabbaths into heavenly melt 
For men, and angels ; where the host redeem'd 
Shall in the Temple of pure Godhead keep 
The sabbath endless of almighty love. 

Luther, 6th Ed., 1852. 



Like ocean's wand'rer guided by his star, 
Thy heaven-taught spirit looks to him afar. 

Say, ye whose hearts unburden'd can enjoy 
The bliss of life, without the world's alloy ; 
What can illume their melancholy way, 
Where Want begins, and Mis'ry crowns the day? 
When bow'd by woe, and bleach'd by with'ring 

age, 
Alone Life's orphan treads the world's cold 

stage ; 
His fortune wreck'd, his friends beneath the sod, 
Where shall he fly, but to the arms of God 1 
Blest be yon viewless Spirit thron'd on high, 
No heart's too wretched to attract His eye ; 
No lot too lowly to engage His love, 
And win the smile of Mercy from above ! 
He gazes on the sleepless couch of wo, 
And bids the dying light of hope to glow, 
Unarms the peril, heals the wounded mind, 
And charms each feeling home, to fate resign'd. 

At wintry eve, when savage night-winds blow, 
Pierce his cold cheek, and drift his locks of snow, 
As oft the vagrant shivers through the street, 
No voice to pity, and no hand to greet, 
With many a pause he marks that window-pane, 
Whose flick'ring blaze recalls his home again ! 
The friend and face, the music and the mirth, 
And social magic of his evening-hearth, 
Awaked by mem'ry, warm his widow'd heart, 
Till real woes in fancied bliss depart ; 
And one by one, as happier days appear, 
To each he pays the homage of a tear ; 
Though homeless, still he loves home's joyous 

glare, 
Looks up to heaven, and feels his home is there ! 

Within a dungeon, mildew'd by the night, 
Barr'd from salubrious air and cheering light, 
Lo ! the pale captive pines in hostile lands, 
Chain'd to his doom by adamantine bands. 
Oh, how he pants to face the fresh-wing'd 

breeze, 
And hear the voices of the summer trees : 
To breathe, and live, and move, and be as free 
As Nature is, and Man was made to be ! 
And when at night, upon his flinty bed, 
Silent and sad, he lays his grief-worn head, 
There as the dungeon-bell, with dismal sound, 
Tolls midnight through the sleeping air around, 
Remembrance wafts him to paternal climes, 
And frames a fairy world of happier times. 
The woodland haunts around his native scene, 
The village dance upon the festive green, 
His sloping garden where he lov'd to ply, 
And smiled as peeping flower-buds hail'd his 

eye, 



His beauteous partner and her blue-eyed boy, 
Who prattled, played, and fed his soul with 

joy — 

By thought created, crowd around his heart, 
And force the pangs of fond regret to start ; 
Each soft delusion claims a genial sigh, 
Each dream of happiness bedims his eye ; 
Till, warm'd by Heaven, his home-wed bosom 

glows 
With hopes that triumph o'er remember'd woes ; 
And far away the chainless spirit flies, 
To vision'd realms of rest beyond the skies. 

Spirit of Light and Life ! when Battle rears 
His fiery brow amid terrific spears ; 
When deathful cannons to the clouds uproar, 
And gasping hosts sleep shrouded in their gore, 
E'en then, th' intrepid Heart that nobly glows 
To face the fury of invading foes, 
May look to Thee for mercy and for power, 
To brave the peril of the carnage-hour ; 
Or, doom'd to fall amid the furious din, 
While battle storms without, may find a peace 
within. 

List ! war-peals thunder on the battle-field ; 
And many a hand grasps firm the glitt'ring 

shield, 
As on, with helm and plume, the warriors come, 
And the glad hills repeat the stormy drum ! 

And now are seen the youthful and the grey, 
With bosoms burning to partake the fray : 
The first, with hearts that consecrate the deed, 
All eager rush to vanquish or to bleed ; 
Like young waves racing in the morning sun, 
That rear and leap with reckless fury on ! 
But, see that scar-worn man, who looks on high 
With musing valour mirror'd in his eye ; 
Not all the bleeding revels of the day 
Can fright the vision of his home away ; 
The home of love, and its attractive smiles, 
His wife's endearment, and his baby's wiles : — 
Fights he less brave through recollected bliss, 
With step retreating, or with sword remiss 1 
Ah no ! remember'd home's the warrior's charm, 
Speed to his sword, and vigour to his arm ; 
For this he supplicates the God afar, 
Fronts the steel'd foe, and mingles in the war. 

The cannon's hush'd ! — nor drum nor clarion 
sound ; 
Helmet and hauberk mingle on the ground ; 
Horseman and horse lie welt'ring in their gore ; 
Patriots are dead, and heroes dare no more ; 
While solemnly the moonlight shrouds the 

plain, 
And lights the lurid features of the slain. 



THE OMXIPRESEXCE OF THE DEITY. 



15 



And see ! -where swift the banner d coursers 
past, 
A battle-steed beneath his rider cast ; 
Oh ! never more he'll rear with fierce delight, 
Eoll his large eyes, and rally for the fight ; 
Pale on that bleeding corse a warrior lies. 
"While from the ruffled lids his white-swell"d eyes 
Ghastly and grimly stare upon the skies ! 

But who, upon the battle-wasted plain. 
Shall count the faint, the gasping, and the slain \ 
Angel of Mercy ! ere the blood-fount chill, 
And the brave heart be spiritless and still, 
Amid the havoc Thou art kov'ring nigh. 
To calm each groan, and close each dying eye, 
And waft the spirit to that halcyon shore, 
Where wars loud thunders lash the winds no 
more. 

And on Thy deep, the girdle of the world, 
When the fierce Hurricanoes have unfurl'd 
Their thousand wings, to battle and to rave, 
Sweep down the rock and scourge the yelling 

wave ; 
When skies in tempest -agonies outgroan, 
And the mad elements seem left alone, 
Lord of the Storm ! oh, Thou art present there, 
In the loud thunder, and the lightning-glare, 
While from the rollings of unfathom'd sea 
A mariner's last sigh ascends to Thee. 

Lo ! to the yellow beach a maiden hies, 
Love at her heart, and sorrow in her eyes. 
Warm down her cheek impassion'd drops of 

woe, 
Through fearful omens, for her lover flow : 
Oh will he, far by faithless ocean borne, 
Dream of his lonely maid who lives to mourn I 
Will he, whene'er by palmy streams he roams, 
Muse on their twilight-walks and woodbine 

homes, 
And that first spring, when in the cowslip dale 
She blush'd an answer to his wooing tale ! 

The beach is won ; before her moans a sea, 
In all its dim and dread immensity ! 
Wide o'er the wave a wistful glance she throws. 
Till the fond lover smiles away her woes : 
Voiceless awhile he clasps his dark-eyed maid, 
Then looks the promise love has often said ; 
But, ere his vessel, in the horizon's blue 
Yeil'd by the mist, hath vanish'd from her view, 
Sweet mourner ! heavenward hope uplifts her 

mind 
To Him who wings the storm, and walks the 

wind. 

Thrice has the sun upon his green-wave bed, 
'Mid rosy clouds, his vesper radiance shed ; 



And thrice the moon from out the ocean rose, 
Like pale-eyed beauty waking from repose ; 
While rock'd beneath, the melancholy wave 
Sang like a mermaid o'er the seaman's grave. 

The morn is up : and in her mellow ray 

Millions of youthful billows pant and play; 
Greeting the stately vessels as they glide 
In sail-wing'd triumph o'er the breezy tide. 

But, lo ! around the marsh'lling clouds unite. 
Like thick battalions halting for the fight ; 
The sun retires, and rending whirlwinds sweep 
Fierce through the air, and flutter on the deep ; 
Forth from their caverns rush the fatal blasts. 
Tear the loose sails, and split the creaking masts, 
And the lash'd billows, rolling in a train, 
Piear their white heads, and race along the main. 

And. see ! hurl'd backward from a hidden 
rock, 
A shatter'd vessel reeling with the shock, 
Like one appall'd by an unearthly sight, 
Who stands, and shivers with convulsive fright : 
There, in a den of waves, she heaves awhile, 
Till on her deck the howling surges pile ; 
Then struggling sinks beneath the water's leap, 
Like a huge monster wrestling with the deep. 

Borne like a sunbeam on the bounding waves, 
Behold ! a mariner the tempest braves ; 
Home, life, and love, and near-imagin'd death, 
Xerve the stout liinb, and lengthen out his 

breath : 
A rock is reach'd, dash'd on a wave-worn peak 
Lies the wreck'd sailor, shiv'ring, wan, and weak : 
With livid face, and looks of ghastly dread, 
And locks, like sea-weeds streaming from his 

head : 
Unmoved the lips, but with his upturn'd eyes, 
He shadows forth a Saviour in the skies : 
Visions a viewless temple in the air, 
Feels God around, and silence is his prayer .' 

Can Guilt, though hidden from the gaze of 
earth, 
Fly from His view, who gave all being birth ? 
From her first shadow on the yielding soul, 
To the dark hour when all her terrors roll, 
His sleepless eye detects each buried plan, 
And bares the bosom-secret of the man. 
Yes ! oft He locks the weapon in his hand, 
And makes the murd'rer for his capture stand ; 
Or, when the flood of years has roll'd away 
The darksome horrors of the blood-curs'd day, — 
His vengeance frowns upon the felon's sleep, 
Forcing his haggard eye to wake, and weep ! 



16 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



Upon the midnight-heath, where fierce winds 

growl, 
Like famish'd wolves careering as they howl, 
While cloudy billows darkly swell and rise 
As if an ocean brooded in the skies, 
Aghast and quaking, see the murd'rer stand, 
Shrink from himself, and clench his crimson 

hand ; 
Unearthly terrors freeze his shudd'ring frame, 
While conscience writhes upon the rack of 

shame : 
Beneath him gasps the victim of his deed, 
In that faint struggle ere the spirit's freed ; 
One piteous gaze — his languid eyelids close, 
And life and torture sink to dead repose. 

Why stands the murd'rer fetter'd to the spot, 
Life, fame, and judgment in his guilt forgot ? 
Chain'd by his crime, he cannot — dare not fly, 
A Spirit seems to grasp him from the sky ! 
And though no human eye the murder sees, 
A curse from heaven comes mutter'd in each 
breeze. 

Though Crime entomb herself within the 

heart, 
And veil her anguish with dissembling art ; 
Though 'mid the glare of day, and dazzling 

strife 
That flashes o'er the shadowy stream of life, 
She move as merry as the morning air, 
Unmarr'd by grief, unsorrow'd by a care, — 
Darkness shall bear the burden of her sin, 
And fan the hell of thought that flames within ! 

At deep dead night, when not an earthly 

sound 
Jars on the brooding air that sleeps around ; 
When the coarse raptures of a Christless day, 
Touch'd by the wand of Truth, dissolve away, 
Unhallow'd Guilt shall in her bosom feel 
A rack too fierce for language to reveal ; 
A sense unutt'rable within the soul 
Of Him pervading — living through the whole : 
On ev'ry limb shall creeping terror come, 
Lock the white lips, and strike cold anguish 

dumb ; 
Vengeance shall utter an imagin'd yell, 
And Fancy flutter round the gulph of Hell. 

Not so comes darkness to the good man's 
breast, 
When Night brings on the lulling hour of rest ; 
Tired of the day, a pillow laps his head, 
While heavenly vigils watch around the bed ; 
His spirit bosom'd on the God of all, — 
Peace to the hour ! whate'er the night befal : 
Then, pleasing Memory unrolls her chart, 
To raise, refine, and regulate the heart ; 



Exulting Boyhood, and its host of smiles, 
Next, busy Manhood battling with its toils, 
Delights and dreams that made the heart run 

o'er, 
The love forgotten, and the friends no more — 
The panorama of past life appears, 
Warms his pure mind, and melts it into tears ! 
Till, like a shutting flower, the senses close, 
And on him lies the beauty of repose. 

Yes ! in the dark, Imagination seems 
Girt with a shadowy brood of awful Dreams, 
Which round her in appalling visions fly, 
Dread as the phantoms on a thunder-sky ; 
And Guilt starts back, by gloomy horror 

driven, 
But Virtue braves them with a smile from 
Heaven. 

'Tis night : and sternly comes the mutt'ring 

wind, 
While cloud-battalions slowly march behind ; 
Alone the way-worn pilgrim winds his track, 
His wallet resting on his weary back ; 
Though dark the path, and dreary grows the 

night, 
And not a heaven-lamp yields its holy light, 
Firm o'er the starless wild he moves his way, 
For HE pervades the night, who form'd the day ! 
Thus on he roams beneath the brooding sky, 
Till, lo, a lattice twinkles on his eye, 
And merrily from out his woodland dome, 
His babes bound forth, and hail the wand'rer 

home. 

When Conscience darts her stings into the 

mind, 
And heart-broke Folly turns to look behind, 
Then, righteous Heaven, without Thy hopeful 

ray, 
What fell despair would lower on our way ! 
Where shall we light the burden of our woes 1 
How should we lull our anguish to repose 1 — 
But, when the rebel Heart has ceas'd to roam, 
And yearns o'er visions of forsaken home, 
Thy love will hail the chasten'd wand'rer there, 
And hush to peace the tempest of despair. 

And not more beautiful beneath the ray 
Of risen morn, night-shades dissolve away, 
And the unmantled world, embathed in light, 
Awakes in orient glory, clear and bright, — 
Than do the sinful mists that shroud the soul 
Melt off beneath religion's mild control, 
Till the full impress of our God appears, 
Made pure and perfect by repentant tears. 
Now, day by day, celestial feelings rise 
Fresh from the heart, and reach th' immortal 
skies : 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



17 



Now comes the hour, when rambling all unseen, 
Except by stars, upon the dusky green ; 
When winds are voiceless, and the breezes still, 
Save truant ones, which rove some wooded 

hill, 
Eternal glories dawn upon the heart, 
Till tears ecstatic from the soul-fount start ; 
And sorrow, bursting from ideal gloom, 
Soars after Christ, and triumphs o'er the tomb. 

But when the erring heart at Passion's shrine 
Hath basely sacrificed each trait divine : 
"When Guilt hath stain'd it with her deepest 

dye, 
And blood for blood is Nature's dreadful cry, 
Angel of Mercy ! thy becalming power 
Alone can tame the terrors of the hour ; 
Thine is the charm that bids the heart unbind, 
Mount on the wings of Faith, and leave Despair 

behind ; 
Thine is the voice that soothes the dying breath, 
And breathes a halo round the brow of Death. 

And hark ! the midnight bars have ceas'd to 

sound, 
The dungeon guard has paced his clanking 

round, 
And all is lone, and dismal as the deep 
When weary Storms sink mutt'ring into sleep ; 
But one there is, in yonder glimm'ring cell, 
Whose young heart wept, and wonder'd while 

it fell ; 
A wreck of crime upon his stony bed, 
With eye wild-rolling and bewilder'd head. 
'Tis not the chain that clinks upon his straw, 
'Tis not the blow of violated law, — 
But racking thoughts which rive his shudd'ring 

heart, 
And make each fibre of the bosom start. 
Yes ! they have borne him to his native streams, 
Where young-eyed Fancy wove her fairy 

dreams ; 
To each wild glade where Boyhood loved to 

roam, 
Till twilight came, and call'd the truant home : 
And where is she who rock'd him to repose, 
And sang, and smiled, to lull his infant woes ? 
And he who greeted with paternal joy 
The dawning virtues of his darling boy ? 
Afar, beneath the trampled sod they sleep, 
He neither heard them sigh, nor saw them 

weep ! — 
That wasted eye and palpitating cheek, 
Those wringing hands, and that delirious 

shriek, 
Oh, these betray the burning load of pain 
Remembrance piles upon his phrensied brain : 
Till Faith descend upon her wings of Love, 
And show the Mercy -seat unveil'd above ; 



Then, firm his glance, hush'd every groan and 

cry, 
And hypocrites might shake to view a felon die ! 

'Tis sad to see the eye forget its ray, 
And sorrow sit where smiles were wont to play ; 
'Tis sad, when youth is fresh, and fair, and warm, 
And life is fraught with every sweeter charm, 
To see it close the Up, and droop the head, 
Wane from this earth, and mingle with the 

dead; 
But, oh ! nor death, nor wo, can ever seem 
So heart-appalling as that wild' ring dream. 
That life in death — a desolated Mind, 
Around whose wreck the weeds of madness 
wind. 

Down yon romantic dale, where hamlets few 
Arrest the summer pilgrim's frequent view, 
The village wonder, and the widow's joy, 
Dwells the poor, mindless, pale-faced maniac 

boy: 
He lives, and breathes, and rolls his vacant eye 
To greet the glowing fancies of the Sky ; 
But on his cheek unmeaning shades of wo 
Reveal the wither'd thoughts that sleep 

below. — 
A soulless Thing, a haunter of the woods, 
He holds wild fellowship with fields and floods ; 
Sometimes along the woodland's winding glade, 
He starts, and smiles upon his pallid shade ; 
Or scolds with idiot threat the roaming wind, — 
But rebel music to that ruin'd mind ! 
Or on the shell-strewn beach delighted strays, 
Playing his fingers in the noontide-rays ; 
And when the sea- waves swell their hollow roar, 
He counts the billows plunging to the shore ; 
And oft, beneath the glimmer of the moon, 
He chaunts some wild and melancholy tune, 
Till o'er his soft'ning features seems to play 
A flick'ring gleam of mind's recover'd sway. 

Thus, like a living Dream, apart from men, 
From morn to eve he haunts the wood and glen ; 
But round him, near him, wheresoe'er he rove, 
A shielding Angel tracks him from above ; 
Nor harm from flood or fen shall e'er destroy * 
The lonesome wand'rings of that maniac boy. 

But lo, in pale sublimity of forms 
The arctic billows glare like frozen storms ! 
For thus, in terrible array, are seen 
Mountains of ice where never man hath been, 
Where not a sound, nor motion dares advance 
To violate their everlasting trance ; 
Save when the riven glaciers downward crush 
Themselves to water, with chaotic rush ; 
Or Silence trembles, like a thing aghast, 
When o'er her waste the wolfish echo pass'd ; — 



18 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



E'en here beneath the wings Almighty roam 
The brave sea-warriors from their English home, 
And find amid such wilderness of waves 
An Eye that watches, and a Hand that saves. 

Behold ! yon Vessel with heroic prow 
Through a white realm of ice advancing now, 
Her cables stiffen'd into chains of frost, 
And the proud bearing of her beauty lost, — 
The prey of ocean, will she not descend, 
Tomb'd in dead ice, with none to mark her 

end? 
No ! faith and valour, and inviolate hope, 
With danger in its deepest nlidnight cope ; 
And Home shall listen yet, with pausing breath, 
To tales of ruin — the romance of Death, 
When frowning o'er her, like a Fiend he stood, 
And mutter'd, " Sink in ghastly solitude ! 
And may the corpses of thy crew be seen 
To freeze and whiten where thy sails have 

been ! " 

Victors of Nature in her dreadest might ! 
Dauntless as winds that roam with free delight, 
When once again the rocks of England rise 
In tow'ring welcome on your dazzled eyes, 
As round the hearth young household-voices 

ring, 
Like the glad melodies of jocund spring, 
What records with your laden hearts unroll 1 
Where is the painter, on whose gorgeous soul 
Visions of undepicted beauty rose, 
Like them that glitter'd on irradiant snows 1 
Bright as the Palace John of Patmos view'd, 
What ice-domes fiash'd in frozen solitude ! 
What rocks of ruby glare,* when sunset came 
Full on their whiteness, like a winged flame ! 
A nd while the crimson of declining day 
Lit the cold fretwork of the crystal spray, 
How oft a seaman with ecstatic eyes 
Drank the rich magic of celestial dyes, 
Blent like a rainbow's, when the waters heave 
And tremble, while the braided colours weave. — 
But there was beauty that outdazzled this, 
Making the air one fairy-clime of bliss, 
When moonlight flung a robe of silver haze 
Athwart the mountains that received its rays, 
Till the stain'd welkin by reflection shone, 
Like floating emerald, or a verdant sun, 
So brightly green, so exquisite the glow ! — 
And then, what meteors did pale twilight throw 
O'er the chill air, in wild electric play ! 
Sublimely fierce, or delicately gay, 
The Borealis like a creature spread 
Its length of living glory o'er their head, 



* See Parry's Voyage, and others, to explain some 
local allusions in this polar sketch. 



And seem'd exulting with victorious light, 
To mock the darkness with its radiant might. 
But, oh, the silence ! — dream-like, cold, and vast, 
As though the day of awful doom had pass'd, 
And Earth remain'd to wither, dead and lone, 
A blighted rebel, by her God unknown ! 
So mute and soundless must that hour have 

been, 
When, gazing round on nature's ghastly scene 
Of crag and ice interminably piled, 
A frozen chaos, a sepulchral wild, — 
The seaman ponder'd till a thought of death 
Check'd the cold murmur of his faintest breath : 
Nature and God alone were reigning now : 
And the high meaning of his dauntless brow 
Dethroned by awe, dissolved and waned away, 
For Silence, like a spirit, seem'd to pray, 
Till the blood listen'd in his breathless frame, 
And, small and still, the voice Almighty came ! 

Exhaustless Mercy ! like that pilgrim brook, 
That never once the marching hosts forsook, 
When through the scorching wastes of Egypt's 

land, 
The cloud-led Israel steer'd by God's command, 
Thy stream, along the herbless path of life, 
Makes verdure smile, with bloom celestial rife : 
But if there be, round whom with holier might 
Dwells the deep sense of Heaven's o'erwatching 

light, 
Soldiers of Christ ! whose banner faith unrolls, 
The true schechinah of protected souls 
'Tis theirs to witness, when through clime and 

zone 
Where the grim idol mounts Jehovah's throne, 
And Man, degraded as the trampled clod, 
Bleeds at the shrine of some barbaric god, 
Wild as the torrent in its desperate fall, 
Whom blood, nor death, nor agonies appal, 
With spirit blighted, and with reason blind, — 
Who can rebuild his desolated mind ? 

" Go forth and teach " — and ye have gone, 
and done 
Deeds that will shine, when thou art dark, 

Sun! 
Heroes, whose crowns with gems of glory shine, 
Dug from the depths of heaven's eternal mine, 
Oh, what a conquest hath the Cross obtain'd ! 
E'en where of old a hell of darkness reign' d, 
And Crime and Havoc, fiend-begotten pair, 
In mortal bosoms made their savage lair, 
And issued thence to riot, rage, or kill, 
Like incarnations of a demon's will, 
The peace that passeth understanding grows, 
And Earth seems born again, without her woes ; 
So wondrously the spell divine descends, 
And man with nature in communion blends : 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEIT7. 



10 



The isles have seen HLU ! and the deserts raise 
Anthems that thrill the halls of heaven with 

praise ; 
Crouching and tame the tiger Passions lie, 
Hush'd by the gaze of God's subduing eye : 
Temples and homes of sacred truth abound, 
Where Satan once with all his fiends was found : 
And, hark ! at sunset while the shaded calm 
Of forest coolness floats on wings of balm, 
As roams the pilgrim in that dying glare, 
From a lone hamlet winds the voice of prayer, — 
Breath of the soul by Jesu taught to rise 
And blend with music heard beyond the skies ! 
Ecstatic thought ! the zenith of our dreams, 
Error has died in Truth's victorious beams : 
And where the savage round his altar fed 
On the warm fragments of the limbless dead, 
Cots which an English heart delights to hail 
Deck the green wilds of many a foreign dale, 
And, turn'd by Piety's familiar hand, 
Religion sees her tear-worn Bibles stand. 

" Thy kingdom come ! " prophetic voices 
throng 
In choral harmony, and chant, " How long, 
How long, beatific King of kings, 
Till ransom'd earth with gospel-music rings? 
How long a period ere that Sun arise 
"Which glitter'd on Isaiah's holy eyes, 
And clad the cedar'd hills of Palestine 
With veils of glory, wove from sheen divine ] " 

Oh for that day, beyond what poets dream, 
Deck'd by Imagination's crystal beam, 
When vanquish'd Sin shall leave Messiah's 

throne 
To rise in full transcendancy alone : 
Hate, War, and Tumult, all the brood of crime, 
Shall then be banish'd from the scene of time ; 
Evil be dead, Corruption breathe no more, 
And Peace, the seraph, smile from shore to shore, 
While round her Prince sublime hosannahs 

swell, — 
" Thy truth has wither d all the thrones of Hell ! 
For ever and for ever live and reign, 
Till earth be purified to heaven again ! " 

Thou unimagined God ! though every hour, 
And every day speak Thy mysterious power; 
Upon the seventh, creation's work was crown'd : 
Upon the seventh, ten thousand worlds wheel'd 

round ! 
And ever hallow'd be Thy chosen day, 
Till Nature die, and Time shall roll away. 

Sweet Sabbath morn ! from childhood's 
dimpled prime 
I lov'd to hail thy calm-renewing time ; 



Soft steal thy bells upon the tranced mind,* 
In fairy cadence floating on the wind, 
Telling of friends and times long flown away. 
And pensive hopes harmonious with the day. 

On thy still dawn, while holy music peals, 
And far around the lingering echo steals, 
What Heart communes not with the day's 

repose, 
And, lull'd by angel-dreams, forgets its woe3 ? 
Who, in His temple, gives to God a prayer, 
Nor feels an image of bright heaven is there 1 
The pleading stillness of the vaulted pile, 
Where gather'd hearts their homage breathe 

awhile, 
The mingled burst of penitential sighs, 
The choral anthem pealing to the skies, 
Exalt the soul to energies sublime, 
And thoughts that reach beyond the realm of 

time. 

Emblem of peace ! upon the village plain 
Thou dawn'st a blessing to the toil-worn swain : 
Soon as thy smiles along the upland play, 
His bosom kindles to salute the day ; 
Humble and happy, to his lot resign'd, 
He owns the inward sabbath of the mind. 

And when, with low-drawn sighs of love and 

fear, 
His suppliant vows have sought Jehovah's ear, 
Serene the thoughts which o'er his bosom steal, 
As home he wanders for the sabbath meal : 
There shall kind Plenty wear her sweetest 

smiles ; 
There shall his ruddy children play their wiles ; 
While the fond mother, lapp'd in worldless joy, 
Fondles with frequent kiss her infant boy. 
At noon, a ramble round the burial-ground, 
A moral tear on some lamented mound ; 
Or breezy walk along the green expanse, 
Where endless verdure charms the ling'ring 

glance, — 
These are the wonted blessings of the day, 
Which all his weekly toils and woes repay. 
And when the shroud of night hath veil'd the 

view, 
And star-gleams twinkle on the meadow-dew, 
Some elder boy beside his father's knee 
Shall stand and read the Eternal History : 



* It is instructive to find that the most tempestuous 
minds can be tranquihised into a holy state of feeling 
by the simple peal of church behs. Buonaparte 
is recorded to have said, — "Last Sunday evening, in 
the general silence of Nature, as I was walking in 
these grounds [of Malmaison], the sound of the church 
bell of Euel fell on my ear, and renewed all the 
impressions of my youth ; I was profoundly affected. 
Such is the effect of early habit and associations." 



C2 



20 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



Or household-prayer, or chanted hymn shall close 
The hour that charms him to a sweet repose. 

And Melody, — an echo breathed from heaven ! 
By her ineffable delight is given ; 
Whether she melt a passion from the mind, 
Or with vEolian languish lull the wind ; 
"Whether she madden in the mingled roar 
Of Alpine billows bounding to the shore ; 
Or on the elfin pinions of a breeze 
Float o'er the flowers, and woo the vernal 

trees, — 
Alike divine ! But, deeper in the soul 
Sinks melody's omnipotent control. 
When from the fluted organ, full and deep 
Billows of music through the dim aisles sweep ! 
Ear, eye, and heart, confess the awful spell, 
While soul and being with the magic swell, 
And as the spiral echoes upward wind, 
Die off — and scarcely leave the man behind. 

And now, while faintly-ebbing murmurs roll 
Entrancing music o'er the prostrate soul, 
Eeligion loves to linger in some aisle, 
Where through emblazon'd panes a vesper smile 
With pallid radiance quivers in the gloom, 
Or crowns, like seraph-light, th' inspiring 

tomb ; 
The thrilling echoes of sepulchral ground, 
The monumental awe suffused around, 
The fretted arch with its gigantic sweep, 
The world's great Spirits throned in marble 

sleep, — 
Subdue each earthly passion into fear, 
As though the resurrection-hour drew near ! 

But not alone the vast and vaulted pile, 
An echoing cloister, or the pillar'd aisle, 
Hallow the mind : for humblest fanes impart 
A holy magic to the feeling heart. 

And see, down where yon arches shed their 

gloom, 
And mottoes speak from many a time-worn 

tomb, 
There, where the Font uprears its marble brow, 
The village sponsors breathe their sacred vow, 
While timidly a mother, young and mild, 
To Heaven presents her dedicated child : 
And oft she gazes on the sleeping boy, 
Lock'd to her breast with all a mother's joy ; 
Fearful and fond, and twining for repose, 
Like a young bud around the parent rose. 

But who shall paint her meditative eye, 
Her look of love and heaven-appealing sigh, 
When on the cherub brow, with hope divine, 
The holy preacher prints the liquid sign % 



Joy, doubt, and fear in mingled passion rise, 
Gush through her heart, and glitter in her eyes. 

Whene'er I gaze upon a sinless child, 
Tossing its merry head of ringlets wild, 
Lip, cheek, and eye, all in that lovely glow 
Young spirits feel, as yet unchill'd by wo, 
A voiceless wonder animates each sense, 
To think how Mercy watches innocence ! 

Survey the scene of life : in yonder room, 
Pillow'd in beauty 'mid the cradle gloom, 
While o'er its features plays an angel-smile, 
A breathing cherub slumbers for a while : 
Those budding lips, the faintly-fringed eye, 
That placid cheek, and uncomplaining sigh, 
The rounded limbs in soft embrace entwined, 
Like flower-leaves folded from the sev'ring 

wind, — 
All by their tender charms her babe endear, 
And feed the lux'ry of a mother's fear. 

Next, mark her infant raised to childhood's 
stage, 
Bound in the bloom of that delightful age, 
With heart as light as wavelets on the deep, 
And eye that Wo has scarcely taught to weep : — 
The tip-toe gaze, the pertinacious ken, 
Each rival attribute of mimick'd men, 
The prompt decision, and presuming way, 
Now picture forth his yet auspicious day. 

Whether at noon he waft his tiny boat 
By winding streams, and woody bank remote, 
Or climb the meadow-tree, or trail the kite, 
And thinks that heaven ne'er match'd that 

moving sight ! 
Or roam the haunted wood at dying day, 
To list with spell-bound ear the cuckoo's lay, — 
A Hand above o'er-rules the vent'rous boy, 
And draws the daily circle of his joy. 

And thus, when manhood brings its weight 
of care, 
To chain the soul, and curb the giddy air, 
The father, friend, the patriot, and the man, 
Share in the love of Heaven's parental plan ; 
Till age o'ersteal his mellow'd form at last, 
And wintry locks tell summer youth is past • 
Then, like the sun slow- wheeling to the wave, 
He sinks in glory to a welcome grave. 

Lord of the Universe ! enthron'd sublime 
In secret glory over Space and Time, 
Though oft the red-wing'd lightnings sear the 

sky, 
And mutt'ring thunders markThy track onhigh, 
One omnipresent, ever sleepless Love 
Pervades what issues from Thy power above : 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



21 



When from Thy hands primeval earth out- 
sprang, 
And starry music o'er the launch'd world rang, 
Thine emblem, God, was Love ! nor eye can see 
Where love is not the master-trait of Thee. 

And since that time, when first in Eden's 
bower 
The stainless Adam bent to beauty's power, 
Have Souls commingled in affection's flame, 
In weal unsever'd, and in wo the same. 

Young, chaste, and lovely — pleased, yet half 
afraid, 
Before yon altar droops a plighted maid, 
Clad in her bridal robes of taintless white, 
Dumb with the scene, and dazzled with delight. 
Around her hymeneal guardians stand, 
Each with devoted look, and feeling bland ; 
And oft she turns her soul-expressing eye, 
Dimm'd with a tear for happiness gone by ! 
Then coyly views, in youth's commanding pride, 
Her own betroth'd one kneeling by her side : 
Like lilies bending from the noon-tide blaze, 
Her bashful eyelids droop beneath his gaze ; 
While love and homage blend their blissful 

power, 
And shed a halo round his marriage-hour. 

What though this chance-abounding life 

ordain 
A path of anguish and corrective pain ; 
By want or wo, where'er compell'd he rove, 
A cot's a palace by the light of love ! 
There beats one heart, which until death 

will be 
A fountain-source of fondest sympathy ; 
One frownless eye to kindle with his own, 
One changeless friend, when other friends are 

flown : 
Oh, sanction Thou the love-united pair, 
Author of love ! for Thou art present there. 

There be some heart-entwining hours of life, 
With uncontrollable sensation rife ; 
When mellow'd thoughts, like music on the ear, 
Thrill through the soul, and revel in a tear. 
And, such are they, when, tranquil and alone 
We sit and ponder on long periods flown ; 
And, charm'd by Fancy's retrospective gaze, 
Live in an atmosphere of other days ; 
Till friends and faces, flashing on the mind, 
Conceal the havoc time has left behind. 

Yon aged man, — with what a musing eye 
He dreams and lingers o'er the days fled by, 
When pensive, sitting by his evening-fire, 
To Mem'ry's peaceful glade his thoughts retire, 



While cherub grandsons pat his willing knee, 
Shake their bright curls, and prattle off their 

glee. 
Now gently fleet back joy-wing'd days of old, 
When Hope led forward, and the eye look'd bold : 
With holy calm he thinks of place and time, 
Beloved when left, unblotted with a crime ; 
Cold friendship's smiles are re-illumined now, - 
And gleams of fancy lighten on his brow ! 
What Hand puissant gave to life each form, 
Scatter'd the cloud and piloted the storm ] 
Guided him onward through his thorny road, 
Bestow'd each joy, and brighten'd each abode 1 ? 
Ah ! see the pious tear of mem'ry roll 
In welling rapture from his grateful soul, 
That trembles like the waking pulse of joy, 
To feel, Heaven raised the man, and rear'd the 

boy! 

Chain'd to the car of Time, as on we roll 
Through cloud and sunshine to th' Eternal goal, 
How favour'd he, whose soul, through Grace 

refined, 
Meets by the way some all-partaking mind, 
Some feeling friend, by Nature mark'd our own, 
And moulded true to every tender tone ! 
Let fortune frown, congenial scenes depart, 
And " farewell " rive the fetters of the heart, — 
'Tis sweet, when roaming by a wave-girt strand, 
To weave fond visions of our own far Land ; 
Or dream, while faintly chimes the convent-bell, 
Of distant friends, and each domestic spell, 
And feel one Spirit tracks our lone career 
And dwells in every heart to Friendship dear. 

And if brief absence in our chequer'd life 
Wake in fond bosoms sympathetic strife, 
How deep the wo when death's terrific hand 
Tears a loved victim to a shadowy land ! — . 
Oh Death ! thou dreadless Vanquisher of earth, 
The elements shrunk blasted at thy birth ; 
Thine is the conquest of untold mankind, 
Yictims before, and carnage strewn behind ! 

And say, when thoughtful on our couch we lie, 
And scan the future with uncheated eye, 
How fancy dreads to realise the tomb, 
Shrinks into awe, and shudders at its doom ; 
What shapes of horror glide around our bed, 
Damp from the ghastly regions of the dead, 
While nature hovers o'er that fearful brink, 
Where Faith turns wild, and Thought too weak 

to think ; 
Trembling and startling, like a shade in sleep, 
Or a lone vessel on the surging deep, — 
Till Eevelation's heaven-directed beam 
Melts every doubt in some celestial dream ; 
Oh, then no more convulsing terrors roll ; 
Then, then, the hallelujah of the soul ! 



Wing'd on the hope of heaven, it speeds away 
To the bright source of beatific Day. 

Lo ! on a shaded couch, with pillow'd head, 
And pallid limbs in dewy languor spread, 
The dying parent, like a wailing breeze, 
Moans in the feverish grasp of wan Disease ; 
While sad and watching, with a sleepless eye, 
A lovely daughter sits and muses by : 
So Gabriel sat within the Saviour's tomb, 
When his pure spirit walk'd th' Eternal gloom. 

There, as some ancient abbey's muffled bell 
Tolls o'er the drowsing world the day's farewell, 
Frequent she glances at his wrinkled brow, 
And those dear eyes, so dim and deathful now, 
Till all his love and all his care returns, 
And memory through her brain and bosom 

burns ! — 
That drooping hand, so delicately weak, 
How often had it smooth'd her infant cheek ; 
Or danced her, lightly tripping by his side, 
And prattling sweetly with delighted pride ; 
Or pluck'd the baby flower that charm'd her age, 
Or gently oped Instruction's pictured page, 
Or pointed to some mild and mournful star, 
That throned its beauty in the sky afar. 

And see, no more the arrowy throes of pain 
Pierce his bound head, or force the plaintive 

strain ; 
Slumber hath heal'd them with its holy balm, 
And chain'd the senses in oblivion's calm ; 
Pleased at his quiet mien, with timid breath, 
She stirs to see — alas ! the sleep of Death ; 
Pulseless and pale, beneath the taper's glow, 
Lies her loved parent, but a lifeless show ! 

She shook not, shriek'd not, raised no maniac 
cry, 
Nor wrung her hand, nor heaved one heart- 
deep sigh ; 
But stood aghast, too awful for relief, 
Mute, stiff, and white, — a monument of grief ! 

To hear a dying lip's last accent speak, 
And watch the death-chill on a sunken cheek ; 
Or see the flaming eye-ball fiercely roll, 
As if it wrestled with a parting soul ; 
Or, hear the last clod crumble on the bed, 
And thrill some hollow mansion of the dead, 
This, this is wo ! — but deeper far the gloom 
That haunts us, when we pace the desert room, 
And shadow forth an image of our love, 
Eapt to Elysian realms of light above ; 
'Tis now, while low and long the heavy knell 
Pours on the breeze a parted soul's farewell, 



Despair and anguish curtain round our view, 
And nil but sorrow seems to be untrue. 
How sadly vacant turns the frequent gaze, 
To where a mourn'd one smiled in other days! 
The eye that glitter'd with each gen'rous 

thought ; [fraught ; 

The glowing mind with worth and wisdom 
The twilight walk by some romantic stream, 
Where Friendship warm'd, while Fancy wove 

her dream ; 
The smile, and wit, — all, all the feeling heart 
Delights to trace on mem'ry's faithful chart 
Return upon us ; Omnipresent Power ! 
'Tis Thine to lull this agonising hour ; 
To charm the burden from the soul, and be 
A Saviour-God in more than sympathy. 



PAET III. 

In the wild mystery of earth and air, 

Sun, moon, and star, and the unslumb'ring sea, — 

There is a meaning and a power, commix'd 

For thought, and for undying fancy tuned. 

And by thy panting for the unattain'd 

On earth ; by longings which no language speak : 

By the dread torture of o'ermast'ring doubt ; 

By thirst for Beauty, such as eye ne'er saw, 

And yet is ever mirror'd on the mind ; 

By Love in her rich heavenliness array'd ; 

By Guilt and Conscience, — that terrific pair, 

Who make the dead to mutter from their tombs, 

And colour nature with the hues of hell ! — 

By Revelation's everlasting truths, — O Man, 

Thou art immortal as thy Maker is ! " 



ANALYSIS OF PART III. 

If there be no God, the former parts of this Poem are 
moulded from dreams of superstitious fiction; — 
But can we observe the wonders of Creation, and 
deem Chance their origin ? — The consequences that 
accrue from this distempered doctrine : — By a 
natural, but melancholy digression, we are here 
led to glance at Atheism — as partially influencing 
the horrors of the French Revolution — Marie 
Antoinette — Her appearance on the balcony during 
the tumults at Versailles. 

Return to a consideration of Atheism — It is a sorry 
boast to triumph over a belief of man's immortality 
— If the soul be not immortal, how are we to account 
for those aspirations which are never satisfied with 
the highest attainment of earthly enjoyment ? The 
dismal doctrine of believing all ties of love eternally 
severed by death : — when we reflect on the master- 
spirits of gone time, can we imagine them eternally 
quenched? — Consolations derived from a belief in 
a future state — Pictures of a deathbed of a Sceptic 
and a Christian — The Poem concludes with a 
description of the final Doom. 

Now, while the stars in meekest beauty rise, 
And gaze on earth, like Heaven's maternal eyes, 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



23 



Oh, let sublime Imagination soar, 

And tread the region Milton trod before, 

Eide on the deep, or travel with the sun 

Far as creation smiles, or time has run, 

So shall her eagle eye divinely see 

A universe that glows with Deity, — 

In every wave and wind, and fruit and flower, 

The glory, truth, and terror of His power. 

Who hung yon pknet in its airy shrine, 
And dash'd the sunbeam from its burning mine 1 
"Who bade the ocean-mountains swell and leap, 
And thunder rattle from the skyey deep 1 
Through hill and dale who twined the healthful 

stream, 
Made rain for nurture, and the fruit to teem 1 
Who charm'd the clod into a breathing shrine, 
And call'd it Man, a miniature divine 1 — 
Lord of Creation, Love, and Life, and Light, 
Arise, and vindicate Thine awful right ! 

And dare men dream that dismal Chance has 

framed 
All that the eye perceives, or tongue has 

named, 
The spacious world, and all its wonders, born 
Designless, self-created, and forlorn 1 
That no First Builder plied His plastic force, 
Gave to each object form, to motion course 1 ? 
Then may Religion, Morals, Truth, and Worth, 
Perish from out this atheistic earth ! 
Why should the orphans of the world who roam 
O'er earth's bleak waste, without a friend, a 

home, 
With resignation mark their fellow clay 
Bask in the sunshine of a better day ] 
Why should the vagrant shiver at the door, 
Nor crush the miser for his treasured ore, 
Save Faith's sweet music harmonised the mind, 
Whisper'd of Heaven, and bade it be resign'd ? 

And here let Mem'ry turn her tearful glance 
On the grim horrors of tumultuous France ; 
When blood and blasphemy defiled her land, 
And fierce Rebellion raised her savage hand, 
While women flung their female hearts away, 
Rear'd the red pike, and butcher'd for their pay.* 



* This revolting scene is thus described by Sir 
Walter Scott, in his Sketch of the French Revolution, 
prefixed to his Life of Napoleon :— " The outside of the 
palace was still besieged by the infuriated mob, who 
demanded with hideous cries, and acclamations the 
most barbarous and obscene, the Austrian, as they 
called the Queen. The unfortunate Princess appeared 
on the balcony, with one of her children in each hand. 
A voice from below called out ' No children ! ' as if 
on purpose to deprive the mother of that appeal to 
humanity which might move the hardest heart. 
Marie Antoinette, with a force of mind worthy Maria 



No more the Tocsin for the carnage tolls, 
No dead-piled tumbril from the slaughter 

rolls ; 
The blood has dried upon each wither'd plain, 
And brave La Vendee blooms in peace again ; 
Still may we paint an image of the times, 
And draw a moral from a Nation's crimes. 

Ill-fated Land ! did godless wisdom pour 
The light of liberty from shore to shore 1 
Ah no, perverted freedom cursed the day 
With nameless deeds of horror and dismay ; 
Virtue was death-struck, Yice alone had power, 
And Fiends saw hell on earth, in that black hour ! 

Let streets of blood, let dungeons choked 

with dead, 
The tortured brave, the royal Hearts who bled ; 
Let plunder'd cities, and polluted fanes, 
The butcher'd thousands piled upon the 

plains, 
Let the foul orgies of stupendous crime 
Witness the raging havoc of that time, 
When leagued Rebellion march'd to kindle Man, 
Fright in her rear, and Murder at her van. 

And thou, sweet flower of Austria ! slaugh- 

ter'd queen, 
How oft will Hist'ry in thy dreadful scene 
Sigh to relate, what once a woman saw, 
Whose very look had been a nation's law ; 
When all high chivalries of heart were fled, 
And Treason's dagger pierced the monarch's 

bed. 
But thou wast fearless 'mid the savage yell 
When Murder hooted, as the hatchet fell. 
Queen to the last ! methinks I see thee stand, 
With infants clasping thy maternal hand, 
And face unmoved the murd'rous throng who 

came 
A deed to do which Earth might shrink to 

name. 

Unmann'd of men ! whose thankless eyes 
can glance 
On all around, and deem it born of Chance ; 
Self-martyr'd victims to appalling doom, 
Your life a vision, and your heart a tomb, — 
The source and end of Being in the ground, 
Where all is silent, and your goal is found ! 



Theresa, her mother, pushed her children back into 
the room, and turning her face to the tumultuous 
multitude, which tossed and roared beneath, bran- 
dishing their pikes and guns with the wildest attitudes 
of rage, the reviled, persecuted, and denounced queen 
stood before them, her arms folded on her bosom, 
with a noble air of courageous resolution." 



24 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



How charmless time must stream away with you, 

To struggle, wish, and weep, and then — Adieu ! 

Ye cannot stifle Sorrow at her birth, 

By hopes prevailing o'er the woes of earth, 

Nor soothe the passions which besiege the soul 

By immortality's divine control, 

Share with the majesty of earth and sky, 

Mount on a thought, and talk with Deity ! 

Boast not of wisdom, if her precepts say 
Th' Immortal Essence mingles with the clay ; 
In polar isles, where wisdom's mellow beam 
Ne'er chasten'd beauty's glance, or rapture's 

dream, 
E'en there a Deity pervades the mind, 
Speaks in the storm, and travels on the wind.* 

And shall the Soul, the fount of reason, die, 
When dust and darkness round its temple lie ] 
Did God breathe in it no ethereal fire, 
Burning and quenchless, though the breath 

expire 1 
Then, why were godlike aspirations given, 
That, scorning earth, so often frame a heaven ? 
Why does the ever-craving wish arise 
For better, nobler, than the world supplies 1 
Ah, no ! it cannot be that men were sent 
To moulder in ethereal discontent, 
That soul was fashion' d for betray ful trust, 
To think like God, and perish like the dust ! 

If Death for ever doom us to the clod, 
And earth-born pleasure be our only god, 
Remorseless time shall bury all we love, 
Nor leave one hope to reunite above ; 
No more the voice of friendship shall beguile, 
No more the mother on her infant smile, 
But vanishing, like rain upon the deep, 
Nature is, — Nothing, in eternal sleep ! 

Monarchs of mind ! and spirits of the just, 
Are ye entomb'd in everlasting dusf? 
Shall ye, whose names undimm'd by ages shine, 
Bright as the flame that mark'd ye for divine, 
For ever slumber, — never meet again, 
Too pure for sorrow, too sublime for pain ] 
Ah, no ! celestial Fancy loves to fly 
With eager pinion, and prophetic eye, 
To radiant dwellings of immortal Bliss, 
Far from a world so wo-begone as this ■; 
There, as the choral melodies career, 
And wind and warble through heaven's mystic 

sphere, * 

In perfect forms you all again unite, 
And worship Godhead on His throne of Light. 



' Lo the poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind 
Sees God in clouds, and hears him in the wind. 



When friends have vanish'd to the spirit- 
home, 
And we are left companionless to roam, 
Oh, what can cheer our melancholy way, 
But hopes of union in the land of Day ! 
Soul-loved ! companions of our greener years, 
Warm'd at our joys, and weeping at our tears, 
How oft descriptive mem'ry paints each hour, 
When friendship triumph'd, and the heart had 

power ! 
Yes, hallow'd are those visions of the brain, 
When Heaven unveils, and lov'd ones smile 
again. 

And Thou, for ever fond, for ever true, 
Beneath whose smile the boy to manhood grew ; 
To sorrow piteous, and to error mild, 
Has Death for ever torn thee from thy child ] 
Thy voice that counseled, charm'd, consol'd, 

and bless'd, 
Thy deep solicitude which found no rest 
But in completion of some pure design, 
To make my happiness the spring of thine; 
Thy boundless love, whose providential gaze 
Pour'd light and tenderness round all my ways ; 
Those myriad fascinations felt and known 
Of truth maternal to be borne alone. 
(Too coldly prized while we can call them ours, 
And feel them gladden the unduteous hours, 
But, oh ! how worshipp'd, magically dear, 
When woke to life by mem'ry's votive tear ! ) 
Though these have perish'd, Love in deathless 

bloom 
Outlives the torpor of the wintry tomb. 
There is a clime where sorrow never came, 
There is a peace perennially the same; 
There rolls a world where sever'd Hearts renew 
Bright sympathies, the exquisite and true ! 
But chasten'd, calm, exalted, and refined 
To each pure tone of beatific mind. 
There may we meet, departed Spirit ! there, 
The home of bliss, the paradise of prayer : 
A few more pangs, a few more tears to shed, 
And I shall mingle with the faded dead ; 
A few fleet years, and this tried heart must brave 
The damp oblivion of the dreamless grave ; 
When, true as thine, may resignation close 
These eyes for glory in their last repose. 

And if the Dead on this dull world may gaze 
To breathe a blessing round our guarded ways ; 
If by some ministry, to man unknown, 
They still can make a human wish their own, 
And wander round, ineffably serene, 
That unforgotten home, where life has been, — 
Spirit maternal ! often gaze on me, 
And soothe the pang that so remembers thee ! 
Hover around me when I mourn, or pray, 
Cheer the lone night, and consecrate the day : 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



25 



When temper kindles, or when passion dares, 
Renew thy warning, and recall thy cares, — 
Bid thy past love like inspiration rise, 
And plead for Virtue with a mother's sighs ! 

But say ! how will the sceptic brave the hour 
Of crushing death's inexorable power, 
When all this gorgeous world shall glide away, 
Like painted dreams before the breath of day 1 
See, how he shudders at a glance of death ; 
What doubt and horror hang upon his breath ; 
The gibb'ring teeth, glazed eye, and marble 

limb, — 
Shades from the tomb stalk out, and stare 

on him ! 

Lo, there, in yonder spectre-haunted room, 
What mutter'd curses trembled through the 

gloom, 
When pale and shiv'ring, and bedew'd with fear, 
The dying sceptic felt his hour draw near ! 
As the last throes of death convuls'd his cheek, 
He gnash'd, and scowl' d, and raised a hideous 

shriek, 
Rounded his eyes into a ghastly glare, 
Lock'd his white lips — and all was mute despair. 

Go, child of Darkness ! see a christian die ; 
No horror pales his lip, or dims his eye ; 
No fiend-shaped phantoms of destruction start 
The hope religion pillows on his heart, 
When with a falt'ring hand he waves adieu, 
From Hearts as tender as their tears are true ; 
Meek as an infant to the mother's breast 
Turns, fondly longing for its wonted rest, 
So to his God the yielding soul retires, 
And in one sigh of sainted peace expires. 

But what is death or danger, storm or sea, 
What are the loudest thunders launch'd by Thee, 
Thou dread Jehovah ! to a blazing world, — 
Creation from its huge foundation hurl'd ] 
Then, then will reign Thine unimagin'd power, 
And Earth in flames expect her funeral hour. 

Ages has awful Time been trav'lling on, 
And all his children to one tomb have gone ; 
The varied wonders of the peopled earth, 
In equal turn, have gloried in their birth ; 
We live and toil, we triumph and decay, — 
Thus age on age rolls unperceived away ; 
And thus 'twill be, till Heaven's last thunders 

roar, 
And Man and Nature shall exist no more. 

Oh ! say, what Fancy, though endow'd 
sublime, 
Can picture truly that sepulchral time, 



When the last sun shall blaze upon the sea, 
And Time be buried in eternity "? 
A cloudy mantle will enwrap that Sun 
Whose face so many worlds have gazed upon ; 
The placid Moon, beneath whose pensive beam 
We all have loved to wander, and to dream, 
Dyed into blood, shall glare from pole to pole, 
And tinge the gloomy tempests as they roll ; 
And those sweet Stars, that like familiar e} r es, 
Are wont to smile a welcome from the skies, 
No more shall fascinate our dreaming sight, 
But quench their beauty in perpetual night. — 
And, hark ! how wildly on the ruin'd shore 
Expiring Ocean pants in hollow roar, 
While earth's abysses echo back the groan, 
And startle Nature on her secret throne ! 

But ere creation's everlasting pall 
Unfold its darkness, and envelop all, 
The tombs shall burst, the cited dead arise, 
And gaze on Godhead with unblasted eyes. 

Hark ! from the deep of heaven a trumpet- 
sound 
Thunders the dizzy universe around ; 
From north to south, from east to west it rolls 
A blast which summons all created souls ; 
And swift as ripples form upon the deep 
The dead awaken from their dismal sleep ! 
The Sea has heard it ; coiling up with dread, — 
Myriads of mortals flash from out her bed, 
The graves fly open, and with awful strife 
The dust of Ages startles into life ! 

All who have breathed, or moved, or seen, 
or felt ; 
All they around whose cradles Kingdoms knelt ; 
Tyrants and warriors, who were throned in 

blood ; 
The great and mean, the glorious and the good, 
Are raised from every isle, and land, and tomb, 
To hear the changeless, and eternal doom ! 

But, while the universe is wrapt in fire, 
Ere yet the splendid ruin shall expire, 
Beneath a canopy of flame behold, 
With shining banners at his feet unroll'd, 
Earth's Judge ! round Whom seraphic minstrek 

throng, 
And chant o'er golden harps celestial song. — 
But, let'the hush of holy silence now 
Brood o'er the heart, and more than words avow, 
While the huge fabric of the world gives way, 
And shrieking myriads to the mountains pray, 
" Descend upon us ! Oh, conceal that sight, 
The Lamb encompass'd with consuming light ! " 

Behold a burning Chaos hath begun, 
The moon is crimson'd, and how black the sun ! 



26 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 



While cloud-flames, welt'ring in confusion dire, 
Flash like a firmament of sea on fire ; 
Yea, all the billows of the main have fled,* 
.A nd nought appears but ocean's waveless bed, 
Whose cavern'd bosom with tremendous gloom 
Yawns on the world like dead Creation's tomb ! 

But lo ! the breathing harvest of the earth 
Reap'd from their graves to share a second birth ; 
Millions of eyes with one deep dreadful stare 
Gaze upward through the flaming scene of air, 
In pierced Immanuel their own Judge to see, 
And hear him sentence man's Eternity ! 
Wing'd like bright angels, warbling hymns of 

love, 
The saints are soaring unto Christ above ; 



There was no more sea. — Rev. xxi. 1. 



Still as they mount increasing splendours play, 
And light the progress of their hallow'd way. 
Yet, hark ! what horrid yells beneath him rise 
From perish'd Souls, who lift their guilty cries, 
And by the brink of sin's awarded Hell 
Shriek unto God and man their wild farewell ! 

But here, let silence our religion be, 
And prayer become the Muse's poetry ; 
Nor must the power of meditative song 
Grasp the high secrets which to God belong. 
Struck with due awe, let Fancy then retire, 
And faith divine the dreaming soul inspire, 
Under the shade of that almighty Throne 
From whose dread face the Universe hath 
flown!* 



See Revelation. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



27 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



TO THE QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT 
MAJESTY. 



Madam, 

In accordance with your Majesty's gra- 
cious permission, I have the honour to submit 
the following pages to your Majesty's notice, in 
the respectful hope and religious belief that 
they contain nothing but what is consistent with 
the pure Word of God, and the catholic teaching 
of England's Church. 

That your Majesty may long be spared to 
reign over a free, because a Christian, people, 
is the heart-breathed prayer of, 
Madam, 
Your Majesty's most dutiful and humble 
Servant and Subject, 

Robert Montgomery. 

London, 51, Torrington Square, 
November, 1848. 



PEEFACE 

TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

(1848.) 

" Sing victorious agonies of saints and martyrs, the 
deeds and triumphs of just and pious nations, doing 
valiantly against the enemies of Christ; lastly, 
whatever in religion is holy and sublime, in virtue 
amiable or grave .... to mbreed and cherish in a 
people the seeds of virtue and public civility, allay 
the perturbations of the mind, set the affections in 
right tune, and to celebrate in glorious and lofty 
hymns the Throne and Equipage of God's almighti- 
ness." — Milton. 

" I can truly affirm of myself, that my studies have 
been profitable and available to me, only so far as I 
have endeavoured to use all my other knowledge as 
a glass, enabling me to receive more light in a wider 
field of vision from the word of God. I digress to 
another book, likewise a revelation of God, — the 
great book of His servant — Nature. It has been 
the music of pious and gentle minds in all ages ; it 
is the poetry of all human nature, to read it like- 
wise in a figurative sense, and to find therein cor- 
respondences and symbols of the spiritual world. " — 
8. T. Coleridge. 

The Christian Life hath its ultimate origin in 
the Mind of the Almighty ; its perfect embodiment 
was realised by the incarnate glories of the Son 



of Cod, and from Him, as the supreme Archetype 
and spiritual Head of the Church, — the whole 
mystical Body of the faithful derive their principle 
of grace now, and their promise of glory for 
hereafter. 

It is in allusion to these fundamental truths, 
that the author has ventured to condense the spirit 
of the following pages into the title, " Christian 
Life," because all they contain is, directly or 
indirectly, related to their dignity, grandeur, and 
importance. As to the theological character 
which these pages develope, the writer firmly 
believes them to be in doctrinal accordance with 
all which a loyal Churchman should believe and 
profess, — being that which is sanctioned by 
divine Scripture, canonized by the teaching of 
our own Apostolical Communion, and maintained 
by the catholic fathers of the christian Church 
in every age. More than grateful will he be, 
if aught of the calm purity, chastened majesty, 
and loving gentleness of that best comment on the 
Bible, our English Prayer-Book, have breathed 
its hallowing control over the present volume. 
It is a sincere, but inadequate effort, to portray 
in a poetical form, somewhat of the creed and 
character, the duties and dangers, the hopes and 
fears, the faults, privileges, and final destinies of 
a believer in the religion of Christ. Moreover, 
the Divinity, Personality, and Operation of the 
Spirit, the sacramental privileges of the Church, 
the due subordination of the lower and sensuous 
understanding to the higher and holier law of 
a spiritualised conscience — are not the least 
of those sacred themes the author would ever 
desire to propound, and revere. Let the pride 
of Rationalism speculate as it may, Christianity 
and the Church, are those two miracles of per- 
manence which constitute the centre of political 
history, and the circumference of moral destiny, 
in this, and in all other nations. A scientific 
arrangement of such a work wouldj obviously, be 
unfit, and throw a cold air of repulsive forma- 
lism over pages, where religion is mainly con- 
templated in connexion with the poetry of the 
affections, the fancy, and the heart. Hence, the 
divine omniscience of Scripture, as applied by 
Grod to unfold and feed man's spiritual life, has 
been allowed to display its own deep wonderful- 
ness, — by the simple plan of selecting those 
leading texts, which associate inspired truth with 
the glories of nature, the wisdom of providence, 
and the mysteries of grace. 



28 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Nearly seven years have elapsed since the 
writer last intruded on the public ; and some 
twenty years have passed since he published his 
first poem, "The Omnipresence of the Deity," 
&c. Solemn as human life must ever appear, 
when estimated by a religious conscience and a 
thankful heart, seldom ought its responsibility 
to be more deeply pondered, than when an author 
renews his connexion with the mind of others, 
through the medium of the press ; however tran- 
sient such connexion may presume to be. 

For his own part, when he reverts to the 
experience of vanished years, he hopes he can 
say, with Christian truthfulness, two feelings 
predominate. The first is one of sincere humility, 
arising from the painful consciousness that his 
writings, whether in prose or verse, are so 
distant from that Ideal he has ever tried to set 
before him. At the age of eighteen or nineteen, 
the mind is but partially developed, and the 
taste imperfect ; hence the large circulation, and 
continued hold on popular favour which ' ' The 
Omnipresence of the Deity" has been so for- 
tunate as to command, may be ascribed to 
other reasons than those purely of a mental 
character. That this humbling sense of an 
unreached Idea is not a mock confession, merely 
paraded for a prefatory purpose, is proved by 
the fact that "The Omnipresence," as now 
published, has been corrected almost into a new 
poem, when compared with the early editions. 
This appears to be unknown, or forgotten by 
certain writers. Hence, a sarcasm which appeared 
some sixteen years ago in the ' ' Edinburgh Review, " 
and since republished with Mr. Macaulay's name, 
only serves to perpetuate verbal errors and 
defective lines which no longer exist, except in 
his criticism. Doubtless, as one who professes to 
love truth, candour, and integrity of disposition, 
that successful writer will not republish his 
assault without some reference to the circum- 
stance here stated. As the ' ' Essay, " now stands, 
it is merely a sarcastic exaggeration of defects 
which have long been removed, and gives an 
untruthful representation of the Poem's real 
character. 

The second feeling the author desires to realise, 
is that of gratitude. However coldly others may 
talk of literature, depreciate its inspirations, 
and revert to its pursuits, he cannot regard it 
altogether in the light of false dreams, fading 
hopes, and feverish solicitudes : nor could he, 
without a most graceless discontent, swell the 
querulous cry of disappointment. On the con- 
trary, he has to thank Literature for the mental 
intimacy and moral esteem of many of the good 
and great in England, and other countries ; and 
also for pleasures, and privileges of a pure and 
an abiding character. Among the last, let him 
record some Christian friendships, whose broken 
links in time, he fondly hopes and believes will 
be readjusted in eternity. Most truly can he 
add, too, that the cultivation of literary pursuits, 
when rightly indulged and religiously watched, 



will only serve to endear to a spiritual student, 
that Book which contains the revealings of Heaven 
in the language of God, — even the Scriptures of 
human salvation. So far, indeed, as poetry is 
concerned, in the words of one who first encou- 
raged him to think his way down to the roots 
of his own inward being, let him be permitted to 
say, ' ' Poetry has been to me its own ' exceeding 
great reward ;' it has soothed my afflictions ; it 
has multiplied and refined my enjoyments ; it has 
endeared solitude ; it has given me the habit of 
wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in 
all that meets and surrounds me." In addition 
to this, an author may be allowed to render 
public thanks to the Great Inspire^ of all virtue, 
that he has been preserved from penning a 
line, a word, or thought, that could stain the 
vestal purity of religious principle, or tinge with 
a demoralising hue the imagination of a single 
reader. So far as a superficial acquaintance with 
his own heart can authorise him to speak, his 
ruling desire has ever been, — to reabse and extend 
the dominion of the Holy, > the Beautiful, and 
the True, in that world which a beneficent God 
created, redeemed man inhabits, and Incarnated 
Deity has visited and rescued. 

But, with this expression of gratitude, he may 
also blend a feeling remembrance of the social 
past. Will not some, then, who may chance to 
peruse these pages, be interested in learning, that 
the author's first effort in poetic literature owed 
not a little of its success to the generous welcome 
of veterans, whose genius has contributed so 
much to the intellectual wealth and moral pro- 
gress of this country ? Among those who actively 
helped to circulate " The Omnipresence of the 
Deity," was the poet Crabbe, and the venerable 
Lisle Bowles, now on the very brink of the better 
land. Southey too, and Wordsworth, welcomed 
his appearance in public with noble encourage- 
ment ; and, not a little was this first effort 
advanced into public estimation, by a long and 
eloquent criticism from the pen of Professor 
Wilson. But, above all those whom he is bound 
to commemorate in this retrospective glance, let 
the author be permitted to add the venerated 
name of Sharon Turner, — England's Anglo-Saxon 
and sacred historian. His counsels and criticisms 
were invaluable : and long as memory retains 
its consciousness, will he revere the intellectual 
worth, and strive to profit by the Christian 
wisdom, of his earliest and unforgotten friend. * 

Twenty years form an awful portion in our 
human career ; and, when we connect their pro- 
gress with the history of some of the great and 
good who have preceded us into the spirit-world, 
reflections, deeper than imperfect words can 
disclose, seem to inspire the mind of a serious 
man. Two are insufficient to form a pure and 
perfect friendship ; there must be a Third, and 
He is divine ! But when such friendships are 



* The Poem entitled "Power of the Dead " relates 
to the feelings here expressed. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



29 



indeed consecrated by their alliance with that 
Redeemer, Who is the uniter of hearts on earth, 
may we not believe that, under some glorious 
modification, they will be perpetuated in heaven, 
and prolonged through the ages of coming 
glory ? 

But where, and what, are the sons of genius 
and song noiv? Eternalised in human praise 
below, can we be such grovelling materialists as to 
think, the sainted Minds which rule and reign 
over us, are not, in some blissful section of (rod's 
universe, as conscious, and as individual, as 
ever ? Yes ; if they dedicated the high gifts 
which Heaven bestowed, to the sublime priest- 
hood of glorifying God, and the purification of 
human nature, we may righteously conclude that 
the master spirits of our world are " tVayyeAoi" 
(Luke xx. 36), being redeemed unto God, and 
etherealised into " just men made perfect,' 1 
(Heb. xii. 23). Could they disclose the veiled 
secrets of Eternity from their calm homes of 
purity and bliss, perhaps, it might be found that, 
what we call the mere dreams of lofty Idealism, 
are but pale shadows cast from the substance of 
infinite Glories to come ? Thus, the poetry of 
spiritual minds on earth, would be proved uncon- 
scious prediction of diviner Mysteries yet to be 
unfolded in heaven. 

But, all this is mental suggestion, and nothing 
more. We must patiently abide ' ' until the day- 
break, and the shadows flee away" (Cant. ii. 17). 
Meanwhile, be this our prayer, that each in his 
own orbit, and according to his relative gift, 
strive to remember and realise his baptismal 
consecration unto Him, who died for us once, 
that we might live for ever. Let the world sneer 
as it may, after nearly six thousand years of 
experience, The Christian is the highest style 
of man : and blessed, beyond mortal speech to 
declare, is the condition of him, who can say 
with his lip, what he echoes by his life, "To 
live is Christ, and to die is Gain," (Phil. 
i. 21.) 

Rayners, Penn, Bucks, 
October 2Wi, 1848. 



THE IDEA OF GOD. 

"In the beginning God." — Gen. i. 1. 

Enthroned in vast eternity 
How awful, God ! to muse on Thee, 
Voiceless and viewless, First and Last,* 
The All in All, without a past ! f 

When thus to Thee our minds would mount, 
And trace pure Being to its fount, 
O'erawed they shrink abash'd and dim, 
Like glory-dazzled Cherubim. 



Rev. i. 11; 2 Pet. iii. 18. 



t Exod. xiii. 14. 



For, once Thou wast the dread Alone, 
No universe around Thee thrown, 
No choral worlds to chant Thy praise, 
No spirits basking in Thy blaze ; 

But in Thyself, that sacred Three,* 
Whose name is Love, and Mystery, — 
In trinal grandeur thus enshrined, 
Unheard, unfelt, and undivined. 

Thou didst not, then, the worlds create, 
Because Thy glories fail'd to be 
Whate'er of infinitely great 
Belongs to full-orb'd Deity : 

But, from Thine Essence freely came 
Creative power, and light, and love, 
And all which men or Angels name, 
Of bright below, or blest above. 

And hence yon worlds, with all they hold 
Of perfect, pure, serene, or grand, 
The purpose of Thy will unfold, 
And fill the hollow of Thy hand.f 

From Thee our thoughts their grace derive, 
Chaste hearts receive celestial glow ; 
And vainly would the sceptic strive 
Without Thee, e'en to think below. 

The mind which cannot God discern 
Grows day by day more weak, and vile, 
Must soon its very self unlearn, — 
Absorb'd in sin, and sunk in guile. 

Eternal Light ! and Law of mind ! 

If in Thy beams calm angels see 

A lustre that would strike them blind 

Were they to think they fathom'd Thee ; J 

Let insects like ourselves beware 
What majesties to Heaven belong ! — 
Our science is believing prayer, 
And flesh is weak, when faith is strong. § 

Most glorious God ! while thus we scan 
Earth, air, and ocean through their bounds, 
And yearn to trace the measured plan 
Of Wisdom in her mystic rounds ; 

Be ours the humbling thought, that all 
Of form and function, life or sense, 
Which men sublime and wondrous call, — 
Is nothing to Omnipotence ! 



* 1 John v. 7 
t Isa. xl. 12. 



Col. ii. 2. 



+ 1 Pet. i. 12. 
§ Matt. xxvi. 41. 



30 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



It was not once ; it would not be, 
If Thy dread fiat said, Depart ! 
For then, the universe would flee, 
And leave Thee, Godhead as Thou art. 



GOD CREATES. 

'■ God created. " — Gen. i. 1. 



There is religion in the common earth, 
A creed of beauty in the open sky ; 

And shower and sunbeam prove a sacred birth, 
When fancy views them with a feeling eye. 

What men call Nature, is a Thought divine, 
The Infinite in forms of finite grace, 

Where all conditions, seen in God, combine 
To make this earth a consecrated place. 

Th' unwritten bible of the woods and fields 
By love perused, and ponder'd o'er by prayer, 

A second gospel to the poet yields, 

Who walks creation, knowing Christ* is there. 

Nothing is mean, by Power celestial made, 
And nought is worthless, by His wisdom 
plann'd, 

Who fashion'd all, that Faith may find display'd 
The holy impress of God's master-hand. 

Oh, could we hail the Element divine 

That circles round whatever lives, or moves, 

A mystic radiance would o'er all things shine, 
And teach the coldest how the Godhead 
loves ! 

One vast cathedral, with its roof of sky, 
The earth becomes to reverential souls, 

When deepen'd by such felt divinity, 

Our heart-breathed hymn of ceaseless worship 
rolls. 

But like a cloud doth sensual dimness hide 
The heaven-born glories that around us gleam, 

While min'string angels to and fro may glide, 
And yet not wake us from our worldly dream. 

Alas ! for men, when thus creation grows 
An orphan'd scene, where God moves 
undiscern'd ; 
While for the bliss His gracious hand bestows, 
Our thankless hearts, how seldom have they 
burn'd ! + 



Col. i. 13, 14, 16. 



t Luke xxiv. 32. 



This canker-worm of atheistic sin, 

Thrice Holy One ! do Thou by grace destroy ; 
Breathe o'er the deadness of the mind within, 

And brighten nature with religious joy. 

May the hush'd feeling, Thou art ever nigh, 
God in the creatures, Life and Law of all, 

Unveil pure Edens to our purged eye, 
And free the spirit from degrading thrall. 

Then will a spell of solemn beauty grace 
The humblest object which the senses scan, 

A temple rise in every cloister'd place, 

And all cry, " Worship ! " to believing man. 

Mountain or forest, wood, or wild, or shore, 
Roam where we choose, whatever scene be 
trod, 
The reign of mindless solitude is o'er, 

For now, like Enoch, conscience walks with 
God.t 

And, thus companion'd by His love and word, 
Each man as brother, faith delights to own ; 

Peasant and prince, from each alike is heard 
"Our Father ! " warbled to creation's Throne. 

Were but this creed by loving hearts enjoy 'd, 
And God paternal by the soul embraced, 

How much of dark'ning self would be destroy'd, 
And beauty live, where now breathes moral 
waste I 

Our common life would seem a holy thing, 
The lone creation be with God allied, 

And not an hour but would some anthem sing, 
To praise the Fountain which our stream 
supplied. 

Around, above, beneath, 'tis all divine, 
When faith the grand Original can see, 

And, while Sense worships in the outer-shrine, 
Know the vast world was once a thought in 
Thee. 

Lord ! may Thy Spirit to our spirit lend 
A princely heart of innocence and prayer, 

Whose unction shall the sacred feeling send, 
That proves, at every pulse, our God is there. 

Radiant his soul, though dark the sense-bound 
doom 

Terrestrial changes for its home supply, 
Who feels, before his dust descend the tomb, 

That all is christian to the christian eye. 



* Gen. v. 24. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



31 



OUR DUTY IS OUR GLORY. 

""Whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God." 

1 Cor. x. 31. 

Beauteous 'words ! with glory burning, 
Guide and guardian of our days, 

Let us be for ever learning 

Wisdom from their wealth to raise : 

In them hides a heavenly power 

Which may hallow scene and hour, 

Touching all we hear, or see, 

With soft rays of Deity ! 

He who call'd us into being, 

Each created for some plan ; 
And, by prescience all foreseeing, 

So equipp'd the soul of man, 
That unless the sleepless Mind 
Love itself in all mankind, 
Whatsoe'er bright scenes present, — 
Dark life grows a discontent. 

Yet, apart from Revelation, 
Wisdom no true motive found, 

That with perfect inspiration 
Could for all alike abound : 

Pleasure, gain, or mental force, 

Palms which crown Ambition's course, — 

Sages found some lofty name, 

Thus to fix the final aim. 

But, where exists in heathen story 
Bard, or sage, who could descry 
Such a path for peaceful glory 

While we live, or when we die, 
As this text of heaven-breathed truth 
Here unfolds for age and youth, — 
" Whatsoe'er ye think, or do, 
Be your God the goal in view ! " 

'Twas Thine own celestial motive, 

Lord, when Thou on earth didst live ; 
So, with spirit pure and votive 
Let us vow ourselves to give 
Back to Thee ! — in woe or weal, 
Let our lives be one long zeal 
Never from Thy Church to roam, 
Faith's delight, and Feeling's home ! 

None can reach a blissful centre 

Where the reas'ning mind can rest, 
Save by fellowship they enter 

On the pathway God hath blest : 
Great and glorious as may seem 
All which gilds an earth-born dream, 
Self can frame no heaven for sin, 
But it works a hell within ! 



Blest is he who thus resigneth 

Soul and body unto Him, 
From Whose words whoe'er declineth, 

Martyr, saint, or seraphim, 
Must in darkness, death, and woe, 
Downward to perdition go, 
Reaping from self-will a curse, 
That would fire the universe. 

Sons of Heaven ! be this your glory, 

Christ as motive so to feel, 
That life nor death shall set before ye 

What can daunt, or dim your zeal : 
Rich, or poor, or small, or great, 
Nought to you is outward state : 
God and grace within you dwell, 
And your mercies who can tell 1 

Happy, happy is the feeling, 
Life belongs to Him who died, 

By atonement thus revealing 
Love incarnate, crucified. 

Duty, danger, toil, and time, 

Now are touch'd by truth sublime ; 

All we have to faith appears, 

Sacred to His blood and tears. 

With such motive deeply glowing, 
Sin and self we learn to shun, 

So on heaven our hearts bestowing, 
That the angel * seems begun ; 

While more purely we can pray, 

And our creed of glory say, 

" Thou art worthy ! Thou alone ! 

Be our hearts Thy hallow'd throne ! " 

Needs no rank, nor wealth, nor learning, 
When our sainted wills incline 

With a passion ever burning 
To pursue the path divine : 

Humble care and cottage-scene 

To the Lord's elect have been 

Little Edens, where they found 

Angels camping all around ! 

Though thy station be but lowly, 

Christ is there, the soul to bless ; 
Though thou seem'st forgotten wholly, 

Left to toil in loneliness, 
Eyes through heaven are peering down, 
In thy cross to see thy crown : — 
Let thy task in prayer be done, 
And thy glories are begun ! 

Tell me not, in gloom and anguish, 
Lone and needy thou art left ; 

Faith can ne'er for duty languish, 
Love and Hope are not bereft, 

* Matt. vi. 10 ; xxii. 30. 



32 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



If thy soul can truly say, 
At the close of each calm day, 
" Father ! do Thy gracious will, 
Let my life Thy law fulfil ! " 

Hast thou cheer'd the broken-hearted 

With a look of genial love ? 
As the dying breath departed 

Didst thou point to worlds above 1 
Hast thou sought the peasant's door, 
Soothed the sick, or cheer'd the poor, 
Lighted up the widow's eye, 
Or relieved an orphan's sigh ] 

Fameless, then, though Earth deny thee 
Wealth and grandeur, power and place, 

More than worlds could e'er supply thee 
'Tis to love the human race ! 

Like some instrument of sound 

Changing with all airs around, 

Hearts of heaven can sympathise 

With whate'er a spirit tries. 

Read we then in hallow'd story 
With a swell of wordless joy, 
Duty forms divinest glory, 

When our lives for God employ 
Feeling, faculty, and power, 
Home and heart, and scene and hour, 
As one sacrifice of soul, 
Due to Him who gave the whole ! 



THE FIRST MAN". 

"Let us make man." — Gen. i. 26. 

Now, Heaven and Earth in finish'd beauty rise, 
And Ocean peals her new-born harmonies ; 
And lo ! awaking into life 
With stainless glory rich and rife, 
Under the breath of God's creative word, 
The realms of Being into bliss are stirr'd. 

Oh ! to have gazed on glorious earth and sea, 
When, like the Infant of eternity, 

Our breathing World began to smile ; 

Or, like some list'ning heart awhile, 
In mute suspension waited for a Soul 
To greet her glories, and command the whole. 

For, how could dumb magnificence display, 
Or this blank world as reasonless, portray 
The higher attributes of God, 
Till earth by human feet was trod ; 
And young creation gain'd some priestly Mind 
To offer incense, pure as God design'd 1 



But, hark ! within the deeps of that Recess 

Where God enshrines His awful consciousness, 
Three Persons speak, Three Minds commune, 
A Council holds the dread Triune ; * 

And " Let Us make " him, symbols forth to 
man 

The outward meaning of Their inward Plan. 



And thus, obedient to that forming call, 
Emerges Man, the blissful lord of all ; 
Soft lustres o'er his features play, 
And brow and bearing both display 
That regal air, God's image ought to show 
As priest and monarch of His world below. 



Hosannah ! now ye choral planets sing ; 
Poetic winds and waters, hail your king ! 

Wake Sympathies ! through earth and air 

Your genial motion everywhere ; 
God's labours now their sabbath-haven reach,+ 
And silence echoes with the charm of speech. 

happy vision ! celestial scene ! 

What Heaven beheld, what sinless Earth hath 
been, 
When Paradise and perfect bliss 
Hallow'd a world sublime as this ; 

Wing'd angels quiver'd over Eden's bowers, 

And Eve look'd fairer than the vestal flowers. 



Departed glory ! — back to earth it seems 
At times recall'd, in those seraphic dreams 

When round us steals the witching sense 

Of man's unblotted innocence, 
And o'er the harp-strings of entranced soul 
Fragments of forfeit Eden's music roll. 

But, never let our joyless gloom repine, 
Blest Lord ! as though there breathed not hopes 
divine, 
That earth may boast a nobler doom 
Than Paradise in perfect bloom ; 
For Thou hast purchased, by atoning blood, 
A world transcending what was once the 
"good." 

And may the Spirit of Thy grace $ descend, 
Our feelings hallow, and our hearts amend ; 

Inspire us, Creative Three, 

To image forth the Trinity, 
Till man shall witness more than Eden saw, 
His heart Thy temple, and Thy truth his law. 



Gen. i. 26. 



t Gen. ii. 2. 



Eph. ii. 8. 



MIND OF LITTLE CHILDREN. 

' ' Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? And 
Jesus called a little child. " — Matt, xviii. 1, 2. 

Men call it wisdom, when they grow 

Less and less like a child j 
But let the harsh and haughty know 
Such wisdom is defiled ; 
The cold perfection of a cautious man, 
Who gains by cunning, — what the Serpent can ! 

He, whose all-meas'ring Soul perceived 

The heights and depths of mind, 
A nobler creed would have believed 
When present with mankind, 
Who said, with Infancy beside His knee, 
" He that is greatest, like a child must be." 

Heaven to a child comes nearer far 

Than in maturer age, 
When passion's brunt and blighting war 
Their ceaseless battle wage 
Against those young simplicities which dwell 
Deep in the bosom, like a guardian-spell. 

Oh ! for a reverential eye 

To Childhood which pertains, 
That sees religion in the sky, 
And poetry in plains ; 
To whom a rainbow like a rapture glows, 
And all is marvel which th' Almighty shows. 

Blest age of Wonder ! when a flower, 

A blossom, fruit, or tree, 
Gives a new zest to each new hour 
Which gladdens home with glee : 
When like a lisping stream life rolls along 
In happy murmurs of unconscious song. 

It smiles on that, and speaks to this, 

As if each object knew 
A child exulted in the bliss 
Of all that charms its view : 
Personified the whole creation seems 
Into a heart that mirrors back its dreams. 

Life looks a fairy landscape spread 

Before the untaught gaze, 
As on the infant Soul is led 
To meet, its vernal days, 
Where pure-eyed Innocence may well discern 
A deeper beauty than the wise can learn.* 



* Matt. xi. 25. 



Fresh from the hands of God they come 

These infants of His grace, 
And something of celestial home 
Yet lingers in their face ; 
Strange to the world, no worldliness defiles 
The little history of their tears and smiles. 

Candid and curious, how they seek 

All truth to know and scan ; 
And, ere the budding mind can speak, 
Begin to study Man ! 
Confiding sweetness colours all they say, 
And Angels listen, when they try to pray.* 

More playful than the birds of spring, 

Ingenuous, warm, sincere, 
Like meadow-bees upon the wing 
They roam without a fear ; 
And breathe their thoughts on all who round 

them live, 
As Light sheds beams, or flowers their perfume 
give. 

And how the Church o'erawes their sense, 

With rite and ritual graced ! 
Whose creed is loving innocence, 
Which time hath not effaced ; 
And would that those, who Manhood's paths 

have trod, 
Like infants trembled at the name of God ! 

Mysterious age ! the type of heaven, 

By Jesu's blessing crown' d, 
To thee a purity is given 

Grey hairs have never found ; 
The arms of Christ do yet encircle thee 
Like a soft halo which the Heart can see. 

Mere knowledge makes us keen and cold, 

And cunning dwarfs the mind, 
As more and more the heart grows old 
With feelings base and blind ; 
Our light is clearer, but our love is less, 
And few the bosoms which our own can bless ! 



Spirit of Grace ! we learn from Thee 

This noble truth, at length, — 
That wisdom is simplicity, 
Simplicity is strength ; 
A Child-man, could the world a model find, 
Would be a living type for human-kind. 



Matt, xviii. 10. 



34 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



SOOTHING CHARM OF TIME. 

" No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, 
but grievous : nevertheless afterward it yieldeth 
the peaceable fruit of righteousness. " — Htb. xii. 11. 

When Time shall lay his lenient hand 

On this large grief of ours, 
The burden'd Heart will understand 
The mystery of past hours ; 
But now, so thick a tear bedims the moisten'd 

eye 
That earth looks sever'd off from yonder loving 
sky. 

Mere fragment of a mighty Whole, 

How little man can see, 
While sin contracts the clouded soul, 
Of plans becoming Thee, 
Who didst by wisdom deep, from Thine all- 
boundless mind, 
In heaven forecast the lot for human souls 
design'd. 

To two eternities relate 

The pangs endured on earth ; 
And all which marks our mortal fate 
In sickness, death, or birth, 
In awful depths of God before all time was 

plann'd,* 
And carries with it more than sin can under- 
stand. 

Yet, when the cloud of woe hath burst 

Upon our hearts and homes, 
And Guilt appears by God accursed, 
The wistful Spirit roams 
From earth to heaven, in hope that some dear 

light will dart 
A ray of guiding truth, to cheer the chasten'd 
heart ! 

Then, croAvded o'er with sumless graves 

This blighted world appears ; 
O'er each young joy the cypress waves, 
The eye seems made for tears ; 
Calm mercies which remain in darkness now 

recede, 
And boding Fancy dreams, that Life was born 
to bleed ! 

Unwise, unholy, and unjust 

We mourners then are found, 
Who, in bereavement, cannot trust 

Those Arms encircled round 



All sorrow, time, and change, whate'er the 

trial be, 
To girdle man with strength, if Faith those 

Arms would see. 

Afflictions should be sacred things ; 

Some drops that overflow * 
From that great Cup the Saviour brings 
Of anguish, grief, or woe, 
To each disciple here, who bears his Master's 

cross, 
And, when he calls him, " Lord ! " doth count 
the gainful loss. 

How can the sainted child of God 

Resemble Christ, unless 
His upward path of life be trod 
Through shades of stern distress ? 
The Lord of bleeding love, oh, lived He not 

alone, 
Unecho'd by a heart that understood his groan 1 

And think, bereaved one ! in that hour 

When ruin'd hopes lie cold, 
While death and darkness overpower 
Whate'er thine eyes behold, 
Of Him, who had not where to rest His gracious 

head, 
Weeping with stricken heart, when Love " for- 
sook and fled ! " 

Dejection now may cast 

A dimming veil round all 
Which brighten'd o'er thy youthful past ; 
While underneath the pall 
That seems to overshroud whate'er we love 

below, 
Thy creedless heart detects no sight but death 
and woe. — 

Still, when the Dove of Peace divine 

Shall o'er thy spirit brood, 
And with His calm thy love combine, 
The soul will say, 'Twas " good ; — t 
Affliction with its flame hath purified the dross, 
And deeper in my soul enstamp'd a Saviour's 
cross." 

And thus, the nerveless Mind will gain 

New force, and faith to meet 
Each rising swell of future pain, 
And lay it at His feet ; 
As sunk the billows down along their placid sea, 
When Christ in calmness walk'd the waves of 
Galilee. 



Luke xii. 7 ; Rom. viii. 28. 



Matt. xx. 23 ; Col. i. 24. 



t Psalm cxix. 71. 



THE CHRISTIAN" LIFE. 



35 



Eternal Soother of the soul ! 

True Paraclete for all 
Who yield to Thy serene control, 
On Thee for aid we call ; 
Anguish, and gloom, and grave, can make the 

mourner sigh, 
But, ah, we shall not sink, — The Comforter is 
nigh ! 

Perfect through suffering ! — 'tis the plan 

Mysterious Love decrees ; 
And Christ, who was The sinless Man, 
From this found no release :* 
His life was living prayer, with every pang 

combined, 
Where men and angels see a perfect Will 
resign'd. 

We seek not, Lord, a pangless life 

In homes and haunts of bliss ; 
But, only that our mental strife 
May ne'er Thy presence miss : — 
Not starless is the night, when radiant truths 

arise, 
And point each promise forth that beacons to 
the skies ! f 



CHRIST THE GRAND REFUGE. 

Lord, to -whom shall we go ? Thou hast the words 
of eternal life." — John vi. 68. "There is none 
other name under heaven given among men 
whereby we must be saved." — Acts iv. 12. 

Lord, and whither shall we go ? 

Thou alone hast words of life : 
In our stormful griefs below 

Who, but Thou, can heal the strife 
Sin and sorrow round us bring, 
In life's vale, while wandering ? 

What can mortal Wisdom teach 

If o'er graves it cannot soar ? 
How can rest the conscience reach 

If it leaves us as before 1 
Guilty shades will haunt us yet, 
Making life one long regret ! 

Poet ! shall we come to thee, 

Harping forth some noble strain, — 

Songs of fire, which tell the free 
Never to be slaves again, 

Till they echo back thy word 

As by trumpet-music stirr'd 1 



Heb. ii. 10. 



t John xiv. 1, 2. 



Son of Science ! shall we soar 

Through yon starry worlds, to find 

Burning secrets which before 

Never glanced on human mind, — 

Orbs of myst'ry, as they roll 

Preaching God to sense and soul ] 

Man of Learning ! may we dare 
From thine oracle to draw 

Truths which tell us what we are, 
Or, that hush the dreadful Law, 

Thund'ring forth from earth and sea, 

" Render what thou ow'st to me 1 " * 

Can you ease a burden'd soul 

From the crushing weight of sin, 

When it feels some fierce control 
Like a throbbing hell within 1 

Can you cry to wearied Breast, 

" Hither ! here is holy rest 1 " 

Have your words a healing skill, 
If applied with perfect art, 

To renew the rebel Will 

Till it take the better part,+ 

Bidding ev'ry wing'd desire 

Upward to the heavens aspire 1 

God and man can ye unite 
In such bonds of sacred peace, 

That the blood-wash'd heart is white 
By Atonement's blest release 1 

Can ye show a radiant Heaven 

Smiling o'er the soul forgiven ] 

Foolish all false wisdom is, 
If to such attempts it rise ; 

Would we claim a power like this 1 — 
Seek it, then, beyond the skies : 

Man at most can human be ; 

What we want, is Deity ! 

Blessed Christ ! embodied Word ! 

Thou alone art Life and Light ; 
Saints who have Thy truth preferr'd 

Walk in peace, and worship right ; 
Thou alone to sin canst say, 
" I am Love, the Living Way." 

Sun of Grace ! oh, ever shine 

Round our paths, where'er they lead 
Midnight feels a ray divine 

Breaking through the darkest need, 
If we hear, when most dismay'd, 
" It is I ! be not afraid ! " 



Matt, xviii. 



f Luke x. 42. 



36 THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 


Pardon, peace, and purity, 


And think not that a stoic chill 


Gifts without, and grace within, 


Is o'er my present cast ; 


Love and light, which set us free 


But, something more than mem'ry will 


From the curse and chain of sin, — 


Untomb the buried past. 


These, Emanuel ! Thou canst give, 




While upon Thy words we live. 


What, though these walls no longer now 




Present that household grace, — 


Not a want, Thou canst not fill ; 


A pictured father's pensive brow, 


Not a fear, Thou wilt not tame ; 


A mother's beaming face, 


If, indeed, repentance will 




Rest upon Thy glorious name, 


Yet, I can almost hear them speak, 


High o'er every guilt and grave 


And wake each cheerful tone, 


Shall Redemption's banner wave ! 


And catch the gladness, of her cheek 




That lighted up my own. 


Lord, then whither shall we go, 




Save to Thee, our Refuge sure ? " 


Oh, here has swell'd the choral song, 


Balm to each bereaving woe, — 


And music's charm hath been, 


Who alone the heart canst cure, 


While mellow'd feelings moved along 


Turning sickness into health, 


Like waves in moonlight seen. 


And, to want, becoming wealth. 






And kindly words of love and truth 


Well of Comfort ! Vital Spring ! 


From lips now cold in death, 


Other source we dare not seek ; 


Come wafted from the days of youth, 


Broken cisterns only bring 


Like resurrection-breath ! 


Mocking draughts which make us weak : • 




If our souls would slake their thirst, 


So full the present fills the past 


They must die, or seek Thee first ! 


With tenderness and tears, 




Time seems by some fond Angel cast 


Saviour ! be our Polar Star 


Back into buried years. 


Shaded by no sinful night ; 




Shed upon us from afar 


I think of her whose azure eyes 


Living beams of holy light : — 


Were motherly and mild, 


When we reach our radiant home, 


Clear as the morn's cerulean skies, 


We shall know the way we come.* 


In sweetness when they smiled : 




Gentle in tone, and graceful, too, 
In motion, mind, and mien, 




POWER OF THE DEAD. 


How warm the social ray she threw 


" I praised the dead which are already dead, more 


O'er each domestic scene ! 


than the living which are yet alive. " — JEccles. iv. 2. 




' ' Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord, from 


As mother, wife, and peerless friend, 


thenceforth .... They rest from then labours. " 


In all her ways appear'd 


— Rev. xiv. 13. 


A beauteous Soul, in whom did blend 


My thoughts are with the dear and dead, 


The graces love revered. 


Who wake the inward sigh, 




And here an atmosphere have spread 


And he whose world-wide fame is wed 


Breathed from the days gone by. 


To History and to Man, 




Though number'd with th' immortal dead, 


Then do not mock the mental gloom 


How high a course he ran ! 


That o'er my brow is stealing ; 




For, could I walk this well-known room 


I see him now, his fervid gaze 


Without an ancient feeling 1 


Illumined keen with thought, 




And glow beneath the flashing rays 


What genial hours of mirth and glee 


From his bright wisdom caught. 


Have here those bright friends known, 




Who since to hush'd eternity 


With heavenly truth historic lore 


Like living Dreams have flown ! 


His works have nobly blent, 




And Time, who keeps our mental store, 
Shall make his monument. 


* Deut. viii. 2. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



•37 



Can I forget that hoary sage, 
The generous, pure, and good, 

Who counsell'd oft my unripe age 
As only Virtue could '] 

And, when I dared to strike the lyre 

In loneliness and fear, 
Who bade me as the Bard aspire, 

And woke my grateful tear ! 

But, like a vision all are gone 

To join the world unseen, 
And when these walls I gaze upon, 

1 ask, — if such have been ] 

Mysterious Charm ! Oh, solemn Past, 

How deeply felt art thou ! 
Beyond the scenes around us cast, 

The world exciting now. 

The touching thought — no more ! no mor 

Doth sanctify the room, 
Where blending Hearts embraced of yore, 

Now pulseless in the tomb. 

But, why and whence, we cannot tell, 

A living moment fails 
To rule us with that inward spell 

Which from the past prevails. 

The perish'd bloom of boyhood's prime 

How beautiful it seems, 
When, tinged with melancholy time, 

It dawns upon our dreams ! 

Forth from the heart there went a hue 
Which made the world romance ; 

But ah, how changed and chill the view 
As riper years advance ! 

Rank, wealth, and reputation, all 

Must leave the breast a void, 
Whene'er our yearning hearts recall 

What vanish'd youth enjoy'd. 

Eternity familiar reads 

To Faith's perusing eye, 
As spirit after spirit speeds 

To populate the sky. 

Each added year that Home commends 
Where Souls unbodied dwell, 

To all, who feel how parted friends 
Retain their living spell : 

For while we tread the room they trod 
And haunt the scene they chose, 

We love to think they dwell in God, 
All rapture, and repose ! 



BODILY SUFFERING. 

" Always bearing about in the body, the dying of the 
Lord Jesus." — 2 Cor. iv. 10. "I bear in my body 
the marks of the Lord Jesus." — Gal. vi. 17. 
'"Christ shall be magnified in my body." — 
Phil. i. 20. "This sickness is not unto death, 
but for the glory of God." — John xi. 4. 

Who can explain the living dust we bear ] 
That breathing miracle of pain or bliss, 

Incarnate Soul, what science can declare 1 — 
Yet, did we ponder on a truth like this, 

Each pulse of being would proclaim our God, 

And preach His wisdom wheresoe'er we trod. 

But health with such pure harmony of ease 
The inward play of wonted life preserves, 

That not till flesh be pierced with sharp 
disease, 
Or pang convulsive all the frame unnerves, 

Are men awaken'd from their godless dream, 

To mark what mercies in the body teem. 

Tis now, while throbbing fires of fever burn, 
Or the vexed life-blood mantles brow and 
brain, 

And on his couch, with many a wearied turn, 
Moans the pale martyr of mysterious pain, — 

Oft is the soul by lingering sickness taught, 

A deeper love than health-days ever brought. 

Oh ! how we pine for Nature's freshness now, 
For wood and wild, and many- voiced stream, 

And long to feel upon the wasted brow 

The quivering gladness of her sun-warm 
beam, 

When pining Languor, with dejected eye, 

Through half-veil'd window sees the orient sky. 

And blessings, which in hours of heedless calm 
Were lightly view'd, or out of God partaken, 

Now they have vanish'd, with remember'd 
balm 
Rebuke some thankless Heart thev have for- 



While forms and faces, which indifferent were, 
Throng round the soul, and thrill it into prayer. 

The stern seem mild, the harsh attemper'd 
down 
To childhood's softness, or to woman's tear, 
And the false gildings of ambition's crown 

Grow dimly pale before one righteous fear : 
Life drops the mask, and all Earth's painted 

show 
Melts into gloom, and looks one shaded woe. 



38 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Soon, conscience wakes ; and sin and guilt are 
seen 
In the deep blackness of their dismal truth ; 
Clear on the soul, though flesh-veils intervene, 
Remembrance visions both our age and 
youth ; 
And faith sees God's detective eyebeams dart 
Their piercing brightness through the naked 
heart ! 

0, Thou incarnate Sympathy for all ! 

On earth a Saviour, and in heaven the same, 
Now to the sick those precious truths recal, 

Which crown the wonders of Emanuel's 
name ; 
Calm the wild conscience with a word of peace, 
And in Thy Merit show the soul's release. 

For though no malady by Thee was felt, 

Nor sickness by Thy sacred flesh endured, 
Ne'er did the music of compassion melt 

With softer tones, than when some pang was 
cured ; 
Anguish and grief in Thy pure breast were 

known, 
And suffering raised Thee to yon glory-Throne ! 

Then, doubt not, Child of sickness and of woe, 
When through sad vigils of the wakeful night 

Thy cup of trial seems to overflow, 

Till earth be tomb-like to thy weaken'd 
sight, 

That Jesu numbers all dark moments bring 

To harrow Flesh with untold suffering. 

Heavy, and lone, and long the night-hours wear, 
And minutes seem with leaden pace to move, 

But o'er thy couch, when riseth low-breathed 
prayer, 
Throbs the pure heart of that almighty Love 

In Christ embodied, when for man He died, 

By friends deserted, and by foes denied. 

Pains are dread mysteries ! not from God they 
came 
By pure creation, when man's perfect mould 
Of outward beauty to the inward frame 

Of innocence did fine proportion hold : — 
From sin and self, all pangs and pains begun, 
That since the Fall their withering course have 
run. 

But mercies hover o'er a sick man's bed, 
Wing'd for descent, on lenient plumes of love, 

A nd virtues oft from frail disease are bred, 
Which ripen souls for sainted bliss above : 

Health needs a cross, whose Christ-like touch 
shall thrill 

The fainting treason of our palsied will. 



And but for sickness, health would rarely be 
What by dread contrast Trial lives to know, — 

From God direct, a pure gratuity 

Sent from His heart and hand, to Whom we 
owe 

Not grace alone our forfeit souls to save, 

But all pure mercies which precede the grave. 

And, ah ! what purity from pain hath sprung, 
That in the turbid rush of healthful joys 

Seems lost, and leaves wild passion warm and 
young, 
To Earth's delirium, and her base alloys ; 

For sufferings oft etherealize the heart, 

Till false emotions into faith depart. 

Silence and solitude a lull beget, 

Or tame Life's pulses into hallow'd rest, 

Chasten the mind, and calm that secret fret 
Man's harsher world-life chafes within the 
breast, 

As rivers, tranced by some Canadian frost, 

Have turn'd to lakes, and all defilement lost. 

Thus may pale sickness prove a blessed Thing, 
And pain achieve, what pleasure never can, — 

Teach the gay heart, beneath th' Almighty 
wing, 
To learn the mystery of redemption's plan, — 

How faith by suffering must to glory soar, 

And drink the cup her Master drank before. 



GOD'S IMAGE. 



" God created man in His Own image, in the image 
of God created He him."— Gen. i. 27. 

As Lord of this terrestrial sphere, 

Semblance divine did Man appear ; 

Just moulded by the hand of God, 

The soil of virgin earth he trod, 

And when through his mysterious frame 

In gushes of pure rapture came 

Bright feelings born of innocence, 

And sanction'd by Omnipotence, 

God ! Thine Image was enshrined * 

In the clear depths of his calm mind. 

" Man in Our Image," — mighty thought ! 
With more than human meaning fraught ; 
For, how can sinner's filmed eye 
The glories of that Speech descry ] 
How can the soil'd and earth-bound soul 
Itself release from blind control, 
And thus, from passion nobly free, 
Hail the crown'd work of Deity, — 



Psalm cxxxix. 14. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 39 


Perfection in the dust began,* 


Thou Third in Godhead ! Holy Ghost, 


God's " image " in the soul of man ? 


The Christian's life, the Church's boast, 




Pure Helper of the heart's distress, 


Alas ! the words beyond us soar ; 


And Cheerer of lone weariness, 


Dead Paradise revives no more ; 


The inward Sun of heaven-born souls, 


For in the soil where thorns abound 


"Who all their prayer and praise controls, 


God's curse still preaches from the ground, t 


To Thee, true Paraclete ! we owe 


And Labour, with its sunken brow 


The all of God that lives below, — 


Of weariness, fulfils it now ; 


"What broken fragments yet may shine 


And in the soul, lo ! all is sin ; 


Of that whole " Image " once Divine. 


Darkness and death prevail within, 




"Where Self is like a Satan throned, 


There is a sacramental birth, 


A hell preferr'd, and God disown'd ! 


A promise of baptismal worth, 




A life from heaven to earth sent down, 


God's " image," is it seen below 


A jewel dropt from Jesu's crown, 


In this sad world of blight and woe 1 


A power that with celestial art 


"Where can we view its peerless grace, 


Can renovate the ruin'd heart ; 


And look upon that perfect face 


Unheard, unseen, unscann'd, unknown,* 


"Which lightens up with Deity, 


This wonder-work is all Thine own ; 


Till Angels their own likeness see, 


The power is felt, 'tis born of Thee, 


And transcripts of such glory shine, 


Yet who, dread Spirit ! grace can see 1 


That they reflect the looks Divine ? 




In priest, or poet, saint, or sage, 


But, let God's image be restored, 


In parted years, or present age 1 


Let guilt be wash'd, and sin deplored, 




And saintly virtues, meek and mild, 


Go ! search mankind from pole to pole, 


Will shadow forth God's chosen child ; 


The archives of the past unroll, 


Without, within, by faith and prayer 


Consult the chart of history, 


Will breathe that reverential air, 


As read in hoar antiquity, 


That shows the world what Christ hath done, 


Select, combine, and concentrate 


The trophies which the Cross hath won 


The models of our good and great, 


In winning back what Adam lost, — 


The paramounts of man and mind, 


A forfeit Soul, at such a cost ! 


The lords and lights of human Kind, — 




And, then we challenge each and all, 


But oh, blest Lord ! if men would see 


To make God's " image," since the fall ! 


The perfect type of Deity, 




Then, from the Church's child of grace 


In human light a darkness lies ; 


We turn, to look on Thy sad face, 


All human love a hate supplies ; 


Man of Sorrows ! Son of God ! 


Our human wisdom folly stains ; 


As o'er the world Thy way was trod, 


O'er human strength a weakness reigns ; 


Each living impress of Thy love 


To human virtue baseness clings ; 


To man below shows God above, 


And Glory mounts on sullied wings ; 


While in Thy doctrine, death, and tears, 


Love, Truth, and Wisdom, Virtue, all 


Jehovah in our flesh appears.^ 


Our wav'ring creeds perfection call, 




What are they, in God's balance weigh' d, 
But sin, by gilded self array'd ? 






Thus, imperfection mars and maims 


THE DYING GIRL. 


"What Nature for her noblest claims ; 


[INSCRIBED TO PHILIP ROSE, ESQ., THE FOUNDER OF THB 


The upas-blight, the poisoning breath 


HOSPITAL FOR CONSUMPTION.] 


Of inward guilt and moral death, 


" Her sun is gone down while it was yet day." 


Lurks in the soul of whatsoe'er 


Jer. xv. 9. 


Men laurel as the bright and fair. — 


CONSUMPTION. 


" God's image," then, oh ! where on earth 


A beauty clothes the hectic cheek, 


Can Faith behold its beauteous worth ? 


A radiance fills the sunken eye, 


"Where can we sun our hearts awhile 


But when her mellow'd accents speak, 


In virtues which no stains defile 1 


They make the sadden'd hearer sigh ; 
* John iii. 7, S. f 1 Tim. iii. 16. 


* Gen. ii. 7. t Gen. iii. 17—19. 



40 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



For, softer sink they in their cadence far 
Than Autumn's dying tone, beneath some 
mournful star. 

They bore her to that healthful Isle 

Whose rocks of. terraced verdure rise 
And catch the Morn's celestial smile, 
Responsive to the greeting skies ; 
And vainly prophesied, the island-breeze 
Would freshen her white cheek, and waft away 
disease. 

But there she sicken'd, day by day, 

In shrinking paleness, like a flower, 
Yet from her glance there flash'd a ray 
Of almost supernat'ral power ; — 
So bright the lustre of her eye-beam fell, 
It touch'd the tender mind with more than 
woman's spell. 

For mother too, and far-off home, 

Her plaintive heart in secret cried ; 
And backward long'd her soul to roam, — 
Since in the churchyard, side by side 
Under the green turf, where loved sisters lay, 
She hoped her dust might wait the awful 
Judgment-day. 

And, there behold her once again 

In her own room with placid brow, — 
So pale, you see each azure vein 
Meander through her beauty now ; 
Yet, like a pulse of rosy light at even, 
Oft to her faded cheek a crimson flush is given. 

Seldom she sighs, but veils within 

Much that would grieve fond Love to 
knoAv, 
And when some pensive tears begin, 
She tries to cheok their overflow ; 
Safe in the arms of Jesu rests her soul, 
Nor does the early grave with gloom the mind 
control. 

Not for herself, but for the heart 

Of Love maternal, she could weep ; 
And often in young dreams will start, 
As girlish days through mem'ry sweep, 
While faintly through her lips there steals 
a word, — 
And, " Oh ! my mother dear ! " is like low 
music heard. 

She dies, — as Beauty ever dies 

When sad consumption finds a tomb ; 

With brilliance in her deep-set eyes, 
And on her face a healthless bloom ; 



No harsh transition, but a soft decay, 
Like dream-born tones of night, which melt 
by dawn away. 

They wheel her round each garden-walk 

Where oft her lisping childhood play'd, 

And loved to hear the old nurse talk 

And soothe her when she seem'd afraid, 

While danced her ringlets as she prattled on, 

More playful than the birds she loved to gaze 

upon. 

She looks, as they alone, who feel 

The last of earth before them lies, 
While o'er them soften'd mem'ries steal 
Which melt the heart into the eyes, — 
For, tree and turret, woods and uplands, all 
Back to the dying girl her childish past recall ! 

Dream-like the hush of twilight floats, 

Veiling the lilac-bowers around ; 
While in the air melodious notes 
Of soft dejection sweetly sound : 
The Landscape, like a conscious mourner, 
seems 
To lie in brooding shade, and sadden as it 
dreams. 

Now, to her chamber home return'd, 
Before the casement there reclined, 
Just as the broad horizon burn'd 

With the last blush Day left behind, 
Her eye reposed upon the dying sun, 
Fading like feeble youth, before life's course 
is run. 

Hush'd is the breezeless air, and deep 

The awe around each mourner stealing ; 
Bend o'er her form, but do not weep, — 
Death is too grand for outward feeling ! 
As sinks the sun beneath yon golden sea, 
So ebbs her spirit back to God's eternity.* 



THE HOSPITAL. 



She dies, as countless martyrs die 

Beneath the blast of that Disease, + 
Which summons to th' immortal sky 
All ages for their blest release : — 
Not for the dead, but for the living mourn, 
And childless mothers' hearts, and homes 
bereaved and lorn ! 



* Eccles. xii. 7. 
t The sad eloquence of the following statistics will 
commend itself to every feeling heart: — Of the 60,000 
deaths which occur every year in England and Wales, 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



41 



But oh, unlike that beauteous maid 

Who died in mercy, truth, and prayer, 
Millions expire on damp stones laid 
With none to -watch them wither there ; 
Creedless and hopeless, fever' d, sad, and lone, 
Their life an anguish seems, their death a 
muffled groan ! 

Compassion ! 'tis for such we plead ; 
Open thine hand, protect the poor, 
And Christ, who soothed Creation's need, 
Shall bless thy basket and thy store ; 
Counting all mercies to the orphan shown, 
As done unto Himself, when Earth beholds 
His Throne * 

And Thou, on Whom disease and health 

Alike for stay and hope depend, 
A godlike heart bestow on Wealth, 
And let the strong the weak defend ; 
Till charity in perfect type appear, 
And leave the glow of heaven on this benighted 
sphere. 

Guard then, Lord ! that sacred pile 

Whose walls o'ershade the sick and poor, 
For there, Thine own benignant smile 
Descends to gild each opening door ; 
And where the pale ones in consumption lie, 
Some gracious beams bestow of Thine o'er- 
watching eye ! 

The Saviour in the poor man lives 

Reflected through his pain and grief ; 
And he who to the wretched gives, 
To Christ himself imparts relief. + 
And therefore, Shrine of Hope ! we hail thy 
walls, 
Where true compassion works what God on 
earth recalls. 



And faith from out this calm disease 

May waft to heaven its holy breath, 
Ere the last sigh hath brought release, 
And smile away the gloom of death ; 
For wan consumption lets the spirit pray, 
And leaves the mind to act amid serene decay. 

When fever-throbs of fiery pain 

Beat through the blood with burning 
start, 
How can sublime religion gain 
A sainted hold upon the heart ] 
To human sense, a ruin man appears, 
! All blacken'd with despair, and blind with 
hideous fears. 

But, Mercy ! thou canst cheer the bed 
Where gradual weakness gently dies, 
As o'er the life past sin hath led 
Repentance heaves accepted sighs ; 
And that which careless Health had never 
taught, 
Some hallow'd Sickness oft to erring souls has 
brought. 

And, Lord, this blissful hope we nurse, 

That many a wild and wand'ring Soul 
Who reap'd in crime Thy dooming curse, 
And heard its coming thunders roll, 
Here, in this guardian home of peace and 
love, 
May shed the precious tears glad Angels greet 
above.* 



from slow and lingering diseases, about 36,000 are 
probably due to Pulmonary Consumption. One-ninth, 
therefore, of the total mortality of all ages, and more 
than one-fifth of the mortality of adults, is due to 
this cause ! and as the duration of the disease, taking 
one case with another, is about two years, it follows 
that about 72,000 persons are constantly suffering 
from Consumption, being at the rate of four persons 
in every thousand of all ages, and eight in every 
thousand adults ! 

Again, of the 45, 000 deaths occurring eveiy year in 
the metropolis, about 5,600, or one-eighth of the 
total mortality of the metropolis at all ages, and little 
less than one-fifth of the mortality of adults, arises 
from this fatal disease ; and upwards of 11, 000 persons, 
being about one in 170 of the entire population of the 
metropolis, and more than one per cent, of the adults, 
are constantly wasting away under the attacks of this 
lingering malady. 

* Matt. xxv. 40. t Matt, xxv. 35, 36. 



SOCIAL, AND YET ALONE. 

" It is not good that man should be alone ; I will 
make him an help meet for him." — Gen. ii. 18. > 

" It is not good for mah to be alone," 
Thus spake the Godhead from his viewless 
Throne ; 
And yet, if ever Soul might be 
In solitude divinely free, 
I 'Twas when emotion through the young earth 

ran, 
j As the first sunbeam fell on perfect man. 

j Though all without was beautiful and bright, 
j And grace within made intellectual light, 
While sinless heart and loyal will 
Harmoniously did each mini 
The law of love, by wisdom round them 

thrown, — 
It seem'd not good that man should be alone. 



Luke xv. 10. 



42 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



It is not " good ! " for That most awful Three 
Whose name is Love, whose shrine, Eternity, 
In plural bliss for aye commune ; * 
Their Godhead is a blest Triune, 
Eternal One in Three, and Three in One, 
Unfathom'd, Infinite, and Unbegun ! 

But erring, sinful, branded as we are, 
How little each another's heart can share ! 

How much within us, none can know ; 

What feelings Words might blush to show, 
Hid from the fondest eye which ever gazed 
Under the shroud confiding friendship raised ! 

And tones are felt of individual heart 

We cannot, if we would, by breath impart, — 
So deep, so delicate they glide 
Under the soul's mysterious tide ; 

Blent with those shifting thoughts that form 
and die, 

Too faint for words, too subtle for a sigh. 

And who has not, in those ideal hours 
When Nature marshals her majestic powers 
Which mountain, sky and ocean yield, 
Tempests awake, or torrents wield, — 
Within him felt, what speech has not convey'd, 
And soft tears only to the sense display'd ? 

Or, when a sun-burst of entrancing good 

Gladdens our being into gratitude, 
And thoughts emotionally bright 
Leap in the heart like waves of light, 

How have our quiv'ring lips refused to speak 

What flush'd its meaning through our raptured 
cheek ! 

And often too, when sorrow's milder gloom 
Shades the still bosom into memory's tomb, 
When buried friends of boyish days 
Deep yearnings in our spirit raise, 
How vain the effort to unwind the zone 
Which girds the heart, and keeps it all alone ! 

And thou, Religion ! — who can half unfold 
The spells divine thy deeper graces hold 1 
Before mute conscience lies a screen 
That hides from human words, I ween, 
Those loving secrets and those solemn fears 
Which God interprets through our spirits' tears. 

And thus, a sense there is, in which alone 
We must be, — for the soul cannot be shown ; 

And hence, all life is loneliness ; 

Our highest moods are echoless ; 
Single we live, in solitude we die, 
For each heart only can itself descry. 



1 John v. 7. 



But still, what self-born dangers e'er infest 
The man, who cloisters in monastic breast 
Feelings and hopes, which God intends 
As living cords, to fasten friends 
In that sweet bond of amity and love 
Form'd by the angels, when they sing above ! 

Sternly alone, forbid us, Lord ! to be ; 
Warm our chill minds, and centre them on 
Thee; 

Bought by one price, Thy precious Blood ! 

And in Thy church, a brotherhood, 
With God's elected may we ever meet 
In mystic oneness at Thy mercy-seat. 

For what, though morbid Sentiment may dream 
That nought so like a bosom'd heaven can seem, 
That man himself from man should hide, 
And soul by soul be undescried, — 
The heart collapses into coldness, when 
We nurse no feeling for our fellow-men. 

Social in essence is the christian's God ; 

Social in life, the scene our Saviour trod ; 
And selfish chains contract the mind, 
That should encircle human kind, 

Reflecting Him, who veils His awful throne, 

And dwells in Glory that is not alone* 



GREAT UNTRUTH. 

"Ye shall not surely die." — Gen. iii. 4. 

" Ye shall not surely die," 
Dark speech ! that dared defy 

The God of Glory, Who created man, 
And, save yon mystic tree, 
Heaven's garden left him free, 

Where rich the streams of primal music ran.f 

A love was in that law 

Beyond what Reason saw, 
Whereby obedience would have hallow'd bliss : 

It typed a truth divine,— 

That man, oh God ! was Thine, 
And should have learnt it by a law like this. 

A ruin'd Angel came ; 

Yet not on wings of flame, 
With lustres wreath'd around his kingly brow ; 

But, in a serpent-form 

Conceal'd his venom'd charm, 
And poison'd Man to what we see him now ! 



* John i. 1, 18. 



t Gen. ii. 10. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



43 



Oh ! deep as dread the spell 

The Arch-fiend -wove so well, 
Who whisper'd treason* unto creatures fair, 

Which, pure from guilt and guile, 

Beneath God's holy smile 
Bright Priest and Priestess of creation were. 

Tremendous was their fall ! 

And dark the fiendish thrall 
Which so encompass'd with corrupting power 

Both soul and body then, 

That on the race of men 
Came death, — the penance of that dooming 
hour ! 

And doth the Tempter cease ? 

Hath Earth obtain'd release 
From all the blighted Seraph can employ, — 

That stains our yielded soul, 

And, by undreamt control, 
Heaven's inward light may darken or destroy 1 

The wide world answers, No ! 

For, still he reigns below, 
And syllables in spirit o'er again 

The magic of that word 

Primeval woman heard ; 
"Ye shall not die," — yet sounds that impious 
strain ! 

" Ye shall not surely die ! " 

Men listen to the Lie 
That so enchains them to the serpent's doom, 

For passion, pride, and will 

To God act treason still, 
Nor heed what thunders roll beyond the tomb. 

! Yirtue, Love, and Truth, 

Array'd in vernal youth 
With life before ye, like a long romance, 

Why not to Grace retreat, 

Who from the Mercy -seat 
Lifts o'er your perill'd ways her watching glance 1 

Believe that sin is death, 

That poison taints its breath, 
Nor ever by the grave-stone thoughtless be ; 

For sepulchres can preach, 

And pallid conscience reach 
With sermons on sin-hating Deity. 

Unweave that serpent-lie 

" Ye shall not surely die," 
Spirit of grace ! within these hearts of ours ; 

And by Truth's cheering ray 

Disperse sad doubts away, 
And seal with holiness+ men's ransom'd powers. 



* Gen. iii. 11. 



t Eph. i. 13. 



And thus, though tombs remain, 

And still the loathed chain 
Of sin and sorrow bind us to the earth, 

When once the fight is o'er, 

Emanuel ! we shall soar 
To share Thy kingdom of the second birth. 



THE WEEPING CHRIST. 

"Jesus wept." — John xi. 35. 

There is a mute but mighty voice in tears, — 
Words of the eyes, that passionately weep 

A liquid eloquence, which Pity hears 

Gush from the heart's unfathomable deep. 

Whether soft teardrops, like a starry dew, 
Bedim the eyeballs of some beauteous child, 

Till the soul glistens through their heaven of 
blue 
Mournfully bright, or exquisitely wild ; 

Or, drawn from depths where burning silence 
glows, 
From passion-fountains, or, from feeling's soul 
When like a heart-rain, inward grief o'erflows, 
And down pale woman's cheek the rich tears 
roll; 

Or, if in shaded walk, or crowded street, 
Some iron visage where cold harshness dwells, 

Melted and mild, in tears we chance to meet, — 
How are we moved by all sad contrast tells ! 

Yet Painting, Poetry, nor Pathos can 

Touch the pure mind with such majestic pain, 

As when from eyelids of the Son of Man 
Roll'd human tears, untinged by human stain ! 

But, with that pain a blissful feeling blends, 
Born of this thought, — our Lord beside the 
grave,. 

True to our nature, was sublime of Friends, 
And sympathized with those He came to save. 

Awfully veil'd a God in Flesh appears ! 

But, Faith is challenged to a deeper awe 
When she beholds Him with subduing tears 

Hallow the scene delighted Angels saw. 

And to that grave-scene, turn thee, mortal, now ; 

Where Jesu wept, true hearts will often be, — 
And while we gaze upon His awful brow 

Come, Holy Ghost ! and let us learn from 
Thee 



44 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



How no immunities divine remove 

Incarnate Mercy from our common doom ; 

Down to our tears descends His mortal love 
With eyes which moisten'd to behold a tomb ! 

And may Suggestion, with a sacred awe, 
Dream that He wept the cited dead should 
come 

Forth from those glories which the spirit saw 
In the bright region of its boundless home 1 

If to this lovely creed the heart may cling, 
Then, pale weeper ! for the loved and 
gone, 
Ne'er wilt thou yearn once more on earth to 
bring 
Back to life's gloom, some dead, but glorious 
one. 

Emanuel wept ! — enough this truth to know ; 

Lord of our spirit, let Thy tear-drops fall 
Full on sad hearts, till faith's responsive glow 

Warm the cold breast to cry, "My All in 
All ! " 

Religion, Friendship, Feeling, Love, and Truth, 
All in Thy tears a consecration find, 

To soothe worn age, or sanctify wild youth, 
And haunt the temple of each tender mind. 

And when bereaved ones o'er the coffin bend 
To hear the earth-clod with an echoing heart, 

Saviour, who wept for Thine unrisen friend, 
Breathe o'er the soul the sympathy Thou art ! 



VANITY OF ALL CREATED GOOD. 

Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, vanity of 
vanities, all is vanity." — Eccles. i. 2. "The 
creature was made subject to vanity." — Rom. viii. 
20. "Arise and depart, for this is not your rest. " 
— Micah ii. 10. 

There is no rest for man below, 

Soil'd earth is not our home ; 
The sigh must heave, the tear must flow, 

Howe'er for bliss we roam. 

The hollowness of human things, 

The wear of fev'rish thought, 
Each to the heart a shadow brings 

From tombs of mem'ry brought. 

A broken cistern ev'rywhere 

Proves nature's purest joy ; 
Though fresh the draught imagined there, 

How soon we taste alloy ! 



Yet still, prophetic youth believes 

Bright Edens must abound ; 
And fairy Hope fond visions weaves, 

As o'er enchanted ground. 

But soon dark years instruction bring, 

And teach the lesson grave, 
That over earth's most radiant thing 

The cypress-banners wave. 

The burden and the mystery 

Of Life will soon be felt, 
As truths beyond cold Sense to see, 

Will through our being melt : 

Upon thee, like an inward weight 

Eternity will lie, 
And conscience bow beneath the freight 

Of thoughts which never die. 

The poet's wreath, the warrior's plume, 

And hero's envied bays, — 
They cannot hide the haunting tomb, 

Nor lengthen out thy days. 

The cankerworm of coming death 

Begnaws the core of all 
Blithe youth, with its impassion'd breath, 

Would fain perfection call. 

And yet 'tis hard, when vernal health 

Glows brightly on the cheek, 
When Learning, Beauty, Wit, and Wealth 

Their wonted homage seek ; 

When life a lovely Poem seems, 

Whose ev'ry line appears 
Descriptive of those sunny dreams 

That dazzle future years, 

'Tis hard to think of grave and gloom, 

In such glad hour as this, 
And pile, in thought, the distant tomb 

That shall contain our bliss ! 

But oh, believer young and bright, 

With heart and hope awake, 
Come hither ! and with soul aright 

Truth's sober lesson take. 

Were this vast world, with all its joy, 
Its glories, crowns, and charms, 

Secured from change and sad alloy, 
At once within thine arms, 

E'en then, thy heart would hunger still, 

And oft in secret pine ; 
The universe would fail to fill 

A spirit vast as thine ! 



Christ, or despair ! * — behold thy fate 
To that sole choice is bound ; 

And blest are they, who not too late 
Their heaven in God have found. 

For, such will learn to look on all 

Bewilder' d passions love, 
As Sin and Satan's blinding thrall 

To keep us from above. 

And yet, that Book which thus reveals 
Life's baseless dream below, 

And on the heaven false worldlings feel, 
"Writes words of death and woe, 

Say, is it not the page profound 
Which opens realms divine, 

And, where no pangs nor pains abound, 
Cries, " Christian ! they are thine 1 " 

Then, bids thee, eagle-like, to soar 

Right upward for the sun, 
And not this gilded world deplore 

Where peace is never won ] 

Thy home is yonder pangless clime 
"Where saints and martyrs meet, 

And with this choral-burst sublime 
Anthem the mercy-seat, 

' Worthy the Lamb ! for sinners slain, 
Who once the wine-press trod,+ 

Eternity shall be His reign, 
Who ransom'd men for God ! " 



VOICE OF GOD IN THE COOL OF 
THE D4T. 

" They heard the Voice of the Lord God walking in 
the garden in the cool of the day." — Gen. iii. 8. 

How soothing, when the noise of day is o'er 
And fever'd heart-cares sink, becalm' d and cool, 
To wind the bay of some receding shore, 
And bathe our spirit in the beautiful ! 

Creation is no mute unconscious mass 
Of pregnant matter, into being plann'd, 
For, when behind the outer-veil we pass, 
Faith hears it speaking of Emanuel's hand.t 



Acts iv. 12. 

J Prov. vii. 27, 



t Isa. lxiii. 3. 
John i. 3. 



The blood-priced earth's a Sacrament of Him 
Whose regal glories make man's All in All, 
Under Whose throne both saints and seraphim, 
Inflamed with burning adoration, fall. 

There was a time when Eve and Adam heard 
His voice almighty through soft twilight roll, 
And, like glad waters by deep music stirr'd, 
They felt it echo'd by responsive soul. 

But, when dark Treason like a hell-cloud rose 
And guilt between them and His glory came, 
The full warm current of affection froze, 
And Conscience shudder'd at Jehovah's name ! 

" I heard Thy voice, and hid myself, afraid, 
For naked horrors scared the inward eye, 
And while my ruin'd soul was thus display'd, 
The ground beneath me mutter' d, ' Thou shalt 
die!'" 

Oh ! dread confession of our fallen doom, 
That men are exiles from their God, afar, 
That souls are pall'd with atheistic gloom, 
And, but for grace, would perish as they are. 

For like as Adam shrunk behind a tree, 
And paled with cowardice to look on God, 
Revolting hearts the Holy Presence flee, 
And tread the path that first transgressor trod. 

But, Lord of heaven ! when Thy relenting hand 
The ruin'd soul hath reconciled with Blood, 
And Thy blest will, by holiness preferr'd, 
Becomes at once our glory and our good, 

Then, unlike Adam, by dark guilt appall'd, 
We shrink no longer from the Yoice Divine, 
But love to hear it in our hearts recall'd, 
And see creation * with redemption shine. 

The challenge dread, " Where art thou 1 " booms 

. no more, 
But, " Here are we," anticipates the cry ; 
For Sinai's thunders hush their penal roar, 
And sound as gently as Emanuel's sigh. 

Where shall we hie to hear that mystic tone ? 
To halls of Splendour, or to homes of Sin 1 
Not there, my brother ! can The Yoice be known 
Whose breath is music heard from God within ! 

But if thine ear be tender, clear, and true, 
And sensual clay no longer clog the mind, 
Then may thy soul His hidden glory view, 
And hear Christ vocal in the wave and wind. 



Bom. viii. 21. 



k; 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Whether, if cherub Morn her wings unfold, 
And drops of balm each glade and glen array, 
Thou lov*st to mark the orient mists uproll'd, 
While ope the eyelids of commencing Day. 

Or, on the marble sea, at noon entranced, 
In breezeless glory rock'd to living rest, 
From some lone cliff thy pensive eye has 

glanced, 
Till ocean's calm lay mirror'd on thy breast ; 

Or, thou hast mused at sunset, sad and pale, 
By pebbled shore where plaintive waters meet, 
Till gradual Twilight dropt her dewy veil, 
And dark the seaweed slumber'd at thy feet, — 

Alike in all a saintly mind can hear 
Some tone celestial, like a spirit glide, 
And breathe to Nature that her God is near, 
And all her spell-work by His hand supplied. 

And thus, dear Lord ! in what we do, or dare, 
Be Thy meek virtues our most glorious choice ; 
From sea and mountain may we lift our prayer, 
And hear creation echo'd with Thy Yoice. 

In the cool evening of life's calm decay 
Soft o'er the soul may lulling whispers fall, 
And Wisdom teach our filial hearts to pray 
" Father in Heaven ! for home prepare us all." 



GOD'S CURSE UPON THE GROUND. 

Cursed is the ground for thy sake .... Thorns, 
also, and thistles, shall it bring forth to thee. " — 
Gen. iii. 17, 18. 

Though sumless mercies teem around 

In ocean, earth, and air, 
Mysterious vengeance haunts the ground, — 

A curse is cleaving there ! 
The thorn which mars our blighted fields, 

The thistle that appears, 
Each to our soul a lesson yields 

Becoming thoughtful fears. 

And, add to this the weariness 

On Manhood's sunken brow, 
The burden and the bitterness 

Which darken Labour now, 
Together with the barren soil 

That gives a stern reply, 
To hearts that tend and hands which toil 

Beneath a threatful sky, — 



These unrelenting symbols tell, 

O'er this sad World of ours 
The frownings of Jehovah fell, 

And blighted all her bowers ! 
Unbeautified and bare they seem 

Her landscapes, scenes, and all 
Which once surpass'd the Muse's dream, 

And men Elysium call. 

The curse of sin's avenging God 

Hath sear'd the blasted earth, 
And glooms of His judicial rod 

Hang o'er us from our birth : — 
Yet, with the curse Compassion weaved 

A mystery of love, 
And Angels o'er the past who grieved, 

Sang wonder-hymns above 

To see while Godhead in His wrath 

The gates of Eden closed, 
Calm o'er the exiled sinner's path 

A ray of Christ reposed ! * — 
Light in our darkness yet remains, 

Flowers bloom among our weeds ; 
And Grace unbinds the loathed chains 

With which tried Nature bleeds. 

And Thou art branded, fiendish One ! 

Who tempted man to sin, 
A hell in hellf thy crime hath won, 

To blast despair within. 
And ye ! the guilty heirs of dust 

Who fain from earth would fly, % 
Stand, and be doom'd by heaven ye must,- 

Can God Himself deny 1 

But good shall out of evil spring, 

And love with judgment blend, 
For, round the curse God's ransom'd sing, 

'•' Our Father ! and our Friend ! " 
And though pale mothers here may read 

Of birth-pangs, and their woes, § 
Yet is not Christ the woman's seed, 

Whom earth to mother owes 1 



And if round spousal love there winds 

A thorny wreath of care, 
Myriads of married Hearts and Minds 

Prove wedlock pure and fair : 
Men are not tyrants, though they rule, 

If christian lords they be ; 
And women by subjection school 

Their love for liberty. 



* Gen. iii. 15. 
Gen. iii. 8. 



f Matt. viii. 
Gen. iii. 16. 



James ii. 19. 
II Gen. iii. 16. 



THE CHRISTIAN" LIFE. 



And never be this truth forgot, 

That Wedlock is a sign, 
The Church endures no widow'd lot, 

Her Husband is divine ! 
And though cold Earth reluctant now 

Brings forth her fruits and flowers, 
While sweating anguish damps the brow 

By work, and wearied hours, 

Yet in that toil emotions lurk 

To keep the heart awake ; — 
Where is our wisdom, if no work 

Our laggard dreams can break 1 ? 
And from the soil we plough and turn 

With labour's ceaseless hand, 
Religion may her Bible learn, 

And think of God's command ! 

Thus, though the sentence, " Dust thou art, 

And low in dust shalt be, 
Booms like a knell within the heart 

When wrung by memory, 
Yet may the trump of Easter sound 

O'er each sepulchral sod, 
" Awake ! thou sleeper, from the ground, 

And gaze upon thy G-od ! " 



WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD. 

"Weep not for the dead, neither bemoan him." 

Jer. xxii. 10. 
Oh, weep not for the holy dead 

Embosom'd in their God, 
But rather that high pathway tread 

Their sainted virtues trod : 

Their home is now the tearless clime 

Where sins nor sorrows reign, 
And all the pure they lost in time 

True Hearts embrace again. 

The Lord who came our souls to save 

Dead Laz'rus did not mourn, 
But His sublime compassion gave 

To sisters left forlorn. 

It must be so ; for ponder well, 

When God's award is given, 
Love cannot rescue vice from hell, 

Nor pity saints in heaven. 

'Tis true, as thoughtful years advance 
We muse with sadden'd mind, 

When mem'ry throws a tearful glance 
On scenes long left behind ! 



Where have they fled, the brave and dear, 

The brightest of the throng, 
Who gladden'd home's delighted sphere 

With sunshine and with song 1 

'Twere vain to tell us not to weep, 
When Mem'ry opes that tomb 

Where buried Joys in darkness sleep, 
That fill'd young life with bloom. 

For often in some bleak distress 

The dead upon us rise, 
As though they knew our loneliness, 

And echo'd back our sighs. 

'Tis then the heart-dew riseth fast, 
And moisten'd eye-beams tell 

Our Souls are with the solemn past, 
And feel its mighty spell ! 

And will not gentle Bosoms weep, 
To think what pangs we gave 

To friends above whose dreamless sleep 
Funereal banners wave ? — 

How often might some healing word, 

Or tone of kindness spoken, 
With love's divinest thrill have stirr'd 

A heart that seem'd half broken ! 



GLORY OF DEPARTED SAINTS. 

"Absent from the body — pi-esent with the Lord." 

2 Cor. v. S. 

Hail to the bright and blissful Choir 
Who wreathe the Saviour's throne ! 

Eternity hath strung their lyre, 
And Glory gives the tone : 

We mourn them not, we mourn them not, 
Who crowd the halls of Heaven, 

For theirs is now the pangless lot, 
The smile of saints forgiven. 

Through shades of wintry loneliness 
While here our pathways wind 

As orphans in the soul's distress 
We seek some answ'ring mind, 

Yet, proves it like some balmy dream 
From heaven just floating down, 

When round our yearning fancies beam 
The lustres of their crown ! 



48 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFP1 



On this bad earth, like us, they knew 

The with'ring curse of sin ; 
Or shudder'd o'er some hideous view 

Of dawning hell within : 

The winged thoughts which bravely soar'd 

Beyond the realms of time, 
Those deepest prayers that once ador'd 

The King of Kings sublime, 

What were they, in their rapt delight 

Outsoaring all we feel, — 
But bird-wings broken in their flight, 

When storm-blasts round them wheel ] 

Upward and upward did they rise 

From earth's pollution free, 
Those Eagles of the Lord, whose eyes 

Glow'd with eternity ! 

But oh, at best, they did but scan 

Far off that living Sun, 
By whose rich glory rescued Man 

From darkness hath been won. 

But now, the coil of earth removed, 
No sins their conscience stain ; 

We call them dead, — but Their Beloved 
Becomes a deathless gain.* 

They sun their souls in living rays, 

His Form of glory darts, 
While swells of superhuman praise 

Heave from their burning hearts. 

Then, who would call them back to earth 

These holy Dead, on high 1 
No ! rather let their peerless worth 

Attract us to the sky : 

Their task is o'er, their toil is done, 
Embower'd in bliss they dwell, 

And would we wear the crown they won ] — 
Then, let us fight f as well ! 

Far better this, than mourn the dead 

By selfish grief inspired ; 
Their path to glory may we tread, 

By pure example fired : 

So shall we reach our home at last, 

Whate'er the wilds we trod, 
And find the dead from earth who pass'd 

Were still our friends in God. 



"To live is Christ, and to die is gain. 
t 2 Tim. iv. 7, 8. 



THE RELIGION OF SOLITUDE. 

" Surely the Lord is in this place, and I knew it not 
. . . this is none other but the house of God, and 
this is the gate of heaven." — Gea. xxviii. 16, 17. 

Lone nature is no loneliness to me, 
Her solitude makes my society, 
For there I listen to a Voice that seems 
Like heaven-tones heard by prophets in their 
dreams. 

Serenely awful o'er my tranced soul 

I hear the music of th' Almighty roll, 

And each deep cadence oft appears to tell, — 

" My Hand o'ershades thee, though invisible ! " 

Thus have I felt, in regions wild and lone 
Where Nature loves to rear her rocky throne, 
Where nought intrudes to mar the tranquil 

mind, 
And nothing murmurs but the mountain-wind, 

Or, happy brooks which down the hillocks play 
And sing, like birds in sunbeams far away, 
Or, glancing bees that o'er the wood-born 

flowers 
Whirl their gay dance, and hum away the hours. 

Yet, perfect solitude there cannot be, 
Since all around us acts Divinity ; 
Like space to body, so is God to soul, 
Who all created, and contains the whole. 



The hush of Nature may be holy calm 
Breathed by blest Angels, when they spread 

the balm 
Of beauteous quiet o'er the heart of things, 
And veil the landscape with their viewless 

wings. 

When wearied Jacob, pillow'd on the stone, 
Slumber'd at dewy night, he seem'd alone ; 
What Sense beheld, no sacred token found 
That Haran's desert was a haunted ground : 

But, when a dream-power purified his glance, 
His eye unseal'd, survey'd in wondrous trance 
Angels ascending and descending there, 
And when he woke — he trembled into prayer ! * 

And so, round us may guardian Spirits move 
To ply unseen soft ministries of love, 
While we walk careless o'er the greenwood sod, 
Nor rev'rence nature as instinct with God. 



Gen. xxviii. 17. 



THE CHEISTIAN LIFE. 



49 



Then read creation with religious eye, 
If God and angels thou wouldst there descry, 
To which alone the Patriarch's dream is given, - 
A mystic ladder linking earth with heaven. 



FIRST EXILES. 



"The Lord God sent him forth from the garden 
of Eden."— Gen. hi. 23. 

Though earth abounds with choral streams, 
And sunny gladness smiles and gleams 
O'er forest glade and woodland-flower, 
Yet man has lost his fairest bower ! 

With arching glory bright and blue 
Though heaven attract the minstrel's view, 
And bird and breeze, upon the wing, 
Their lyric strain in concert sing, 

Yet may each pure poetic spot 
Where grief and guilt are most forgot, 
Faint shadows of our exile feel 
Around it, like dark memory, steal. 

For, there intrudes an aching thought, 
A feeling with dejection fraught, 
An under-tone of discontent 
With our serenest rapture blent. 

The whence, and why, we cannot tell, — 
But girt we are with such a spell ; 
A zone mysterious which can bind 
And oft enclose the calmest mind. 

Who hath not felt such worldless mood 
When cloister'd in green solitude, 
With nothing near, but earth and sky, 
And none to read him, but God's eye ! 

And oft, too, when we cease to roam 
Amid the heaven of virtuous home, 
With leisure, books, and wedded love, 
And peace and pureness from above, 

E'en then, a craving thirst will rise 
For more than present bliss supplies ; 
Soft yearnings through the spirit melt, 
And seek what soul hath never felt. 

Whence come these moods 1 we vainly ask: - 
" Oh ! why is life a wearied task, 
Where unreposing trials speak, 
The world is sad, and nature weak ? " 

Is it, because no being can 

The inward deeps of deathless man 



With such a rich contentment fill, 

As leaves the conscience lull'd, and still ] 

Or, shall we find the felt unrest 
That haunts the hour most deeply blest, 
In man's indwelling plague of sin, — 
The venom'd fire that burns within 1 

Yea, these, and more than we divine, 
May round these perill'd hearts combine, 
To darken with unearthly hues 
Our radiant hours, and richest views. 

And when we know, that Adam's fall 
O'er bright creation drew a pall, 
And over man and nature cast 
The shadow of a ruin'd past, 

Behold ! the myst'ry half unwinds, 
Why sadness dims some holy minds, 
And mild dejection inly sighs 
For brighter scenes, and bluer skies. 

It is because, like exiles we, 
When roaming on a foreign sea, 
While pilgrim waves approach the strand, 
Are dreaming of our own far land ; 

And thus to realms of gracious thought 
Are mystic recollections brought 
Of vanish'd Eden, and the bowers, 
Where God and innocence were ours. 

As exiled ones, a branded race 
Whom sin and self alike disgrace, 
Say, ought we not, where'er we roam, 
By faith to see our forfeit home 1 

And never, oh ! Thou Source of Light, 
Let this cold earth become too bright ; 
Lest, world-enamour'd we may grow, 
And root our hearts in bliss below. 

Rather on high, ascended Lord ! 
Lift we our souls on Thy loved word, 
And through God's Eden yearn to rove 
That blooms and brightens with Thy Lov< 



MODERATION. 

"Give me neither poverty nor riches." — Prov. xxx. S 

I will not sigh for vast domains, 

For festive halls and homes of pleasure, 
Nor do I seek redundant gains 

To heap my huge and hoarded treasure ; 
But this I dare to ask,— a placid mind 
In every pulse of thought to heaven resign'd. 



50 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



There is a wealth in calm desires, 

In chaste content and holy feeling, 
Beyond their reach whom gold inspires, 
But madly from themselves are stealing 
That more than jewel'd mines those hearts 

possess, 
Which beat secure in God's almightiness. 

Extremes are not what man endures 

Unless by heavenly wisdom guided ; 
And Gain the heart to guilt allures, 
When once a soul becomes divided 
Between what God and duty only claim 
From all baptised into Emanuel's name. 

Thus, riches prove a deadly gift 

Which oft corrupt each calmer blessing, 
And to such height the mind uplift, 

That soon it shrinks from e'er confessing 
How all we have, and are, or hope to be, 
Flows from the fountain-grace of Deity. 

'Tis sad to think how gilded clay 

Hath tempted man from God, and 
glory ! 
And lured him on the broad bad way 

Which Christ reveals in warning story ; * 
That path whose breadth doth equal Passion's 

will, 
And widens ever to increase the ill. 

But there is wealth for all whose eyes 
Can hail true charms around them 
glowing, 
And more than mines in those supplies 
Creation's scenes are e'er bestowing, 
Would men but love them with congenial 

mind 
And seek pure riches, such as God design'd. 

Here is an heritage for all, 

A patrimonial bliss unbounded, 
The ruin'd orphans of the world may call 
Their own, howe'er by want surrounded : — 
Of Nature's glories none but Hearts complain 
Whose coldness feels their inspiration vain. 

Then, bless we God for this bright world, 

Its majesty of form and motion, 
For all the beams by Light unfurl'd 
Which grace the earth, or gild the 
ocean ; 
For the mild lisp of each melodious breeze 
And word-like whisper of those conscious 
trees ! 



Matt. vii. 13. 



Nor be forgot the seasons' change 

In rounds of restless life recurring, 
Through which the poet's eye can range, 
And feel his lyric bosom stirring, 
When oft he views in vestal skies afar 
The dream-like radiance of some throbbing 
star. 

And are there not, apart from gold 

And haughty Grandeur's sumptuous 
dwelling, 
True mercies, which the pure behold 

With silent hymns of gladness swell- 
ing- 
Health, food, and raiment, and the countless 

store 
Of blessings, that enwreath some cottage 
door? 

Bright homes of bliss, and hearths of joy 

With Love's glad face upon us beaming, 
And genial friends, whose smiles destroy 
Autumnal shades, when doubt lies dream- 
ing; 
The infant's prattle, and the mother's tone 
Whose wedded heart seems throbbing through 
our own ! 

Yes, these are more than gold can gain, 

And often fly the haunts of splendour, 
Whose pomp excites ambitious pain 

And leaves the selfish heart untender, — 
Dead to its God, and cold to all who plead, 
When doom'd to lie like Lazarus in his need. 

And add to this, that Book Divine ! — 

The God in language manifested, 
Where glory streams from each true line 
By earth and heaven for aye attested ; 
Ah ! none are poor who call such volume 

theirs, 
And of its promises are heaven-born heirs. 

And we have sacraments and rites 

The holy Church to all presenteth, 
With peaceful hopes and pure delights 
To each whose tearful soul repenteth, — 
Prayers, hymns, and chants, and hallelujahs 

deep 
Whose choral thunders round the dim aisles 
sweep. 

Xor let us, with unloving mind, 

Forget what art and science granteth, 
What music yields to ears refined 

When harps resound, or Woman chanteth ; 
True are such pleasures, innocently loved, 
By reason sanction'd and by heaven approved. 



THE CHRISTIAN" LIFE. 



51 



Then seek we not for vast domains, 

For sumptuous halls and homes of plea- 
sure ; 
He more than royal Croesus gains 

Who finds in God his gold and treasure :— 
With Him the destitute have boundless 

store, 
But, oh, without Him, Wealth itself is poor ! 

Our noblest wealth is heaven-born grace 

From out the Spirit's heart descending, 
Which leaves in men a living trace 
Of holy truth, their hearts amending : 
Here are deep riches, fit for realms divine, 
Gems of pure gold from God's eternal mine. 



INFANCY IN HEAVEN. 

"Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." — Matt. xix. 14. 

Thou beauteous Morn of sainted rest ! 
Breathing like balm along the troubled breast. 
Now while the sacred chimes are pealing 
Floats o'er my soul a soften'd feeling, 

That springeth not from earth alone ;— 
My heaven-gone babe ! I think of thee, 
Who in thy young eternity 

A sabbath first wilt call thine own. 

But one week since, and thou wert here 
Tender as Morning's crystal tear, 
A little flutt'ring shape of life 
Too frail to bear the breath of strife, — 

We almost fear'd on thee to gaze ! 
While something like prophetic sighs 
Did from parental hearts arise, 

When dreaming o'er thine unborn days. 

Calm innocent ! whose helpless charms 
Lay nestled in thy nurse's arms, 
We loved to watch each dawning gleam 
That from thy soul began to beam, 

And half believed it long'd to smile ; 
And though unlisp'd thy thought expired 
Within mysterious depths retired, — 

Thy lip seem'd eloquent the while ! 

'Twas beautiful in sleep to view 
The radiance of a rose-like hue 
Bloom softly o'er thy rounded cheek, — 
As though some Angel did bespeak 

Thy spirit with an unvoiced spell ; 
Since more than beauty then array 'd 
Thy features, while their flush betray 'd 

What earth-breathed tones can never tell. 



How often, when no eye could see, 
I breathed a father's prayer o'er thee ! 
And where thy little cradle stood 
Besought the Source of heavenly good 

Thy life to overshade with love ; 
How did I mark with doating gaze 
Thy baby wiles and winsome ways, 

And blest for thee my God above ! 

Such wert thou, ere the Voice Divine, 
" The first-born, ere it sin, 'tis mine," * 
Roll'd through our hearts its awful cry ! 
And, softer than aerial sigh, 

To heaven return'd thine infant-breath ; 
Like a dead lily wert thou laid 
Ere sin had cast its poison-shade 

Around thee, white in lovely death. 

We wept, as they can weep alone 
Who first a parent's grief have known ; 
And felt as though a life-chord broke 
At spectral dawn, when Day awoke, 

And all was breathless in thy room ! 
Oh, there the hush of graves did brood, 
And awful seem'd the solitude 

That was to wrap thine early tomb. 

One last, and long, and clinging look 
Of thy dead face and form I took, 
And into memory did receive 
An image, that shall never leave 

My soul, while time and truth remain !- 
Seldom has Death more beauty hid 
Under a coffin's tiny lid, 

Than thine, within the churchyard lain. 

All this thou wast ; but what, and where 
Thy spirit now, can none declare : 
For, born in sin, baptised and seal'd 
With grace divine, God bid thee yield 

Thine innocence to Him on high ; 
Back, like a heaven-bird to its home, 
Borne by blest Angels, didst thou roam, 

And vanish'd to thy genial sky. 

Oh, wond'rous change ! — the purest word 
By mental wisdom breathed, or heard, 
The brightest dream that can entrance 
A raptured saint, or martyr's glance, 

Are all too weak and worthless things 
E'er to unfold what thou must feel, 
To whom Heaven's glories now reveal 

More than the harp of David sings ! 

A nursling wert thou, wan and weak ; 
A sigh was all thy soul could speak ; 



Exod. xiii. 2. 



e2 



52 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Frailer than new-born lambs which feed 
When dropp'd upon the sunny mead, — 

We only trembled, while we gazed, 
To think that such a cradled form 
Could weather out life's wasting storm, 

That must around thy lot be raised. 

A watch-tick would have been to thee 
The height of human mystery ; 
A tone, a sunbeam, or a flower 
Have all surpass'd thy mental power, 

And rapt thee in amazement deep ; 
But now, — beyond what Saints believe 
Thy faculties in heaven receive, 

And neither sin, nor weep ! 

Yes, in a moment, vast the change 
That must around thy spirit's range 
Have circled its divine excess 
Of all which can the glorious bless ! 

While o'er thy manumitted soul, 
Transcending all the Church hath known 
Since Christ ascended to His throne, — 

Yoices and visions grandly stole. 

Baptismal grace and purity, 
Far more than time, befitted thee 
For scenes of splendour, which await 
Bright Spirits in their perfect state,— 

The sacramental Host in heaven : 
What lofty minds but half presage, 
To thee is now an open page 

Beyond the glance in scripture given. 

And oh, what bliss, which baffles thought ! 
To think that upward thou art caught 
To some chaste realm of cloudless joy, 
Before the touch of earth's alloy 

Had stain'd the virgin soul with sin ; 
Ere passion, or polluted deed 
Had caused the harrow'd mind to bleed, — 

Heaven oped its doors, and let thee in ! 

Thus while yon pensive chimes are pealing 
Floats o'er my soul a sacred feeling, 
Mournful, but mild, and full of prayer, — 
A thought beyond what creeds declare, 

That thou, sweet babe ! art shrined in glory, 
'Mid saints and prophets, priests and kings, 
A Spirit graced with star-bright wings, 

With innocents who died before thee. 

Here, in this vale o£ time and tears 
While we fulfil our fated years, 
'Twill oft refresh my heart to dream 
What living splendours round thee beam, 

That issue from The Lamb who died ; 
AVhile lisping cherubs, like to thee, 
Warble before the Deity 

Soft anthems to The Crucified. 



DIVINE WALK. 

" Enoch walked with God." — Gen. v. 24. 

And didst thou choose the narrow path 
Which sainted feet have ever trod, 

And know the peace high Virtue hath 
When pillow'd on the breast of God ] 

Though all around thee crime and sin 
Their moral desert made and threw, 

Was thy religion felt within, 
And outwardly embodied, too 1 

Primeval saint ! seraphic man ! 

By ardent grace so fill'd and fired, 
Thy blest eternity began 

Before the common age expired. 

No spectral glooms, no pangs of death, 
No hollow cheek, no sunken eye, 

Nor pallid swoon, nor panting breath 
Betray'd the King of Terrors nigh : 

Bright trophy of atoning Blood ! 

Thy doom escaped them, one and all ; 
As if thou wert for earth too good 

Thy native heaven did thee recall. 

At once to glory upward soar'd 

Thy being, with unwav'ring flight ; 

No kindred heart thy death deplored, 
No grave inhumed thee out of sight. 

Thou wert not ! — this seems all we know 
Of thine unview'd ascent to bliss ; * 

What more relates to thee below, 
Belongs not to a state like this. 

In flaming cars with steeds of fire 
Kapt in a whirlwind, didst thou rise, 

To mingle with that harping Choir 

Who worship God with wing-veil'd eyes % 

Or, did some mission'd angel-bands 
Speed from the bowers of blissful love, 

To waft thee with encircling hands 
To thy pure home prepared above 1 

In vain of this and more we dream, 
Nor how can sainted fancy tell 

Thy soar outwing'd the solar beam, 
And vanish'd through the visible ! 

Yet, could we, like an Enoch walk 
And closely with our God commune, 

With more than angels men might talk, 
And earth itself to heaven attune. 



Gen. v. 24. 



THE CHRISTIAN" LIFE, 



53 



"We should not seek for temple-roof 
To overarch our heads in prayer, 

But find in ev'ry scene a proof 
Jehovah was enshrouded there. 

The poet's walk through pensive scenes 
Companioned with God's love would be, 

"When doubt, nor darkness, intervenes 
To hide his heart from Deity. 

All beauty would more beauteous grow, 
All music more melodious sound, 

Did moral hues of heaven below 
More freshly in our ways abound. 

It is because the Cain-like heart 
To selfish pride retreats alone, 

That God and glory dwell apart 

From that cold bliss we call our own. 

But when, like Enoch, men can muse, 
And with our Maker's smile array 

The path of life they rightly choose, 

What gleams from heaven adorn their way 

Jehovah's will, Jehovah's word, 

Within, without, rules everywhere ; 

And conscience is obey'd and heard 
Till man becomes incarnate prayer. 

Abroad, at home, in sun, or shade, 
By rocky shore, or mountain-stream, 

Divinest thoughts the soul invade, 
And nowhere can we orphans seem ; 

Since Faith applies vast providence 
To each peculiar grief and groan, 

.And grasps believed omnipotence 
As though it ruled for Her alone. 

Awake, and sing then, christian soul ! 

If, like yon saint before the flood, 
Under the Spirit's true control 

A frowning world thou hast withstood. 

Enoch was not : — to God he soar'd, 
Left a low earth defiled like this, 

Sought the bright Parent he adored 
And melted in almighty bliss ! 

Thus, more and more to yonder fount 
Of perfect glory thou may'st glide ; 

And nearer still like Enoch mount 
To regions ne'er by sin descried. 

As He was not, thou shalt not be 

Discern'd by what the world calls sense— 

Thy dwelling-place is Deity,* 

And simple Faith thy sure defence. 



STRIVE NOT WITH THE SPIRIT. 

" My Spirit shall not always strive with, mau." 

Gen. vi. 3. 

Most awful booms that word 

Rolling its cadence deep, 
Till the roused heart is inly stirr'd 
From out its iron sleep, 
When God " repents " He e'er created man,* 
Since like one giant sin, the earth to ruin ran! 

Can mortal accent tell 

How heaves th' Eternal Mind, 
"When these divine emotions swell, 
Commoved by human kind, — 
" With man My Spirit shall not always strive, 
For it repents Me now, that such I made alive 1 " 

In this the harvest see 

By Adam's sin first sown ! 
All vices reign, all virtues flee, 
And from His watching Throne 
When scans the Godhead our apostate race, 
No hallow'd feature there can His omniscience 
trace.t 

For not one thrill of thought 

"Which plays within the soul 
That is not with rebellion fraught, 
Now sin hath seized the whole 
Our flesh and spirit, heart and will include, 
With utter hate of God, and dread ingratitude ! 

Evil, and nothing more, 

Behold, man's nature now : — ■ 
Blest Angels ! did ye not deplore, 
When Earth her wither'd brow 
Lifted beneath you, in yon spheres of light, 
And show'd her branded front, of old so pure 
and bright 3 

But, lo ! the hour of wrath, 

Commission'd from above, 
Stern vengeance o'er the sinners' path, 
With whom the Spirit strove, 
Shall roll in ruin; and the godless world 
See thunderbolts of death from His fierce 
anger hurl'd ! 

Insect, and man, and beast, 

"Whatever lives an4 moves, 
The lofty sinner, and the least 
"Who madly crime approves, — 
The broken fountains of the deep shall burst, 
And sweep them into gloom, like things by 
God accurst ! 



* Ps. XC. l. 



Gen. vi 6. 



t Ps. xiv. 



54 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



And is the record dead, 

Which here unveils to man 
The ruin early vice had bred, 
When lawless will began 
Reason and Conscience both at once to sway, 
Till, like embosom'd fiends, bad passions had 
their play 1 

No ! judgment never dies, 
But lives as long as sin 
The law of love and truth defies, 
And renders Man within 
A jarring discord, out of tune with heaven, 
A wreck of sinful woe, by darkest vices driven. 

Go, Rebel ! take thy stand 

On some steep rock, which frown'd 
In fearful gloom above the land 
By God's vast deluge drown'd, — 
As if thou heard' st the desolating roar 
Of billows when they lash'd th' uncofiin'd dead 
they bore, 

And there, let Conscience learn 

A lesson for all time, — 
That God must aye with anger burn 
O'er unrepenting crime : 
He cannot, will not, on the sinner look, 
Until the weeping Heart hath guilt for grace 
forsook. 

Come, then, celestial Grace ! 
Like dew of Hermon steal 
O'er the dry souls of our sad race, 
Until they pray and feel ; 
That so Thy Spirit, when He plies His love, 
May not, by us aggrieved, return to Thee 
above. 

For His deep coming, watch 

With list'ning heart of prayer ! 
And ever lift the inward latch 
That yields him entrance there ; 
So less and less His strivings will be known, 
And God's bright Spirit seem commingled 
with our own.* 

Then, like a temple built 

By some celestial Hand, 
No more shall gloom and dreadless guilt 
Benignant grace withstand, 
But each pure Soul a living shrine will be, 
Where Angels view enthroned the awful 
Trinity. 



1 Cor. vi. r, 



A BELIEVER'S WISH. 

"To depart and to be with Christ — is far better." 

Phil. i. 23. 

I wish I lived where Jesu reigns 

In yonder sinless world above, 
Where not a pang the bosom pains 

And all is light, for all is love. 

There, with rapt Seraphims, how sweet 
Anthems of choral bliss to blend, 

And thus with white-robed * myriads greet, 
In Glory's form, the sinner's Friend. 

No self will there the soul defile, 

No shadows o'er remembrance steal, 

But conscience, purged from guilt and guile, 
Shall all the heaven of virtue feel. 

Those fever-dreams of sense and time 
Which now profane our purest bliss, 

Shall not infest that hallow'd Clime 

With stains which mar a world like this. 

Oh ! bright excess, beyond all thought, 
When saints have reach'd that radiant goal 

Where Man, to full perfection brought, 
In God shall ark his wearied soul ! 

For, what can sense-born pleasure give 
When most the world itself imparts, 

But bribes to let base passions live 
Like serpents in our selfish hearts ? 

The chastest scene, the calmest home 
By poet hymn'd, or reason blest, — 

Who has not felt his fancy roam, 
And image forth a finer rest ? 

Our dream for some diviner world 
Can never pause in realms of time, 

When hope's fair wings, by faith unfurl'd, 
Would waft us to that pangless clime. 

Safe in the shadow of Thy throne, 
Reveal'd Almighty ! let us dwell, 

And in yon circling rainbow + own 
The hues which our redemption tell. 

Thou art, Christ ! the sinner's heaven ; 

Without Thee, man is death and gloom, 
And only with that word, " forgiven," 

Can hearts approach the dismal tomb. 



* Rev. xix. 8. 



t Rev. iv. 3; v. 6. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



55 



Be Thou the vital sun and shield 


Through colour's varied gleam ; 


To light our path, and guide our souls ; 


And all which eyes enamour'd view, 


Nor let our tempted bosoms yield 


Reflect on man that restless hue 


Except to what Thy will controls. 


Which hints our life a dream ! 


Life of our life ! be all our bliss ; 


The sweetest notes bland music brings 


Torn from Thy truth, since none are blest; 


To vibrate o'er those moral strings 


Without Thee, men and angels miss 


Which make the heart a lyre, — 


That centre where the creatures rest. 


E'en while we listen, lo ! they die 




In lulls of languish, like the sigh 


And can we doubt, if Godhead find 


Some Angel might respire. 


Complacency * in Christ the Lord, 




That He excels whate'er the mind 


And, look upon the face we love ! 


Creates in thought, or calls by word ? 


More eloquent than skies above 




When clothed with chastest light, — 


Ye heavens ! though bright your splendour be, 


Its spell of beauty is the change 


Emanuel forms your living fount, 


Expressions leave, as there they range 


And none can rise to Deity 


And fascinate our sight. 


Who do not through His merit mount. 






Thus, all we view of scene or sound 


Then, hail the hour ! that summons Man 


With sad instruction doth abound, 


Beyond our sullied earth to soar 


And preach,—" Prepare to part ! " 


To Him, Whose finite heaven began f 


Tor souls can have no resting-place 


When first for sin the cross he bore. 


Where sin hath left a with'ring trace, 




And shadow on the heart. 



HERE WE HAVE NO ABIDING HOME. 

" Here we have no continuing city, but we seek one 
to come." — Heb. xiii. 14. "They that say such 
things declare plainly that they seek a country." 
—Heb. 3d. 14. 

Since all we love on earth must die, 
And swift as hues of morning fly 

The hopes young bosoms store, 
Oh, softly let thy feelings twine 
Round the rich heart thou callest thine, — 

For soon 'twill beat no more ! 

When first our virgin senses wake 
And of fair Earth a prospect take, 

Her treasures, homes, and smiles, — 
A false eternity arrays 
The scene that mocks our dazzled gaze 

With its ambitious wiles. 

And yet, might reason's colder truth 
Unveil dark facts to wayward youth, 

Creation doth not hold 
A perfect semblance to her past ; 
But everywhere dim shades are cast 

On what she was of old. 

The clouds of heaven for ever change ; 
The tints of earth and ocean range 



i. xlii. 1. 



t Johniv. 34; Ps. xl. 8. 



Too many tears our eyelids wet, 
Too many graves are open'd yet, 

To leave the mind at peace ; 
And, where the soul, without a thorn * 
To probe it, till it bleeds forlorn, 

And yearns for heaven's release 1 

And blest are they whom Grace hath brought 
To bow content before the thought, — 

Earth's dearest ties are frail ; 
These will not, in the rending hour 
When Death unveils his darksome power, 

Like unbelievers, quail ! 

But woe !" to wistful hearts that cling 
To whatsoe'er wild passions bring 

Of fulness, fire, and force, 
Till idols mount the bosom-throne, 
Where God and grace should rule alone 

The soul's most secret course. 

And, woe ! to young Affection's eye 
Which half adores what soon must die, 

And melt in mortal clay ; 
Eternal beauty dwells not here, 
And ill becomes that tainted sphere 

Where Death demands his prey. 

But did we, like the saints of old, 
Hereafter through this Now behold, 



* 2 Cor. xii. 7, 



56 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



What pangs our hearts would save ! 
Eternity our home would seem, 
And life become a brilliant dream 

Dissolving o'er the grave. 

Wild heart of wasteful Youth ! begin 
At once to cool the thirst of sin 

For ever here to bide ; 
Life, love, and earth can flatter thee, 
But cannot thy salvation be, 

Nor death, nor judgment hide. 

Ah ! wert thou touch'd with heavenly love, 
Did Christ, thy magnet, far above 

Attract thy veering eyes, 
How would the wing'd affections mount 
And flutter near that blissful Fount 

Who all our heaven supplies ! 

Unwav'ring Souls which pant for bliss, 
Will feel their perfect treasure is 

Where nothing false is found ; 
And since in heaven Messiah dwells, 
They will not dread those bleak farewells 

With which dark years abound. 

" Gone to prepare a place for you," — * 
Hosannah to that promise true ! 

It opens heaven for prayer ; 
If in our souls one pulse there beat 
Of Godhead, at the mercy-seat, 

They long to worship there ! 

For heaven is not a desert cold 
Which cannot human feelings hold, 

Where Christ as Man is seen ; 
Since they adorn that region bright 
From earth redeem'd, array'd in white, 

Who once like us have been. 



OUR TRUE COMPANION. 

" Abide with us, for it is toward evening, and the day 
is far spent. " — Luke xxiv. 29. 

Abide with us ! sustaining Lord, abide ; 
Without Thee, vain is all the world beside : 
When Thou art vanish' d, nought true Souls can 

see 
But the sad loneliness that sighs for Thee. 

The life we bear is oft a burden'd thing 
Fill'd with a load of varied suffering, 



John xiv. 2. 



Though, mask'd with smiles, the forehead seems 

to say 
" My heart is sunshine in its golden play." 

A thousand shadows from the soul arise 
Casting a tinge o'er all young natures prize ; 
E'en from the centre of consummate bliss 
We inly murmur, " breathes there truth in this 1 " 

Without, works mystery ; within, the same ; 
And truths, profounder than mere words can 

name, 
Float through the mind, like seraph-whispers 

sent 
From the far glories of God's firmament. 

Lofty but low, abased and yet sublime, 
With hearts eternal in a home of time, 
Sinful, but sainted, doom'd on earth to walk, 
And yet with Seraphim in spirit talk, — 

Extremes of contrast ! such our being rule ; 
And fever'd Life, with contradiction full, 
Can echo the beseeching twain who cried, 
" Lord of our souls, for ever with us bide ! " 



The beautiful and bright, creation yields 
From rock and dale, from forest and from fields, 
Lacking Thy presence, want that master-grace 
Which decks the earth with each diviner trace. 



Oft o'er yon heav'ns when strays the poet's eye 
While soundless evening steals along the sky, 
That Afterward, to which no after comes, 
Seems to salute him from ideal homes, 

Which pale and pensive, from each pilgrim star 
Gleam through the air, and glisten from afar : 
And then, dear Lord ! amid the vast and lone 
Faith can discern Thee on creation's throne. 

Thy solemn grandeurs, Thy nocturnal scenes, — 
How oft 'tween us and them there intervenes 
A troubled shadow, which our guilt must throw 
On all which manifests dread power below ! 

But oh, amid the struggle, toil, and tears, 
And blighting anguish of our baffled years, 
The hush'd religion of a grief-worn heart 
How does it love Thee, Healer as Thou art ! 

But when life's wearied days are spent and 

gone, 
And calm eternity is coming on, 
Ere the wing'd soul shall take its awful flight, 
Abide with us ! and death will be delight. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



57 



OUR MORROWS BELONG TO GOD. 

Take therefore no thought for the morrow ; for the 
morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. 
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." — 
Matt. vi. 34. 

Our morrows unto God belong ; 

This day can be our own, 
If on the Stronger than the strong 

We lean our hearts alone, 
Casting on Christ our grief and care, 
By constant power of heaven-breathed prayer. 

But, Gentiles with a Christian name 

We gravitate to earth, 
And by our heathen darkness shame 

The glories of our birth ; 
If sons who God their Father call, — 
To Him why trust not all in all 1 

Oh, could we like the Saviour be, 
Whose " meat and drink " it made 

Heaven's will alone in life to see 
In all He did, or said ! 

No longer would base Mammon find 

A temple in our care-worn mind. 

Behold ! creation's world of sense 

Rebukes the carking race, 
Whose creedless hearts of Providence 

Discern no living trace, 
Though earth and sky and choral sea 
Are throbbing with divinity. 

The fowls which populate the air, 

The lilies of the field, 
Fed and adorn'd without a care, 

Divine instruction yield ; 
They teach us what wise Nature can, — 
The arms of God environ man. 

And vain, too, each prophetic thought 

Whereby the fretted soul, 
With fever-visions overwrought, 

Man's future would control ; 
Our beings age and body's growth, — 
The Lord alone predestines both.* 

Why, for mere raiment, meat and drink, 

Our future so forecast, 
As though, like Pagans, we could think 

This life were first and last 1 
Forgetful, that one thought sublime 
Outweighs a world of sense and time ! 



* Matt. vi. 27. 



Our little faith, — alas ! 'tis less 
Than what the least should prove, 

Making our scene a wilderness 
Which might be one of love : 

Like orphan'd souls in solitude, 

Denying Him we call The Good. 

Gaze upward, soul ! on God the true ; 

Each burden cast on Him, 
Believe Jehovah cares for you 

Not less than seraphim : 
The very hairs of men are number'd, 
Why then with woes be overcumber'd ? 

But still these boding hearts, like Seers 
On whom the future lowers, 

Project themselves o'er unborn years, 
And crowd the coming hours 

With destinies that haunt the mind, 

Till weaken'd faith grow wan and blind. 

Condemn'd be such unhallow'd care, 
Which lets to-morrow's weight 

O'erburden with a gaunt despair 
What cheers our present state ; 

As if each day on life's dull road 

Were harness'd with too light a load ! 

Sufficient for the Day when born 
Is each new pang that sighs ; 

Let those who will not sink forlorn, 
In Jesu's name arise : 

Since ye belong to Heaven's control, 

Foreseen to-morrows ! quit the soul. 

Simplicity is wisdom when 

Our yielding minds obey 
The law which God ordains for men, — 

Our duty is to-day ! 
Our burden too, that cross to bear, 
And not forecast imagined care. 

And let thy teaching grace, oh Lord, 

Such perfect sway impart, 
That faith may hear this haunting word 

Like music in the heart, — 
Sufficient is the moment given, 
And thy to-morrow safe in heaven. 



SILENT PRAYER. 



Now Hannah, she spake in her heart ; only her lips 
moved, but her voice was not heard." — 1 Sam. i. 13. 

We do not pray, because we move 

Our lips in oral speech, 
For depths abound of deeper love 

Than words can ever reach. 



68 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Nor is it prayer, when utter'd thought 


Unbreathed, unspoke a prayer may be, 


With ardent feeling glows, 


Nor vocal lips proclaim 


As though th' excited breast were fraught 


What God alone can hear and see, 


With flame that overflows : 


When Love adores His name. 


For words may flow from fluent powers, 


Then, cheer thee ! sad but sainted Heart 


And prove a dubious sign; 


That pines for spoken prayer ; 


'Tis only when the truth is ours, 


Be sure, if child of God thou art, 


The heart, oh Lord, is Thine ! 


More love than lips declare 


The raptured tongue whose tones arise 


Dwells in thy depths of being still, — 


Like sparks of mental fire, 


Howe'er some baffled word 


Not ever breathes those contrite sighs 


Break down beneath those thoughts which fill 


Deep thoughts of sin inspire. 


The soul where God is heard. 


And oft when o'er moved fancy rolls 


And thus when dying voice decays, 


Soft melody of speech, 


And pulse and motion cease, 


No inward awe the mind controls 


Heaven marks the speaking eye that prays 


With truths words cannot reach. 


For mercy's last release. 


True prayer is that mysterious breath 


True Christians live beyond their speech, 


The Spirit from above 


And faith is more sublime 


Breathes through the heart in life, and death, 


Than syllables of breath can reach, 


And is the pulse of Love ! 


Framed out of sense and time. 


'Tis God within, imparting grace, 






'Tis heaven come down to earth, 




That man may look in Mercy's face, 


MUSIC AND THE EVIL SPIRIT. 


And feel his second birth ; 






" Seek out a man who is a cunning player on a harp : 


A sense of want, of woe, and sin, 


and it shall come to pass, when the Evil Spirit 


A creed that Christ is all, 


from God is upon thee, that he shall play with his 
hand, and thou shalt be well." — 1 Sam. xvi. 16. 


A faith whose filial voice within 




Can God "My Father ! " call; 


Two worlds around us act and move, 




Though one alone we hear, or see ; 


Eeliance on atoning Blood, 


And they whose souls are born above, 


Convictions true and deep, 


Will not repulse that Mystery 


Attesting that the Lord is good 


Which binds them both by one harmonious law, 


Who bids us smile, or weep ; 


Deeper than earth-framed science ever saw. 



With aspirations pure and high 
That souls, like saints, may be 

Both while we live, and when we die, 
From guilt and Satan free, — 

Behold a Prayer ! a breath divine, 
Whose sacred throb and thrill, 

Believer, can that heart of thine 
With unvoiced worship fill. 

In such high mood of heavenliness, 

Upon thy spirit's chords 
Devotion feels a magic stress 

Beyond translating words : 

But He, benign Interpreter ! 

Who hears an inward groan, 
In heaven perceives the voiceless stir 

Of souls He calls His own. 



The world of sense is fair to sight, 

Though touch'd all o'er with taints of sin ; 
Gay morn, and noon, and magic night 
Accost the charmed soul within, 
And, like faint beams on Memnon's fabled stone, 
Draw from our spirit some responsive tone. 

Mountain, and field, and forest wide 
With their green coronal of trees, 
And Ocean, with his billowy tide 
Rolling in wave-born ecstasies, 
Cities, and hamlets, and the high-wall'd town, 
And sculptured marbles, breathing dead re- 
nown, — 

In each and all there reigns and lives 
Far more than sensual eye beholds ; 

A Presence which no token gives 

Of what the heart of things enfolds, — 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



59 



Save to deep Souls whose inward eye can see 
Symbols that charm the faithful, and the free. 

Another and a holier sphere, 

A viewless world, unheard, unknown, 
More awful than religion's fear, 

Around embodied minds is thrown ; 
And while the earth-bound walk by sense and 

sight, 
That orb engirdles them by day and night ! 

Angels, and Spirits of the blest, 

Stern Attributes, and sacred Powers 
Nature and Providence invest, 

And circle this vex'd life of ours ; — 
"While voiceless mysteries, whence we cannot tell, 
Throb through the flesh, did we but mark them 
well. 

And thou, deep charm of sevenfold grace, 

Sweet Music ! Thou art more than sound ; 

For melodies from God's bright place 

Within thy blissful spell abound, 

Like broken echoes, that have thus o'erran 

Angelic lyres, and trembled down to man ! 

Oh ! call not music by a word 

Terrestrial minds alone approve, 
For in it more than tone is heard, — 
A something deep as Spirits love ; 
Painting, and poetry of sound are there, 
Blent with the lulling pause of secret prayer. 

Such was the minstrel's art divine 

"When David struck his chorded lyre, 
Where earth and heaven in one combine, 
And by commingled sway inspire 
Soft airs, before whose superhuman spell 
The Fiend shrunk wither'd to his native hell ! * 

And He, the dread and dauntless seer, + 
Whose word could seal and open skies, 
The awe of music did revere, 

And bow'd beneath those harmonies 
That gush'd around him, soft, serene, or grand, 
Like air-chords thrill' d bv some celestial hand. 



MAKE THEE AN ARK. 

" Make thee an Ark . . . Behold ! I, even I, do bring 
a flood of waters upon the earth . . . Come thou 
and all thy house into the Ark." — Gen. vi. 14, 17; 
vii. 1. 

Though youth's bright world looks fresh and 

fair, 
And proud the pulse of feeling there, 



* 1 Sam. xvi. 23. 



t Elishah. 



While syren hope sings everywhere 

Of promised bliss to come, 
Yet signs exist of sternest woe 
Which tell young Hearts that all below 
May yet the primal ruin show, 

And prove earth not our home ! 

Deep, dark, and cold the cruel grave, 

When big and burning tear-drops lave 

The cheeks of Love, which mourns the brave 

And beautiful who fly ! 
The bloom and breath of dawning Life 
Are each with slow consumption rife, 
And mark how soon the parting strife 

May close the sunken eye ! 

Scarce dies a day, but rings the knell 
O'er something which we love too well, 
Or cherish with so close a spell 

That when it droops, we bleed ; 
While pride and passion round us throng, 
And pleasures with voluptuous song 
Entice warm souls the way along 

Which ends in wrath decreed. 

Hence, life is peril ; and how blest 
The minds that in some ark can rest, 
Secured and safe, howe'er distrest, 

From final wreck and woe ! 
The storm may rise, the surges roll, 
Rude whirlwinds seem to rend the soul 
No mortal wisdom can control, 

Yet none that ark o'erthrow ! 

" Make thee an Ark," of old was heard ; 

And, true as echo to the word, 

His heart with pure allegiance stirr'd 

The hand which Heaven obey'd : 
To Noah, God believed was law, 
O'erruling all he felt, or saw, 
With that serene and soothing awe 

Which keeps man undismay'd. 

And thus, when sea and sky were blent, 
While raged the roaring element 
Until each Yial's wrath was spent, 

Safe o'er the storm he rode ; 
Around him cries and corpses were, 
And oft was yell'd man's howling prayer, 
Mix'd with the wild beast's in his lair, 

When furious waves o'erflow'd. 

And so with saints of Light 'twill be, 
When taught, oh God ! by grace and Thee, 
At once to that retreat they flee 

Where shelt'ring mercies bide ; 
No ark they need to frame, or form, 
To shield them from each rushing storm 
Round life and death that spreads alarm,— 

For that Thy truth supplied. 



00 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



And dost thou seek, where stands the Ark, 
That, when wild tempests, stern and dark, 
Engulph and wreck each human bark, 

May waft thee safely on 1 
Behold it, in the Church of grace,* 
Prepared for each believing race 
Who there may find, with contrite face, 

The shelter Jesu Avon. 

Here babes, besprent with sacred dew 
Ere sin and sorrow yet they rue, 
Baptismally a nature new 

From God's own Spirit gain ; 
On their white brows a mystic sign, 
Behold it tell this truth divine, — 
Yon infant, Christ ! is sealed for Thine, 

Blood-wash'd from guilty stain. 

And onward as progressive life 
Encircles man with clashing strife, 
Howe'er the world with sin be rife, 

And dangers round us roll, 
Ark'd in Thy founded Church, Lord ! 
Thy promised Grace, Thy precious Word, 
If by our prostrate will preferr'd, 

Shall keep unwreck'd the soul. 

Safe in the Ark by Jesus built, 

Beyond the flooding waves of guilt 

We float, and, through the blood He spilt 

On Calvary's deathful tree, — 
Victoriously our spirits ride 
Over the sad and surging tide 
That welters o'er the world beside, 

Unanchor'd, God, in thee. 

And blest are they, with minds unskill'd 
By rebel pride to plan, or build 
An ark no present Christ hath fill'd 

With sacramental love ; 
Who in the Church can sweetly rest, 
Till peace divine becalm their breast, 
And, howsoe'er by storms distress'd, 

A haven reach above. 



OH THAT I HAD WINGS ! 

I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove ! for then 
would I fly away, and be at rest." — Ps. lv. 6. 

Bird of beauty ! upward soaring 
On thy plumes of lustre white, 

Far beyond the tempest roaring 
And the gloom of gath'ring night, 



1 Pet. iii. 20, 21. 



While they watch thee speed away 
Where no awful lightnings play, 
Many an earth-chain'd Heart will sigh, 
" Lend me wings, and let me fly ! " 

" Dove-like let me, proudly rising 
Out of sin, and woe, and crime, 

Feel my. winged soul despising 

Fetters wove from earth and time ; 

And by faith ascend to see 

Shrines that glow with Deity, 

And in bowers of glory find 

Bliss of heart, and calm of mind." 

Men, whose hearts by grace enlighten'd 

Once for heaven in concord beat, 
Have their taste by truth so heighten'd 

That no more in earth's retreat 
They contentment can perceive, 
But for ever pine to leave 
Scenes where passion's fires abound, 
And, like fiends, our faith surround. 

Not by creedless foe and stranger 

Are disciples wrong'd alone, 
But apostate friends endanger 

Those they once have loved, and known, 
Who amid the morn of youth 
Both pursued and pray'd. for truth, 
And along Time's ancient road, 
Calmly sought the house of God. 

Keen beyond all pangs distressing 

Is the piercing one that finds 
Friends of old in faith caressing, 

Chill'd in heart, and changed in mind ; 
Each to each an alien grown, 
All fond smiles of welcome flown, — 
Heart-breathed wish and household word, 
Never more in union heard ! 

Not again behold them taking 

Counsel sweet and sacred talk, 
But their holy Church forsaking 

For some wild sectarian walk : — 
Who can mark such sever'd friends 
When their love in loathing ends, 
Nor, like David, long to soar 
Where the saved are gone before 1 

He whose heart true light discerneth 
In Thy beams, Incarnate Love ! 

At Thy footstool deeply learneth 
Lessons that will last above ; 

Nor amid such bleak distress, 

Sighs he for lone wilderness, 

But in prayer true solace finds, 

Opening heaven to sainted minds. 



Wearied, worn, and oft benighted, 

Want and weakness round us reign, 
Yet the Dove on Christ who lighted 

Thus prolongs that healing strain — 
" Cast thy burden on My breast, 
Where the weary drop to rest ; 
Harass'd pilgrim, hope and pray, 
Learn of Me, and love the way ! " 



THE AEKLESS DOYE. 

The dove found no rest for the sole of her foot, and 
she returned unto him into the ark." — Gen. viii. 9. 

The ghastliness and gloom of death 

Cover creation like a pall, 
Without a pulse, without a breath, — 

Sepulchral waters buiy all ; 
Like a huge corse the dead Earth lies 
A floating mass beneath the skies ! 

It must have been a wild'ring sight 

Which roll'd his palsied heart-tide back, 

When Noah for the raven's flight 
Open'd the ark, and in yon track 

Where the wild deluge spread its wave 

Beheld but one stupendous grave ! 

But, hark ! a mild and gracious breeze 
Like a wing'd mercy floats along ; 

The music of poetic trees 

Has never shed so sweet a song ; 

For where its fresh enchantments play 

The floods decrease, and die away. 

The fountains of the Deep are closed, 
The windows shut of wrathful heaven, 

And, safe on Ararat reposed, 
The ark of life to Noah given ; 

Judgment is o'er, and grace seems nigh, 

And green earth soon shall hail the sky. 

He sends the raven, and on wings 
Of fierce delight it hurries forth, 

Yet, ah ! no olive-branch it brings, 

But east, and west, and south, and north, 

Flutters about by night and day, 

And banquets on vile carrion-prey. 

True emblem of those Belial hearts 

And canker'd minds, debased and dead, 

Who feed on what foul Earth imparts 
Of loathsome passion born, and bred ; 

For, raven-like, they haunt the scene 

And revel most where vice hath been. 



But thou, sweet dove of radiant white ! 

Methinks I watch thee in the beam 
Wave thy fair wings with free delight, 

And glisten in that snowy gleam 
Which round about thee glances mild, 
Decking thy plumage undefiled. 

Hither and thither wing'd the dove, 

And sought in vain some verdant tree ; 

The waves beneath, the sky above 
Were all its vestal eyes could see ; 

So, backward to the ark it flew 

And nestled in that shelter true. 

And, trace we not a symbol here 

Of that unrest the holy feel, 
When doom'd to haunt some alien sphere 

Where nothing reigns but carnal zeal ; 
Where all looks selfish, low, and base, 
And time and sense our God displace \ 

Oh ! how they yearn for lone retreat, 
Some temple where religion dwells, 

While, sitting low at Jesu's feet, 

Their bosom with his doctrine swells; 

For Christ is their celestial Ark 

Which lifts them o'er life's ocean dark. 

Dovelike, amid the haunts of sin 

Howe'er the Saints are forced to roam, 

There is a pure unrest within 

That pants for some more perfect home; 

And that the Saviour's Church hath proved 

To God's elect, by angels loved. 

And e'en as once the dove brought back 
To Noah's hand, at twilight-hour, 

The branch of peace, that on its track 
Was pluck'd from some diluvian bower, — 

The soul of saints on earth may see 

Tokens of tender Deity : 

And as that bird, when once again 

The flooded soil began to rise, 
Till green apparel robed the plain 

And crystal sunlight clad the skies, 
No ark required, but in wide air 
Found a pure freedom everywhere, — 

So, when this ruin'd earth recedes, 
Our perfect spirits will not ask 

A local church, where sorrow pleads 
For shelter from life's whelming task; 

Since heaven will prove one church of praise, 

And each true soul a temple raise. 

But ye unblest ! of men deceived, 

Who think this world a good imparts 

Beyond what martyr'd saints believed, 
And welcomed in their wounded hearts, 



02 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Of this be sure, — ye cannot find, 
From heaven apart, the peaceful mind ! 

Go, child of Sin ! pursue each path 
That opens on thy restless view ; 

Prove all which gain, or glory, hath, 
Admire, enjoy, exhaust them too, 

But, still unreach'd is that repose 

That sainted virtue only knows ! 

Ambition, pleasure, pride, or pelf, 
What gilded fame, or fortune gives, 

Feeds but the gnawing worm of Self 
Which on contentment preys and live 

Eemote is that ideal rest 

Whose home becomes a hallow'd breast. 

Man was not made for finite good, 
The Infinite to Him pertains ; 

Heaven's manna forms his genial food, 
Though unbelief from such refrains : 

0, that in Mercy's ark of peace 

The erring mind, would seek release ! 

Eeturn unto thy rest, return 

Thou arkless soul of sinful man ! 

For, until chaste affections burn 
With ardour pure as spirits can, 

Thy life will be a discontent, 

In fitful dreams of folly spent. 

Deep Spirit of divinest calm ! 

Descend, and soothe unquiet hearts ; 
Breathe o'er each ruffled mind the balm 

Thy perfect nobleness imparts, 
And then, oh Lord ! Thy saints will be 
Sublimely ark'd in heaven and Thee. 



THE BOW OF PROMISE. 

" The bow shall be in the cloud ; I will look upon it 
that I may remember the everlasting Covenant." 

Gen. ix. 16. 

Thou liquid bow of beauty and of grace 
Arching the rain-cloud with a bended way, 

Religion cannot mark thy gleaming trace 
And muse not, how the mighty God did say 

That when yon sacramental arch should span 
The hills beneath, or paint the heavens 
above, 

He would recall His covenant with Man, 
And feel the vastness of forgiving love. 



Summer, and seed-time, harvest, winter, spring, 
Whate'er the seasons in their mercy bear, 

Each unto ransom'd Earth should ever bring 
Tokens of peace and God's paternal care. 

And thus, a symbol art thou, and a sign 

Of what no wisdom in the schools could 
teach ; 

A sacred emblem, preaching truths divine 
More eloquent of Christ than angel-speech. 

'Tis not alone that Childhood's greeting eyes 
When first thine arching loveliness they 
see, 

Gladden beneath it with entranced surprise 
And hail the miracle of hues in thee ! 

Nor is it, that our Priests of earth and heaven 
Who at the altar of the Muses stand, 

To whom the glorious privilege is given 
To summon beauty when they wave their 
wand, 

The gem-like radiance of thy form admire, 
And liquid blending of thy rain-born hues, 

Or, oft to hymn thee, strike the hallow'd 
lyre 
And into words thine opal gleams transfuse. 

Still less can Science, with her colder gaze, 
Suggest what thy prismatic splendours mean, 

When dim and delicate with tearful rays 
She marks thee outlined in the storm-veil'd 



'Tis Faith alone thy full enchantment feels 
Mild grace and glory of the firmament ! 

When o'er the heart remember'd judgment 
steals, 
And grateful love with tender awe is blent. 

Since, not a pulse of life in earth, or sea, 
That should not in thy graceful symbol 
find 
A token which our God express'd by thee, — 
His curse has roll'd away from wreck'd 
mankind ! 

Pure arch of triumph ! wove through Nature's 
tears 

In fairy gems reflected as they fall, 
Bright may thy bow, beyond our mortal fears, 

Preach the vast mercy which encloseth all ! 

And, deeply touching to the soul made wise 
Is the great truth primeval words declare, — 

That when a rainbow consecrates the skies 
Both God and man commingle glances 
there. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



63 



Mercy The One in that soft omen sees, 

Yiew'd in the promise which of old He SAvore, 

That earth should witness what His will decrees, 
And not be deluged as she was of yore. 

And man, the monument of matchless love, 
When he beholds yon bow of beauty form, 

Saint if he be, recalls the Christ above 
Who rescued Nature from her ruin-storm. 

But, high o'er heaven's purpurea! ether mount 
To that sunn'd region where no storms 
prevail, 

And even there, at mercy's crystal fount 
The rainbow of our human past we hail ! * 

Eound the white Throne where sits the Prince 
of Light, — 
Glory beyond all glories to express ! 
Lo, the same rainbow gleams like emerald 
bright, 
And girdles Him with awful loveliness. 

And oh, believer ! does not this declare 
That covenants divine abide the same ? 

How saints of old, as living Christians are, 
Were rescued by the one redeeming Name 2 

Lord of our souls ! Thou Saviour ever dear, 
Be still our rainbow in the clouds of life ; 

In Thy chaste sunlight melt each rising tear, 
And arch with triumph scenes of darkest 
strife. 

Radiant with mercy, calm the sinking heart, 
And beam through sorrow's night and 
sufFring's gloom, 

A deathless Iris, that will ne'er depart, 

But shine immortal o'er our destined tomb ! 



CHRIST IN COMMUNION WITH THE 

SOUL. 

"Abide with, us." — Luke xxiv. 29. 

Abide with us, dear Lord ! abide ; 
No hearts can beat, and be untried 

By pangful woe or care ; 
But, if Thy shielding arm o'ershade 
The creature which Thy love hath made 

Hell cannot harm a hair.f 

Around us Powers of evil throng 
Who fain would hurry souls along 
The wilds of sin and gloom ; 



Rev. iv. 3. 



t Matt. x. 20. 



And principles within us rage 
In vernal youth, or wintry age, 
Which haunt us to the tomb. 

But Thou, abiding Lord of peace ! 
Art light, and liberty's release 

To all meek sons of faith, 
Thy word divine who e'er attend, 
And listen to the sinner's Friend 

Though dark the truth He saith. 

The sinful Earth looks sad and lone, 
And guilty hearts around us moan, 

And graves, how fast they rise ! 
As added years their record bring 
Of havoc, change, and suffering, — 

What sadness loads our sighs ! 

But should Thy presence be supplied, 
What calming powers of truth abide ! 

Our cross is meekly borne ; 
Though spent the noon, and night appears 
To darken through our spirit's tears, 

Life will not be forlorn. 

When sickness shades the soul with dread, 
And Fever moans with throbbing head 

Till wild the pulses play, 
Abide with us ! blest Lord, and be 
A balm beyond all sympathy 

To awe the Fiend away. 

Or, should it be our lot to keep 
Night-watch beside the guarded sleep 

Of parent, child, or friend, 
There, as we note each ebbing breath 
And scan the chill of coming death, 

Thy dews of mercy send. 

Or, when the churchyard-gloom we pace, 
And oft with tearful silence trace 

The tombs of friends no more, 
Abide with us ! that Hope and Prayer 
May warble words of glory there, 

Which back the dead, restore. 

But oh, blest Lord ! of all the wounds 
With which man's wearied life abounds, 

Not death, nor sickness, they 
Which most disease the mind with pain, 
Or bid us view the world as vain, 

Where grief and anguish sway ; 

But, hollow tongues and heartless smiles, 
And glozing friends who were but wiles 

Of falsehood lightly drest, — 
These melt us into more than tears, 
And make us feel our martyr'd years 

A burden on the breast. 



64 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



then, abide with us ! and calm 
Our spirit with that sacred halm 

Pure grace alone imparts ; 
Thy Presence like a heaven will be, 
When all the false ones fade and flee, 

And soothe our sunken hearts. 

Abide with us ! — why pray we so, 
As if disciples did not glow 

With Thine own promise sure ? 
" Lo ! I am with you, till the chime 
Of Ages sounds the last of time, 

While earth and man endure." 

Yes, Thou art " with us " in Thy word ; 
Thy Voice in sacraments is heard, 

And prayer and praise reveal 
How through the soul Thy blessings glide, 
-As o'er the heart's most gloomy tide 

Thy radiant comforts steal. 

Dejection oft, but not despair, 

In this tried world of woe and care 

It may be ours to face ; 
Only, be Thou the sleepless guide, 
Morn, noon, and night with us abide 

Till we complete our race. 

We ask not blissful calms to dwell 
Around us with unbroken spell, 

Nor seek a pangless lot ; 
But, by the breathing of Thy word 
Be our faint bosoms freshly stirr'd, 

Nor sigh, as if forgot ! 



DEPARTED, NOT DEAD. 

[C. H. E. M., BORN MAY 4, 1848 : DIED JUNE 8, 1848.] 

" As one in bitterness for his first-born." — Zeeli. xii. 10. 
"Redeemed from among men, being the first- 
fruits unto God and to the Lamb." — Rev. xiv. 4. 

Thou art not dead, my vanish'd one ! 

But living in the light 
Of some pure world, beyond the sun, 

Where death creates no night, 
And sumless babes are smiling now 
As bright and beautiful as thou. 

When first I saw thy baby-form 

With eyes of tearful love, 
I little thought a hidden storm 

Was looming from above, 
So soon to blast my May-born flower 
Beneath the blight of deathful power. 



The Lord who gives, hath ta'en away, 
And blest be His high name ! 

Oh, that with calm I this could say 
And feel God's hallow'd claim : — 

Cease, rebel heart ! be calm and still, 

And bow beneath a Father's will. 



Pale relic ! now enrobed for death, 

Nurseling of hopes and fears, 
How did I watch each ebbing breath 

And kiss thine infant tears, 
When throbs of suff 'ring o'er thee came 
Thy wordless tongue could never name. 

Departed babe ! how many a dream 

Brighten'd thy father's heart, 
When like a vision thou didst seem 

In life to take such part, 
That o'er his hours there breathed a spell 
More exquisite than tones can tell. 

With thy soft features round me glowing 

Amid the world I went, 
And with a heart to heaven o'erflowing 

Bless'd thee, bright innocent ! 
And felt, howe'er my path should roam, 
My little star-beam reign'd at home. 

Already Hope's prophetic eye 

Beheld some future spot, 
And underneath life's vernal sky, 

Pictured thy maiden lot, 
Where truth and grace would be thy guide, 
And all thy wants by heaven supplied. 

I dream'd, if God thy life should spare, 

How blessed it would be 
To hear thy budding lips declare 

Young words of Deity ; 
To watch thy spirit, day by day, 
Eise into speech, and learn to pray. 

I fancied how my hand would lead 

Thy tiny feet along, 
By placid shore, or sunny mead 

Where brooklets sing their song, 
While gay-wing'd breezes round thee flew 
And clad thy cheeks with vermeil hue. 

And oh ! I dared, through Him, to hope, 

To Whose baptismal arms 
I gave thee, — that thy mind would ope 

Each year, with sacred charms ; 
As more and more The Spirit taught 
Thy gentle soul what Jesu wrought. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



G5 



But thou art pale, a perish'd flower, 

A blossom on Life's tree, 
Nipp'd in the bud, before the power 

Of sin corrupted thee : — ■ 
Wash'd in the blood of Jesu white, 
Babe, art not thou in glory bright ? 

Cold, cold, my child ! I view thee now 

Like Sleep in marble lying, 
With paleness on thy placid brow 

Which sets my heart a-sighing ; 
And round thy lips there linger still 
Dead smiles that shall remembrance fill. 

My first-born ! God has call'd thee back, 

His gift He doth resume, 
But o'er thy father's blighted track 

Darkens thine early tomb, — 
A haunting shade of more than grief 
To which man's world brings no relief. 

From room to room I wander on 
Where thou hast been of yore, 

And all mine eyes can gaze upon 
Recalls a child no more ; 

As though each object would declare 

Thy darling glances rested there. 

Beloved and beauteous wreck of all 
That warm'd this aching breast 

With hopes, that when the funeral pall 
Should o'er thy parent rest, 

There still might be a loving one 

To think of him, whose course was run,- 

Farewell ! farewell ! departed child, 

Sweet darling of the soul, 
Gone to the grave, ere sin defiled 

Thy conscience with control ; 
I mourn, my babe ! but not for thee 
Becalm'd in Christ's eternity. 

Before me lies a perill'd way 

Of trial, change, and tears ; 
If short or long, life's future day, 

Rests with the God of years, 
Who measures our appointed span, 
And deals the thread of time to man. 

Yet 1 shall smile, and act, and speak, 
As though thou ne'er hadst been ; 

And they who scan the brow and cheek 
And judge by outward mien, 

Can little dream how much we hide 

Under the heart's unwitness'd tide ! 

The purest thoughts lone spirits bear 
Are marr'd by being spoken, 

And more than deepest words declare 
Lives in some heart half-broken ; 



A transient grief light tongues may tell, 
But cloister'd Anguish keeps her cell. 

A thousand things must wake the sigh 

That shall remember thee, 
And raise before the mental eye 

Those tombs of memory, 
Which o'er the churchyard of the heart 
Cast inward shades, which ne'er depart. 

The beam, the bud, the blooming grace 

Of some infantile flower 
Which smiles into a poet's face 

In Nature's conscious hour, 
Oh ! each and all will oft restore, 
A mental gleam of her no more. 

But melody, beyond all charms, 

The buried past regains ; 
And oft the spoiling tomb disarms 

By resurrection-strains, 
In whose rapt tones the dead revive, 
And untomb'd years appear alive. 

Thus will thy sylph-like features float 

Before mine inward gaze, 
Call'd into life by some sweet note 

The harp of feeling plays ; 
Across my soul thy shape will beam, 
And smile like some incarnate dream. 

Farewell, my child ! but not farewell 

For ever; — we shall meet 
When sounds creation's dooming knell 

Before the judgment-seat ; 
And I shall know thy little face 
Amid the world's assembled race. 

Thrice happy babe ! thou beauteous Soul 
To some bright world ascended, 

How glorious that celestial goal 

Where thy brief course is ended ! — 

And most divine that hour will be 

That bids me mount, and follow thee. 

June StJi, 1848. 



PREVAILING INTERCESSION. 

' ' I will speak, yet but this once : Peradventure ten 
shall be found there. And He said, I will not 
destroy it for ten's sake," (Gen. xviii. 32,) com- 
pared with, " Ye shall go and pray unto me, and 
I will hearken unto you." — Jer. xxix. 12. 

Thou dost, God ! transcend the All 
Creative thought can into vision call, 

When most enrapt and raised Mind 
Darts through the regions of the undefined, 



CO 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Conceiving there the beautiful and bright 
In the deep centre of Ideal light ; 

Eternal ! Thou art perfect good, — 
Such glory, who but Thou, hast understood ? 

And yet, may soul-breathed prayer ascend 
And with those anthems of Thy worship 
blend, 

Which round that secret Glory dwell 
Where Thou art shrined in shades invisible : 

Not dearer to Thine ear of love 
The hymns and hallelujahs heard above, 

Than is the contrite sinner's cry, 
The broken cadence of his burden'd sigh. 

mystery ! fathomless to thought, 
With truths august how infinitely fraught ! 

That He, The Essence Uncreate 
Throned in the blaze of His almighty state, 

Should bend to hear the falt'ring praise 
We sinful earth-worms to the Godhead raise, 

And so in Christ should condescend 
To call the Dust of woman born, His " Friend !" * 

Hence, prayer becomes a pious wing 
By which we soar to where crown'd Angels sing, 

Ensphered in realms surmounting time. — 
Through the dread vastness of the heavens 
sublime 

Souls cleave their flight, until they see 
The mercy-shrine of prayer-moved Deity ; 

There, entering in behind the veil, 
Our suppliant hearts may breathe their sorrow- 
ing tale. 

And, what a privilege for those 
Foundlings of grace, o'erwhelm'd by frequent 
woes, 

Whose faith-wing'd souls with seraph-zeal 
Kise to That Heart in heaven, which learn'd to 
feel 

In this rude world where sorrows reign, 
The direst throbbing of terrestrial pain ! — 

Who, though on high He weeps no more, 
In bliss remembers what on earth He bore. 

Yes ! Sympathy beyond the skies 
Eeigns, feels and acts for souls renew'd, which 
rise 

And with adoring boldness ask 
Due strength to aid them in life's weary task : 

There Christ, our elder Brother, lives, 
And echoes back whate'er the suppliant gives 

Of low-breathed sigh, or sorrow's tone, 
As though the Church's trial were His own. 



2 Chron. xx. 



Hence meekly wise, the heaven-taught Mind 
By prayerless reason grows not base and blind ; 

For God is honour'd when we pray : 
In the rich glories of their guardian sway 

His Attributes we then confess, 
Alone can blast us, or supremely bless ; 

A sigh, or look, or breath of prayer 
Brings Heaven to earth, and proves God ev'ry 
where. 

Arm'd with the strength true prayer bestows, 
How fearless martyrs triumph'd o'er their woes ! 

The sworded despot, fire and chain, 
The dungeon-midnight, and the exile's pain, 

With all tyrannic horrors press'd 
Through the deep gloom of some o'ertortured 
breast, — 

Melted, like shades, before the sense 
That prayer on earth was man's omnipotence. 

Devotion guides the soul to God 
By the same pathway blest Emmanuel trod ; 

Its power may range all nature through, 
And in the dark of providence can view 

Soft tokens of celestial light, 
Calm spots of glory, which allay the night ; 

And grasp, while griefs around them stand, 
The feeling guidance of their Father's hand. 

Who lives on this lone earth of graves, 
Will find bare wisdom nought from ruin saves : 

Sorrow and sin encompass all 
Which men of flesh their finest rapture call, 

Without, — delusive spells abound, 
And Fiends unview'd our holiest shrines sur- 
round ; 

Within, — behold the traitor's will ! 
With some dark lust that dares besiege us still. 

In vain will unanointed eyes 
Seek for a halcyon bower below the skies : 

Gay inexperience soon will find 
The ruin'd conscience, and the restless mind, 

And marvel, as swift years advance, 
How many a tombstone hails its tearful glance ; 

While busy Homes, once bright with glee, 
Th' eclipsing shadow of their dead will see ! 

More blest are they, whom Christ hath taught 
To seek that Home true saints have ever sought, 

E'en that pure orb of perfect rest 
Where sin nor sorrow clouds the aching 
breast : — 

And, who are these, but men of prayer 
Who unto God committed grief and care, 

And on the heart of Jesu laid 
Each burden down, which lighten'd as they 
pray 'd ? 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



67 



They knew, that saints alone are strong, 
Who mourn what weakness must to saints 
belong, 

And to the last corruption feel 
Like a slow plague-spot o'er sick nature steal : 

Their wisdom was themselves to know, 
Whose guiding law was God revered below ; 

Their lives were liturgies of love, 
And Christ the loadstar they obey'd above. 

And so with us 'twill ever be, 
If true to heaven our hearts beat loyally. 

What souls to living bodies are, 
To faith heaven-born becomes the pulse of 
Prayer, — 

The spirit's life that throbs within, 
And gently masters each embosom'd sin, 

Reigning victorious over all 
Which back to earth the mounting soul would 
call. 

True prayer is thus Religion's breath, 
That hallows life, and haunts her until death ; 

Without it, holiness expires, 
Dark grow our hopes, and sensual our desires ; — 

Since, not a grace the Gospel gives 
But in the power of prayer it moves, and lives, 

And Christ His perfect image sees, 
When He beholds him on adoring knees.* 



LIFE IS A FADING LEAF. 

"We all do fade as a leaf." — tea. lxiv. 6. 

Chill o'er yon heath autumnal shadows fall, 
The dusky twilight reigns with deeper sway. 

While soft dejection seems to mantle all, 
Like nature mourning for the death of day. 

As hectic hues on pale consumption's form, 
Red tints of ruin deck the flower and tree, 

And low winds murmur like a wailing storm, 
Or dirges o'er the dead entomb'd at sea. 

Where is the flush, by vernal radiance clad, 
That late o'er all the glowing landscape smiled, 

Making the heart of hoary age as glad 

As though 'twere backward into youth 
beguiled 1 

'Tis gone, that bright and beauteous glow, 
Which o'er the teeming breast of nature 
threw 

A charm that bad the bleakest mind o'erflow 
With feelings exquisite, and fancies new. 



Luke xxii. 41. 



There is a deadness, clothed by wintry awe, 
Encircling now what then with bloom was 
bright ; 
And where the freshness of young spring we 
saw, 
Floats the chill moisture of the coming blight. 

Here as we roam adown yon woodland-dell, 
The stricken leaves in yellow showers descend, 

And each one seems to sigh a sad farewell, 
Like love-tones murmur'd o'er a dying friend. 

Meet emblem this of transient life's decay, 
How all things perish which we prize below ; 

Where, like sear'd foliage, youth soon fades 
away, 
And wither'd hopes bestrew the path of woe. 

We learn mortality where'er we look, 

The dust we tread subserves a moral plan, 

And when aright we read creation's book, 
Lo ! all its pages are address'd to man. 

Summer and winter, autumn and mild spring, 
May each instruct us by their beauteous lore ; 

Each to our soul a sacred lesson bring, 
And buried warnings into life restore. 

In some high mood of melancholy thought 
Nature herself doth almost human grow, 

And mirror back what Mind to her hath 
brought, 
And leave men wiser than mere sages know. 

And well it tempers with a sober hue 

The gayest scenes that youthful passions find, 

To cast o'er coming death a pensive view, 
And breathe the quiet of a prayerful mind. 

Dejection makes the autumn of the soul, — 
But let autumnal feelings have their sway, 

And, shrink not, Christian ! from their just 
control, 
But grasp their blessing, ere they glide away. 

Yet may not wintry skies, nor leafless bower 
Oppress the spirit with too damp a gloom ; 

For in man's being lurks a vital power, 

By Christ obtain' d, victorious o'er the tomb. 

Thus, though man wither like an orphan leaf 
Which lies forgotten in the lonely dust, 

His dead corruption is a moment brief, — 
For, hark the trumpet ! and arise he must. 

'Tis here the parable of nature's death 

Fails to adumbrate what our doom shall be ; 

Life does not perish with corporeal breath, 
But live once more to look on Deity ! 



f 2 



6$ 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Earth, air, and ocean, wood and wildest shore, — 
Sleep in the dust where mortal embers may, 

When rings the trumpet, each shall back 
restore 
The deathless atoms of departed clay. 

Creation finds an everlasting grave ; 

Where fall the dead leaves, they for ever lie, 
No resurrection-winds shall o'er them wave, 

And show their beauty to a new-born sky : 

But, Man shall triumph o'er an endless tomb ; 

When God's loud clarion wakes his sleeping- 
frame, 
A dread eternity must be his doom, 

In heaven immortal, or in hell, the same ! 



A FOUNTAIN IN THE DESERT. 

"God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water. 

Gen. xxii. 19. 

Under the burning eye of heaven 
Breathless and bright as noon can be, 

Mother and child, — behold them driven 
O'er the hot wild in agony ; 

While each heart throbs that fearful prayer, 

" Relieve me, Death ! from black despair." 

Beersheba's desert, lone and dun, 

Around them both lies grimly spread ; 

No veiling cloud-shade hides the sun, 
And underneath, as on they tread, 

The fierceness of its flaming heat 

Doth blister their unsandall'd feet. 



0, for the music of one breeze 

To warble through the windless air ! 

Or, cooling breath from some chance trees 
To mitigate the savage glare, 

Which reddens like a furnace-glow 

O'er sky and herbless soil below. 

But still untamed, the eastern noon 

Burns round them in a breezeless trance ; 

And, yellower than the harvest-moon 

Yon wither'd heath which meets their glance ; 

Above, below, where'er they gaze, 

'Tis cruel heat, and cloudless blaze ! 

No bird-wings break the hush intense, 
No murmurs fall from leafy bough ; 

The very insects in suspense 
Refrain their tiny descant now : 

So dead the stillness reigning round 

A man might hear his heart-beat sound. 



Yon haggard mother lifts her eyes, 
Around the scene they wildly roll, 

And who can list the choking sighs 
Which heave from out her riven soul, 

And not believe, intenser pain 

Could never cleave a heart in twain ! 

Foodless and fainting lags her child, 
Its bleeding feet can hardly stand ; 

Yet, fired with thirst, along the wild 
She guides it with a fev'rish hand : — ' 

The water spent, along her frame 

The shudderings deep of horror came ! 

In vain her sunken eyes survey'd 
The arid heath and desert bare, 

To see if one lone streamlet stray 'd 
In flow of mercy lingering there ; 

For neither gushing well, nor brook 

Replied to her despairing look. 

Oh, sad Egyptian ! outcast one, 
By Sarah hurl'd from all thy bliss, 

Ten thousand deaths have now begun 
To mingle in a death like this ; 

Methinks I mark thee, Hagar wild, 

Shudder to view thy sobbing child ! 

Fainter and fainter moves each limb, 
The parched mouth no more can speak; 

And when thy tears descend on him, 
They burn upon his hollow cheek ; 

The swoon of death is coming fast, — 

The child beneath yon shrub is cast. 

Parental Love ! 'tis now the hour 
To testify how deep thou art ; 

Replete with superhuman power, 
Thy fountain is a mother's heart : 

Though fathom'd seas their depths unfold, 

The deeps of love what tongue hath told ] 



From God a mother's feelings rise, 
A fount divine is their high source, 

And, purer than our thoughts surmise, 

They stream through life their endless 
course ; 

Outlasting all we love to see, — 

They blend with soul's eternity ! 

And this was hers, who could not dare 
Behold her gasping child depart, 

But laid him down in mute despair, 
Then turn'd her eyes, but not her heart 

From that dread sight : — behind a tree 

She shrunk, and wept, how bitterly ! 



And as she wail'd, what sobs and sighs 
Along her quivering heart-strings came ! 

While closed her boy his fainting eyes, 
And scorching thirst subdued his frame : 

She dared not see, but how she felt 

His throbs of anguish through her melt ! 

But God is nigh, oh, mother wild ! 

Behold a mission'd angel's wings 
Arch their rich glory o'er the child, 

And, hark ! the mercy that he brings, — 
" Hagar arise, God hears thy prayer, 
Go, drink yon well which warbles there." 

Her eyes were open'd ; from the ground 

She saw the crystal water rise, 
And then, as though from death unbound, 

Outburst a mother's ecstasies ! — 
She gave her child that cooling stream, 
And stood entranced, as in a dream. 

And God be thank' d ! for this deep tale 
Where grief and grace so finely blend ; 

And ne'er may such high story fail 

Our own chill'd hearts to warm, and mend 

For much it holds, if right we read, 

To soothe us in dejection's need. 

Not from the bond-maid are we born, 
But children of the Church, and free ; 

Yet, oft vex'd life appears forlorn 
As though forgot by Deity ; 

Cains of the heart, we rove accurst 

Till life becomes one aching thirst. 

But in the gloom of this rack'd hour 
When all around looks bleak and bare, 

Betake thee to yon gracious Power 
Who listen'd to the weeping prayer 

Lone Hagar lifted in the wild, 

And brought down Godhead to her child. 



For, have we not a Living Well 
Of consolations deep as pure 1 

Nor are its waves invisible 

If love and faith our hearts assure ; 

Since Christ is our celestial Spring, 

Whom prayer to earth can ever bring. 

And minor wells from Him may flow 
Of comfort, joy, and heaven-like peace, 

Which calm the fever'd heart of woe, 
And grant the mind a fresh release ; 

And such are found in His blest Word 

When God by faith is seen, and heard. 



There crystal wells of grace abound, — 
The promises, which man console, 

And cool life's arid desert round 

With streams that freshen as they roll ; 

And seraph heart and saintly mind 

Can ever such refreshment find. 

Thou Light of reason ! Lord of grace, 
Heaven's Paraclete, by Christ obtain'd, 

Descend, and from our souls displace 
Whatever throne the world hath gain'd ; 

Dark eyes unscale, and let them see 

Our everlasting Well in Thee ! 



MEDITATION AT EVENTIDE. 

"Isaac went out to meditate in the field at eventide." 

Gen. xxiv. 63. 

I love the still romance of lonely fields, 
When shading twilight like a Spirit-wing 

Broods o'er the landscape, and the air-tone yields 
To the charm'd mind a pensive murmuring. 

There, unbeheld by man's intrusive eye, 

Let the lone pilgrim wind some willow'd path, 

And in the silence of the years gone by, 
Feel the soft bliss a sacred memory hath. 

When the rude passion of the roaring winds 
Louder and louder swells along the sea, 

Their voice is echo'd by tempestuous Minds 
Who love reflections of themselves to see : 

Or, climb some rock where cloud-born anthems 
peal 
And hymning thunders all around thee roll, 
And, throned in darkness, thou may'st learn to 
feel 
The dread foundations of the human soul. 

But, wisdom most with tenderness doth dwell ; 

And silent eve, and solitary spot, 
Will clothe remembrance with a lasting spell 

When stern magnificence is all forgot. 

So have they felt, who roam'd thy realm sublime, 
Heroic fatherland of Tell the free ! — 

Helvetia, while they trod that haunted clime, 
And drank the magic which inspireth thee. 

There the huge mountains lift their billowy 
forms, 
And glaciers whiten by the gorge's steep, 
O'er rocks of icy gloom resound the storms, 
And pine-trees rend, as on the whirlwind 
sweep : 



70 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



And I have heard the Alpine thunder groan 
Blent with the avalanche's crushing roar, 

As though the Lord of nature left His throne 
For chaos to resume its reign once more. 

Darkness, and thunder, crag, ravine, and rock, 
And precipice that strikes the pilgrim chill, 

Send to the o'erawed mind a secret shock 
And with terrific glories mem'ry fill. 

But, oh ! how often when the stern and wild 
Die into sadness, like a tragic dream, 

The loved impressions of some landscape mild 
In fresh reality still glow, and gleam. 

The lyric cadence of each choral breeze 

Mix'd with the tinkling cow-bells' pensive 
tone, 
The grazing herd, the chalets bower'd in trees, 
And mellow calm upon the mountains 
thrown, 

With deep-valed haunts, whose matchless beauty 
made 
The heart o'erflow with loveliness profound, 
While pine-woods round the curving shores 
display'd 
Their forest-grace with leafy grandeur 
crown'd, — 



Say, have not these beyond dread storms 
impress'd 
On pure remembrance what the past hath 
been, 
And left a magic that serenes the breast 

Like thy hush'd vale, thou unforgot Orsine 1 ?* 

'Tis thus, the calm of beauty most appeals 
To finer moods when sainted feeling reigns, 

Which downward to the root of mem'ry steals, 
And all the softness of our spirit gains. 

And oft when ruder life with stormful grief 
Rocks the torn heart, till inward tempests 
rise, 

Ideal landscapes lend a soft relief 
And smile upon us, like subduing eyes ! 

So felt the patriarch, when he wisely chose 
The lulling hour of loneliness and shade, 

To drink the freshness of that pure repose 
A quiet evening round the meadows made. 



* A valley of exquisite wildness and softness, 
between Martigny and Chamouni, near the hamlet of 
Couteraie. 



He went to meditate, to muse, and dream, 
Where nought broke stillness but the vesper 
song 

Of some gay insect, bird, or babbling stream 
Which feels half conscious as it flows along. 

Perchance, he mused on nature, man, and God, 
Creation's wreck, and ruin'd innocence, 

On fortune's sunshine, or affliction's rod, 
And all which Grace and Goodness here 
dispense. 

Floated the hymns of angels on his ear, 
As once they warbled over Eden's bower ] 

Or, did he vision, through a rising tear, 
The star maternal of his childish hour ] 

Time has not told : but yet, like him, we may 
Wander at eve to meditate and muse, 

Far from the hum of crowds and cities stray, 
And nature's quiet o'er the heart suffuse. 

They cannot nurse nobility within 

Who ne'er the solitudes of nature thread, 

And, far removed from man's tumultuous din, 
Recall the vanish'd, and revive the dead. 

There is a wisdom in the wood and field, 
A sacred meaning in the silent flower, 

And shrines of loneliness instruction yield, 
Did we but haunt them in a genial hour. 

Cities of men and mortal baseness preach ; 

But sylvan dales, like holy things, impart 
A healing quiet, whieh may conscience reach, 

And bring God closer to an alien heart. 

The open vastness of yon vaulted sky 

When o'er our heads we view its arching 
sweep, — ■ 

There should we learn to lift a thoughtful eye, 
And muse on mercy, till remembrance weep. 

And thus, disciple of that Lonely One! 

Who through the night-watch often wept, 
and pray'd, 
Do thou, like Isaac, when the day is done, 
With God converse, and seek Him in the 
shade. 

There will Emmanuel to thy soul draw near 
And bid thee more for saving glories yearn, 

As on " the way " He soothed disciples' fear, 
And reason'd with them, till their hearts did 
burn ! 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



71 



One pensive hour with nature, God, and prayer, 
While the dusk Evening wraps her dewy veil, 

Cools the hot fever on each brow of care, 
And cheers the soul when brighter prospects 
fail. 

There, in that hush of meditation lone, 
The still small accents of the Spirit speak 

Truths, in the whirl of life how rarely known, 
And by dead conscience heard, as dull and 
weak ! 

Believer, thus to silence yield the soul, 

Be thy calm mind to musing loneness given, 

Till secret earth-clouds from thy vision roll 
And show thee glimpses of a Saviour's 
heaven. 



MORAL POWER OF HARMONY. 

" The rest were chosen to give thanks unto the Lord 
.... with musical instruments of God." — IChron. 
xvi. 41, 42. 

I love to hear the wizard tones 

Of thunder, storm, and booming sea, 
The wave-voiced winds, and tragic groans 
Which make creation's minstrelsy, — 
When Art and Genius such a triumph gain 
That all seem blended in some master-strain. 

And Harmony can also bring 

AVhat mental visions love to view, 
Pictures, beyond what poets sing, 

When most they make the world untrue, — 
Landscapes of beauty, isles of bloom and balm, 
Elysian verdure, and ambrosial calm. 

But, Music wields a nobler spell 

Than nature can alone impart ; 
And with far more than tones can tell 
She oft inspires the echoing heart : 
To her belongs Association's power, 
Which haunts remembrance in its purest hour. 

Melodious counterparts of mind 

How often do some chords impress, 
When Genius, with a hand refined, 
Creates the sounds we inly bless ! — 
All passions, hopes, all principles and fears 
Melt into music, and entrance our ears. 

Thus, harmony to man may seem 

A soul in sound, express'd and heard, 

Or like an Angel in our dream 

Who whispers some celestial word, 



Till minds o'erfraught with feeling's warmest 

glow 
Thrill into tears, and softly overflow. 

And oh, ye dead ! who never die, — 

For though removed from outward gaze, 
Your resurrection is the sigh 

Pure memory unto virtue pays, — = 
Though unbeheld, how oft in music's strain 
Your deep eyes look into our hearts again ! 

Yes, chords are touch'd, whose tones awake 

And strike the soul's electric string, 
Which vibrates till it seems to break 
With those intense appeals that bring 
Youth, home and childhood, fields, and faces 

dear 
Back to the Heart, which bathes them with 
a tear. 

Thus music, like religion, oft 

May elevate the heaven-wing'd mind, 
By wafting it to worlds aloft 
For peace and purity design'd : 
'Tis inspiration, though mere sound it seems, 
Prompting the good to more than Glory 
dreams. 

We praise Thee, God ! for this fine spell 

Pervading harmony can wield : 
But, teach us to employ it well, 

That it may grace and grandeur yield, 
Whether by organ-chant, or choral hymn 
Which rolls and deepens down cathedrals dim. 

And when congenial hearts delight 

In homes of quiet bliss to hear 
Soft household-strains, which make the night 
To memory as to music dear, 
Like silver drops of some melodious shower 
Heard in the dewy hush of twilight hour, — 

Music seems more than common air 

Through chorded instrument awaking, 
And oft resembles dying prayer, 

Or sighs from lonely hearts half- 
breaking : 
Thus none can dream whence harmonies 

descend, 
Or how their spirit with our own can blend. 

Hence music proves a sacred thing, 

A power no mortal words can tell ; 
A heaven of sound it seems to bring- 
On earth awhile to float and dwell, — 
A breaking forth of melodies above, 
A speech of seraphim, on lips of Love ! 



72 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



And oft, methinks, the tones which die 

And soundless grow to mortal ear, 
May re-ascend their mystic Sky, 

From whence they sank to our low 
sphere, — 
Like that bright Choir who soar'd from Judah's 

plain, 
To chant in heaven what earth ne'er heard 
again.* 



THE REDEEMER'S SIGH. 



: And looking up to Heaven, 



He sighed. " 
Mark vii. 34. 



And did The gentle Saviour sigh, 

As once He wept a tear, 
When sorrow dimm'd His mournful eye 

Drawn from a mortal sphere % 

Then let the Church this breathing sign 
Of Christ's unutter'd thought, 

With all that spoken love combine 
With which each word was fraught. 

For, oh, it proves a symbol deep 
Beyond what language tells 

When most true Pathos bids us weep 
Beneath her moving spells — 

How Christ in sorrow, pangs, and tears, 

Though social, stood alone, 
Since while He wept for others' fears, 

He chiefly sigh'd His own. 

And in that hour, when doing good, 
While making dumbness speak, 

Dark meanings fill'd His solitude, 
And shaded brow and cheek. 

When sinful men a boon bestow, 
Bright gladness marks the hour ; 

They do not sigh, but only glow 
To feel their gracious power ; 

But such the cup of anguish quaff' d 
Emmanuel in His gloom, — 

He wept and sigh'd, but never laugh'd, 
From manger to the tomb ! 

His life was one celestial pain, 

A martyrdom of care ; 
Denial had its perfect reign 

In each perfection there. 



Through all some crucifixion ran, 
The Cross became His will, 

Where God beheld a faultless man, 
And cries, " Behold him ! " still. 



* Luke ii. 13, 15. 



MAN'S HEART, DECEITFUL ABOVE 
ALL THINGS. 

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and des- 
perately wicked : who can know it? I the Lord 
search the heart." — Jer. xvii. 9, 10. 

As Christ was God in flesh array'd, 
So God in language is that Word 

Where man is inwardly portray'd, 
As though his copied heart were heard. 

For not a single throb of thought 
Vibrates within his viewless mind, 

That is not to conviction brought 

By heaven's dread Book, which reads 
mankind ! 



And is not this a crushing tone, 

An avalanche of stern rebuke, 
A thunder-peal from His high throne 

Before whose glance Creation shook, — 

That Man becomes incarnate lie, 

A living mass of low deceit, 
Baffling the search of mortal eye 

To scan the guiles which in him meet 1 

Beyond all creatures, and above 
- What sin and Satan can unfold, 
The venom'd coil around him wove, — 
The serpent-depths no tongue has told ! 

And desperate too, if finite cure 
Be all our hopes pretend to find, 

Those fell deceits which men allure 

And leave the conscience dead and blind. 

We grant there are distinctions true 
Between degrees of social worth ; 

For, some are tender, warm, and true, 
And others, iced as frozen earth : 

And some we hail, whose hearts expand 
Like bounding waves beneath the sun ; 

While these, with shut and selfish hand 
A vile career of passion run. 



Zech. vi. 12. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



73 



Gradations thus 'tween man and man 
When measured by our moral test, 

Are undenied j and reason can 

Perceive them in the human breast. 

But still, if heavenward we ascend, 
And by the law of love divine 

Discern how far our natures tend, 

Apart from Thee, oh God ! and Thine, 

Then, hear a thunder-peal like this 

From out the clouds of Scripture roll, — 

" Deceitful and most desperate is 
The life of unconverted soul ! " 

And can we dare this truth deny, 

How nature marks her hate with smiles, 

And loves the most enamell'd lie 
Which polishes her venal wiles'? 



And if, alas ! ourselves we scan, 
Deceitful prove we, to the core ! 

The child doth prophesy the man, 
The man repeats the child before : 

All, all, in youth, and age alike, 

Abroad, at home, for word or thought 

The bosom may with anguish strike,* 
And be with full contrition fraught, 

If but an hour we search, and see 

What broken vows condemn our ways, 

How fairest resolutions flee, 
And we are charm'd by cheating praise ! 

The very sins men weep at morn 

And at the mercy -seat confess, 
Again before the night, are born, 

And stain them with new loathsomeness ! 

Well may we hang the head, and mourn, 
Nor doubt that piercing Word is true 

Which saith, no Hearts to heaven return 
Except by mercy, born anew. 

Faith heeds not how false worldlings smile ; 

God's truth can ne'er be sneer'd away ; 
The heart is one abyss of guile 

Whose throbs, like Judas, Christ betray. 

And in us all by nature lurk 
The germs of unimagined crime, 

Which often dares the Demon's work 
And crimsons o'er the cheek of Time. 



Yes, Adam, Cain, and Peter's lie, 
Herod and David in their sin, — 

Let candour search, and so descry 
Their secret prototypes within. 

Come, Holy Spirit ! mystic Dove, 

Thine innocence from heaven impart ; 

Our hate transform to heavenly love, 
And build Thy temple in our heart. 

The purest soul pleased Earth admires, 
Who to the centre scans it all 1 

The highest Angel back retires, 
And prostrate worlds in silence fall. 

Who knows it ? Echo answers, " Who 1 " 
Created minds are bow'd and dumb : — 

" Jehovah, * I can search it through, 
And enter where no creatures come." 

Tremendous thought ! that God and man 
By contrast both should searchless be ; 

The last too vile for thought to scan, 
The First, unfathom'd Deity ! 



Luke xviii. 13. 



EXPRESSIVE NIGHT. 

Night unto night showeth knowledge." — Ps. xix. 2. 
"Even the night shall be light about me." — 
Ps. cxxxix. 11. 

Shades of the soft and stealing night ! 
More eloquent than joyous light 
Is your dark magic, deep and still 
Descending over bower and hill. 

There is a hush, a lioly spell 
Breathed o'er dim earth by day's farewell, ; 
A calm more chaste than words define, 
A feeling that is half divine. 

I love to watch the quiv'ring gleams 
Of twilight, when they braid the streams, 
Or with slant radiance hue the flowers, 
Which close their lids in garden-bowers. 

Now, cold and mute Creation grows, 
As drops her curtain of repose ; 
The birds are songless, and the air 
Seems hallow'd into silent prayer. 

Like Music's death, serene and slow, 
Pale twilight yields a pensive glow, 
And soon will turret, tree, and spire, 
All viewless into gloom retire. 



Jer. xvii. 10. 



74 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Now is the witching time for thought, 
Th' elect of heaven have ever sought ; 
By patriarch, saint, and poet found 
With high-breathed instincts to abound. 

Angelic choirs may now descend 

And with our souls serenely blend, 

Hover around where'er we stray, 

And thrill, when Thought begins to pray. 

Thus, when the fev'rish day was o'er, 
Rapt Jesu sought the quiet shore ; 
Or, on loved Hermon, lone and still, 
Breathed, « Oh, my Father ! do Thy will." 

So, Christian, while the prayerless throng 
Whirl time away in feast and song, 
Be thine the pure and placid spell 
Which night and nature weave so well. 

Creation, providence, and grace, 
Let each assume its hallow'd place 
In thought serene, — by Heaven bestow'd 
On all who trace the narrow road. 

Night is the time when buried days 
Rise from their tomb, and dim our gaze 
With tearful shades, from scenes of yore, 
And loving hearts which throb no more. 

So rules the Past, that faint and far 
As fancy eyes each vestal star, 
Young poets dream how there abide 
The deathless ones, on earth who died. 

Night for the present, too, creates 
A charm which oft the mind elates, — 
A lone, but still a lofty dream 
That men are more than yet they seem. 

And on thy future let such hour 
Look like a prophet in his power, 
Predicting much that God and grace 
Reveal to guide our erring race. 

Nor be forgot, in heaven Thou art 
A Priest, oh Christ ! whose boundless heart 
Thrills to each cry, which all may dare 
To utter forth in fervid prayer. 

Now in the hush of holy night 
Claim we, blest Lord ! the glorious right 
Before Thy Throne of grace to bring 
All forms of human suffering : — 

A Husband to the widow be ; * 
A Sire may orphans find in Thee ; 



Isa. liv. 5. 



And to Thy sad and stricken poor 
Let heaven unfold its waiting door ; 

And where dejected hearts incline 
To question, Lord, the Will divine, 
The Blood of sprinkling let it fall, 
And while it cleanses, calm them all. 

For church, for country, and for child, 
A mother dear, or sister mild, 
For all true souls and social ties 
Now let entreating prayer arise. 

And, cradled on maternal breast, 
May each sweet babe in slumber rest, 
And round pale captives in their cells 
Hover dear homes, and native dells. 

Morn, noon, and night, God ! are Thine, 
In whom their blended charms combine ; 
Nor is there scene, or spot, or hour 
Untouch'd by Thy mysterious power. 

Yet, faith and feeling both declare 
That hour belongs to Thee and prayer, 
When stillness to the soul is given, — 
For night, not day, seems nearest heaven. 



THE PRAYERLESS. 



"Thou restrainest prayer before God." — Job xv. 4. 
"If thou knewest the gift of God .... thou 
wouldest have asked of Him, and He would have 
given thee living water." — John iv. 10. 

" My heart is cold, I cannot pray," 
Methinks I hear the worldling say ; — 

But is not this blind nature's sin % 
Thou graceless outcast ! lift thine eyes 
To where man's home of glory lies, 

And thou may'st hear the God within. 

Did we but fathom more and more 
Our inward deeps, we should deplore 

Those unborn sins which there abide : 
With truthful anguish might we plead 
For God to help our sinful need, 

And cast us on The Crucified ! 

Who does not pray, our God unthrones, 
His word rejects, His will disowns, 

Till life becomes one guilty sigh; 
Pure Reason from her shrine is hurl'd, 
And earth appears an orphan'd world, 

Whose Maker is no more on high. 



THE CHRISTIAN" LIFE. 



75 



0, creed of death ! and cold despair, 
Which thus repels the power of prayer, 

By peerless saints and martyrs loved ; 
Since faith and reason both unite 
To vindicate God's awful right, 

By prayer to have His throne approved. 

The very Power to whom we pray 
Is He who prompteth what to say, — * 

'Tis spirit, more than spoken word ; 
For thought is speech, and heard on high 
The sadness of some low-breathed sigh, 

When penitence by love is stirr'd. 

Alas ! for thee, thou prayerless one, 
Thy living hell is now begun 

In passion blind, and base desire ; 
The torment of apostate will 
Must ever make thy chosen ill, 

And fill thee with perdition's fire. 

Could vain men see how vile they are, 
Sublime would beat the pulse of prayer 

In temple, home, or twilight-field ; 
Believing thus with loving thought 
What strength to Christ Himself it brought, — 

Pure bliss would high devotion yield. 

But, dost thou mourn thy heart is cold, 
And rev'rence truth divinely bold ? 

Then, undevout one, here it lies, — 
Th' unfeeling soul, and faithless mind, 
Oh, these are they which render blind 

When upward gaze thy restless eyes. 

This world is far too closely coil'd 
Around a heart by pleasure soil'd, 

Where sin, desire, and Satan dwell ; 
Ambition's guilt and lust of gain 
Within thee hold infernal reign, 

And triumph with a wizard spell. 

But wouldst thou taste the bliss of prayer, 
Breathing on earth celestial air 1 

Then, burst thy Belial chains away ! 
Each wand'ring thought to God call home, 
And ponder on the world to-come 

Till conscience prompt thee how to pray. 

Go, learn it of that martyr'd host 

Who bled for Christ, and pray'd the most 

Because they loved Him unto death ; 
Hark ! how their winged raptures rise, 
And catch the lustre of their eyes 

Who praised Him with departing breath. 



Rom. viii. 26, 27. 



Or, rather That pure Spirit seek, 
Whose love can so uplift the weak 

When dull they seem, and dead they grow, 
Till oft with mental groans unheard 
Their souls by unbreathed prayer are stirr'd, 

And with devotion overflow. 

Incarnate God ! while here we live, 

Be this our prayer, " Forgive ! forgive ! " — 

But, who can fathom all we mean ] 
Eternity itself will prove 
A paraphrase of pardoning love, 

And teach Heaven * what the Cross hath 
been ! 



DREAD SACRIFICE. 



"Take now thy son, thine only son, Isaac, whom 
thou lovest, and offer him for a burnt-offering. " — 
Gen. xxii. 2. 

And must a father slay his only child 1 

Dark thought in which ten thousand deaths 
abide ! 

Was ever parent with such blood defiled, 
Or such a victim to a God supplied 1 

And Isaac too ! the promised heir of age, 
The child of covenant, by heaven bestow'd 

To cheer the sire in his sad pilgrimage, 
At whose glad birth his full heart over- 
flow'd. — 

'Tis thus, whate'er in living depths of love 
Haunts the pure heart, parental as profound, 

Might well have shudder'd at the Voice above, 
" Let Isaac for my human lamb be bound !" 

If dies the son, then how shall Abram's seed 
Inherit Canaan's heaven-distinguish'd land? 

Or, if the child must by the parent bleed, 
How can the covenant in Isaac stand ? 

Reason and conscience, shall they both arise, 
And shrinking heart-blood grow with terror 
pale 

When looks the patriarch in loved Sara's eyes, 
And on his lip expires the awful tale 1 

The savage heathen, will they not abhor 
A God of blood, and call the deed profane 

Beyond the fury of the fiercest war, 
That strews a battle-field with tombless 
slain? 



l Pet. i. 12. 



76 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



And thus, if nature be the only guide 

Of what a patriarch in such hour should be, 

Rebellion had the tempting God denied, 
And back recoiled from vocal Deity. 

But faith the hoary friend of God inspired, 
And mortal Will before a Voice divine 

Fell like a sacrifice, by love attired 
And offer'd freely on Religion's shrine. 

Obedience absolute, submission's law, 

On this alone the patriarch's eye was bent, 

And God was greater than the grief he saw, 
Whose Hand recall'd the mercy He had lent. 

Perchance, 'twas in the hush of holy night 
The dread command to offer Isaac came, 

E'en while the father, lull'd with- fond delight, 
In dreams parental murmur'd Isaac's name. 

For, soon as Morning o'er the orient hills 
Shook the. bright dewdrops from her beam- 
ing hair, 

Behold, the sire his sacred work fulfils, 
Strong with resolve, and sanctified by prayer. 

But ah ! forgive him, if from Sara's eye 

His shrinking heart refused to take farewell ; 

He could not trust the cadence of a sigh 
Which might have hinted, what he dared not 
tell. 

Three days they travell'd on, that son and sire, 
And sought together Christ's prophetic hill, 

Where this must bleed in sacrificial fire, 
And that His own devoted offspring kill. 

It was indeed a spectacle profound 

And touch'd with majesty, and truth how 
meek ! 
When the hoar'd Patriarch on bland Isaac 
bound 
The wood for sacrifice, — and did not speak. 



Part II. 
THE MORAL. 

But when at length a signal cloud reposed 
On the lone bill, where God would have the 
deed, 

Did not the hand which then a knife enclosed 
Tremble, and all the father in him bleed 1 

And, hark, how piercing, like a thrill of death, 
Clave through his soul one simple cry of love, 

" My father ! " — in the fondness of that breath 
How did the patriarch seek for strength 
above ! 



" My father ! " and he answer'd, "Here I am ;" 
" The wood behold, and here the needed fire, 

But where is found the sacrificial lamb 

Which God ordain'd should in the flame 
expire 1 " 

" God will provide ! " — 'twas all he dared to 
speak ; 

So went the pilgrims to their awful task, 
The blood grew paler on the patriarch's cheek, 

But no deliv'rance did cold reason ask. 

The Lord had spoken ! He who cannot err, 
His fiat issued, " Slay thy son for Me ; " 

True to his God, — rebellion shall not stir, 
But Faith adore Him on submissive knee. 

And ne'er did infant with its clinging form 
And tiny limbs of tenderness, embrace 

The fondling circle of a mother's arms, 

When she enclasps it, — with a blander grace, 

Than did calm Isaac to the cordage yield 
His frame for havoc on the burning pile ; 

Not once outcried he at the coming death, 
But gazed on Slaughter with religious smile. 

His limbs are bound, and on the altar laid 
Behold the parent sees an only son ! 

And now, both hand and heart display'd 
A faith unparagon'd, since time begun. 

But God is mercy : hark ! like thunder mild 
From clouds of golden beauty rolls the cry, 

" Friend of Jehovah ! spare thine offer'd child, 
And mark yon victim, in the thicket nigh." 

Believer ! Christ was in that angel-voice, 
And His atonement typed in all the 
scene, — 

Child of Jehovah's everlasting choice 
Who hath the Isaac of salvation been. 

But would we in some lower range of truth 
Search for the holy spells our hearts 
require 1 

Then may we trace them on that sainted youth, 
And see them mirror'd in his matchless sire. 

By large devotion of our loving will, 

Like the meek Isaac's let our spirit bend, 

And with unreas'ning faith at once fulfil 
Whate'er the fiat of our God may send : 

To live, or die, be healthy, sick, or sad, 
In wealth to bask, or poverty to bleed, 

In gloom to perish, or in peace be glad, — 
Let God decide, who understands our need. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



77 



And ye, who clasp with such intense desire 
Of fond retention in life's vale below, 

The breathing Idols whom your souls admire, 
Think of the Patriarch in some night of woe ! 

The fondest heart, round which affection twines, 
Is most obtain'd when most in God enjoy'd, 

And happiness with sacred lustre shines, 
When not by shades of selfish will alloy'd. 

Disciples must not, like the godless, cleave 
To aught created in this world of sense ; 

Nor round the ruins of the present grieve, 
As though the future had no Providence ! 

The cherish'd Isaacs of our heart and creed 
Like a pure holocaust of grace must fall, 

And on Love's altar, while we inly bleed, 
To heaven and duty Faith must offer all. 

The dearest sacrifice is aye the best, 

And let us yield it, though severe the rod ; 

For on this truth may bleeding Anguish rest, — 
We lose an idol, but we gain a God. 



PERFECT PEACE. 



" Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is 
stayed on thee." — Isa. xxvi. 3. 

Humility doth mark 
The child of heaven within salvation's ark : 

Through all his hallow'd ways 
He harps the hymn of ever-deep'ning praise, 

For mercies which surpass 
The power of numbers to recount, or class ; — 
Yet, sins as sumless claim a constant tear, 
That God, by prayer invoked, may hush all 
guilty fear ! 

But humble though the hearts 
Of God's own children, this their creed 
imparts, — ■ 
A boldness to believe 
That Christ is near them, when His chosen 
grieve : 
Though each an atom seem 
Lost in vast glories which around Him stream, 
Each individual heart and lonely mind 
In Christ a Brother clasps, and bears its doom 
resign'd. 

No mere Abstractions dead, 
By science out of arid reason bred, 

And call'd creation's laws, 
Which Sense adoreth as presiding Cause, — 



A faith divine can own ; 
But o'er all life perceives the Saviour's throne : 
A God tripersonal believers love, 
And in Emmanuel's name seek all they find 
above. 

Though moral earthquakes shock 
The Systems round us, till they reel and 
rock; 
While mad Opinion rules, 
And Satan out of pride begets dark schools 

Of sentiment, or sin, 
Which scorn without, and stifle Truth 

within. — 
A more than halcyon in his bosom reigns, 
Who hath a Heart in heaven which echoes all 
his pains. 

Unstable is weak earth ; 
And nothing which in space, or time, has 
birth, 
A resting-place can give 
To Souls who on this tearful world must live ; 

Since wayward passions will 
Haunt the vex'd world, and never leave it 

still;— 
The gnawing fever of some inward pain 
Is all unchristian hearts from their false life 
obtain. 

But, there is peace divine, 
A calm unrippled, which, God ! is Thine; 

A rest of saintly thought 
From out the deeps of heaven by mercy 
brought ; 
It droppeth like a dew 
The Hermon of the heart distilling through, 
And, 'mid the restless change time undergoes, 
That peace remains unmarr'd, above convulsive 



Salvation rears the walls * 
Of that truth-keeping race whom Jesu calls ; 

Under His shielding arms 
The burden'd mind escapes from sinful harms ; 

And while transgressors roam 
Abroad unrestful, and the same at home, 
No dread concussion in the realms of Time 
Can rob believing souls of this their calm 
sublime. 

Descend then, Prince of Peace ! 
And with thy Spirit bring worn minds 
release ; 

When skies and seas depart 
Serene eternity of truth Thou art, 



Isa. lx. 18. 



78 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Lord of celestial life ! 
Beyond our sorroAvs, and above our strife ; — 
Yet so benignant, that Thine eye can see 
Each pulse of loving prayer which throbs the 
heart to Thee. 



STARRY DREAMS. 

"Tell the stars if thou be able to number them." — 
Gen. xv. 5. " He telleth the number of the stars : 
he calleth them all by their names." — Ps. cxlvii. 4. 
"We have seen his Star in the East." — Matt. ii. 2. 

Their names and numbers who can tell, 
Yon quiv'ring gems of mystic light ! 

That throb with such irradiant spell 
And fascinate our dreaming sight ; 

So countless looks their burning throng 
No finite thought their sum can hold ; 

For, like a secret, they belong * 
To One by numbers uncontroll'd. 

How beautiful their lustres are ! 

Whether on infant-eyes they gleam, 
"Which often, like some pensive star, 

Glance moisten' d with a mournful beam : 

Or, when in elder life we gaze 

On each faint pulse of throbbing fire, 

Till feeling hearts reflect the rays 
And mirror back what they inspire. 

So fair to each and all they shine, 
Stars often seem responsive Eyes 

That greet us from their calm divine, 
And answer our ascending sighs. 

Attracted out of earth and time 

The starry vault of air we roam, 
And dream the poetry sublime, 

Which makes each orb a spirit's home : 

A home, perchance, where, bright and blest, 
The loved, but not the lost, remain, 

Whom there embower'd in blissful rest 
Our souls may clasp in heaven again. 

Ye dead ! whose tombs are loving hearts, 

Whose epitaphs, memorial tears, 
Whose image from no scene departs, 

But shades the colour of our years, 



* Deut. xxix. 29. 



Not seldom, when the noise of day 
Beneath the trance of dewy night 

Is hush'd, and meekly dies away 
The last wan smile of waning light, 

Lone martyrs of dejection steal 

From the harsh scene of crowd and care, 
Religion in the stars to feel 

As though enshrined in glory there. 

How eloquent that voiceless hour ! 

Holy, as if creation knelt, — 
Or mute before her Maker's power 

Thrill'd Earth some adoration felt. 

Yet, would that in primeval days 

These orbs of speaking light had known 

No worship which mere wonder pays, 
And orient verse hath often shown ; 

For oh ! their beauty, radiance, power, 
Which seem'd oracularly bright, 

Such myst'ry wove at midnight hour 
That gods they grew to heathen sight. 

Yet not by us, in Christ renew'd, 
Pure members of His Body made, 

Are heaven's bright miracles so view'd, 
Though dazzling be their spell display'd. 

We love them ! for indeed they look 
So placid, mournful, pale and mild, 

That when we read Night's starry book, 
We spell it, like a lisping child. 

Like gleaming Apparitions sent, 
They beckon man on high, to see 

His home enspheres yon firmament, 
That shines in starr'd eternity. 

And tears will often through the eyes 
Distill the heart, and make us seem 

As though we sail'd cerulean skies, 
Unbodied in some astral dream ! 

But more than sentiment and song 
The host of heaven from hearts excite, 

Who feel that to such orbs belong 
Deep lustres which excel the light. 

For, can we not pure incense bring 

To Him, the bright and Morning Star? 

Some anthems round His cradle sing, 
Surpassing eastern magi far ] 

Though jewell'd mines we cannot give, 
Not ours, but us, Emmanuel claims : 

And if on Him by love we live, 

His breastplate bears our chosen names. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



79 



Be ours the incense of a soul, 

Through faith and fellowship divine 

Rising beyond where planets roll, — 
And richer than Arabia's mine. 

True sacrifice is love alone : 

And worship from unwaVring Hearts, 
To Him Who wields creation's throne 

A throb of finite bliss imparts.* 

Without it, vile are myrrh and gold, 
And vain the swell of soaring word, — 

For He who can our thought behold, 
A loveless prayer has never heard. 

So may the church to Christ present 
Our body, spirit, soul, and all, 

That truth and grace omnipotent 
May us elected children call. 

Such worship will be hail'd on high 
Where uncreated glories shine, 

When heavenward soars the wafted sigh 
Which meekly warbles, " Christ is mine. 

" In life and death, my Lord, Thou art, 
Celestial Prophet, Priest, and King ! 

True incense is a grateful heart, 
And this makes all my love can bring." 



CHRIST OUR PORTION. 

"There is none on earth I desire besides thee." — 
Ps. lxxiii. 25. "The Lord is the portion of mine 
inheritance." — Ps. xvi. 5. "Your life is hid with 
Christ in God." — Colos. iii. 3. 

Whom have I in the heavens but Thee 
Adoring faith desires to see, 
Divinely pure and perfect fair 
Whom all Thy works and words declare 1 

The heavenliness of heaven art Thou, 
Who bor'st the curse upon Thy brow ; 
And round the Throne no glories shine 
Which issue not from Thee, or Thine. 

Imbruted Minds, that think, nor pray, 
Basking in pleasure's sensual ray, — 
No cloud appears to shade their sky, 
And nothing tells them Sin must die ! 

Yet, soon the lying spell recedes, 
The worm awakes, and conscience bleeds 
When sickness chokes the ebbing breath, 
And life is darken'd into death. 



Isa. liii. 11. 



Oh, in that hour of shudd'ring prayer 
Eternity from God may glare, 
And luridly emerge from hell 
Secrets, and Shapes, no tongue can tell ! 

Lord of true bliss, in joy and health 
Be Thou our wisdom, hope, and wealth ; 
Without Thee, vain are creatures all ! — 
A universe we nothing call 

If center'd not in this high creed, 
That God alone can help our need ; 
Christ in the creature is the goal 
Of all which should attract the soul. 

The Lord our true perfection is, 
Both law of Being, and the bliss ; 
Dark, dead, and cold, creation seems, 
If not enrobed with sacred gleams 

Caught from the Presence, and the power 
Of Christ, who hallows scene and hour, 
Matter and mind, and makes them good, 
By showing each with heaven imbued. 

Friendship and love, though pure and deep, 
Can echo not lone cares which sleep 
Unsyllabled within the mind, 
And shun the gaze of mortal kind. 

And shifting hues there play of thought, 
And feelings with devotion fraught, 
Dejected hours, and voiceless moods 
When souls are thinking solitudes, — 

Sigh, tear, nor language then reveals 
The awful gloom pale conscience feels, 
When man's o'erburden'd heart within 
Bows with eternity, and sin. 

Alone we live, alone we die, 
Unfathom'd by no human eye, 
But search'd by Him, whose wisdom can 
Peruse the depths of inward man. 

Thus, orphan'd Souls who cannot see 
On earth one source of sympathy, 
Whose hearts unecho'd pray and beat, 
Are answer'd at the Mercy-Seat, 

Where Heaven's incarnate Love replies 
To each mysterious heart that sighs, 
And while unwitness'd tear-drops fall, 
In grace descends, and dries them all. 

God in the mind makes glory there, 
The spring of thought, the source of prayer; 
From Whom adoring saints derive 
Stern grace against themselves to strive. 



80 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Let God then thy religion be, 
And not religion, God to thee : 
Without Him, worlds would leave us poor, 
And with Him, who can want for more ? 



ANGELS. 



"Of the Angels he saith, Who maketh his Angels 
spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire." — Heb. i. 7. 
"Some have entertained Angels unawares." — 
Heb. xiii. 2. 

Ye bright-wing'd Choir ! who in the rays 
Which beautify yon realm of glory, 

Delight to read in rich amaze, 

The archives of redemption's story, — 

More magical your lustres seem 

Than ever crowded poet's dream. 

Before the countless stars began 

To glisten through the dewy air, 
Or Heaven perceived adoring man 

Ascend her crystal height with prayer, 
Your beaming Shapes, around the Throne, 
Ages of wordless joy had known. 

Serene, and passionless, and pure, 

Unshaded by the hue of sin, 
No discord can the will allure 

To mar each moral tone within, — 
That melody of sainted love, 
The pulse of bliss which beats above. 

Dread Angels ! who excel in strength, 
And sung creation's birthday song, 

Or, through the world's unmeasured length 
In viewless splendour wing'd along, — 

When God commands them, glide and go, 

With speed that proves the lightning slow ! 

Stern ministers of sacred wrath, 

How often their avenging hands 
Emptied God's vials o'er the path 

Of guilt, and atheistic lands, 
When blood and blasphemy began 
To render earth a hell for man. 

Yon cities, cinder'd by the burst 
Of red destruction's rolling flame ; 

The myriads by the plague accurst, 
Whose ruin darken'd David's name ; 

And banner'd hosts, which in one night 

Were blasted by resistless blight, — 

Oh ! these reveal how dread and vast 

In bodiless and bright array 
Such Angels are, who have not cast 

Their crowns of innocence away ; 



But ranged before the Godhead, still, 
Brighten as each obeys His will. 

And when we turn to that high Word 

Where Christ, and church, and christian meet, 

Are not emotions deeply stirr'd, 
To mark above the Mercy-Seat 

How studious Angels bend and strain, 

To see what truths its depths contain ] 

Confirm'd, tho' not redeem'd by Him, 

Lord of the radiant hosts above, 
Legions of loyal seraphim 

In Christ concenter all their love ; 
Thus saints and angels both combine 
To chant the praise of Blood Divine. 

And bless'd as beautiful the thought, 
That when man's rebel-heart they see 

Eepent for sin the soul hath wrought, 
They arch their wings in ecstasy ; 

While louder, louder swells the tone 

These harpers chant around the Throne ! 

And is not earth the haunt and home 
Of mysteries more than sense descries, 

Where viewless "Spirits round us roam, 
Unvisioned by embodied eyes 1 — 

Hence that which science never saw, 

Seems more an angel than a law. 

The motions of material things 
So wonderful, involved, and vast, 

Each hue and harmony that brings 
Expression, where our looks are cast, 

Serene, or exquisite, or grand, — 

Some working angel may have plann'd. 

And, when amid the flushing noon 

Faith wanders forth in woods, or fields, 

Or hearkens to the breezy tune 

A choral landscape round her yields, 

And thus with calm contentful eye 

Drinks the deep spell of earth and sky, — 

Then, dream not that impassive laws 
Can e'er achieve what mind must do ; 

If each effect presumes a cause, 
Let Nature have her master too ; 

Till all her work, beneath the sun 

Seems duty, by an Angel done. 

The meanest object man can view, 

A herb, a pebble, or a ray 
Which tints the grass with golden hue, 

Might prompt poetic mind to pray ; 
And Faith can nothing coldly see, 
If there angelic spell-work be. 



And, oh ! how solemn grows the scene 
When not beheld as dumb and dead, 

But one where spirits intervene, 
And such a consecration shed, 

That, like a temple, common air 

Inspires religion every-where ! 

As features in some lovely face 
Express the soul, eye cannot see, 

And shadow forth with speaking grace 
Each line of sorrow, hope, or glee, — 

Moved elements may oft reveal 

What angels from cold sense conceal. 

Thus, sun and air, and cloud-graced heaven, 
The lisping wave, or laughing wind, 

With whatsoe'er to earth is given 
Attuned to man's accordant mind, 

Should make us dream, where'er we stray, 

Unvision'd angels throng the way. 

The sunbeam in its happy toil, 
The breeze that fans an infant flower, 

Those dew-falls which refresh the soil 
Or beautify a sylvan bower, — 

Pure Minds with peaceful wonder fill, 

Who trace them to angelic skill. 

The motion of mysterious storms 

That glance and play with hectic gleam, 

May be the flutter of their forms, 

The glory which their garments beam, 

When, summon'd by their vast control, 

The fiery tempests flash and roll ! 



RELIGION AND THE SEA. 

'• Fear God, and worship him that made the sea." — 
Rev. xiv. 7. "Jesus went unto them, walking on 
the sea." — Matt. xiv. 25. 

Eternity of waters ! there Thou art, 
Dear to the eye, and glorious to the heart ; 
Bounding in brightness as they plunge on shore, 
I greet thy waves, and gladden in their roar. 

Alone in grandeur, ever-living Sea ! 
Thou swelling anthem sung to Deity, 
When thy deep thunders with a dying fall 
Roll like Hosannahs to the Lord of All. 



Religion only to thy power replies 
And echoes back the solemn harmonies, 
Which seem to tell with supernatural tone, 
Here God is reigning on His ocean-throne ! 



And ever, thou Element of might ! 
Hast thou administer d a dread delight 
To all who heard thy loud pulsations beat, 
Till shores embay 'd seem'd throbbing at their 
feet. 

Before the birth of billow, or of wind, 
Thou rolledst through the Everlasting Mind 
In waves hereafter destined to expand, 
And bathe the shores of many a famous land. 

Man rules the earth, but God upon the sea 
By vast distinction doth appear to be, 
Whose swelling glories baffle change and time, 
And awe the conscience, like a creed sublime. 

Kindred with man, deep Ocean ! movest thou, 
Baring to heaven thine ever-dauntless brow ; 
In all the murmurs of thy mighty heart 
A mystic echo of his mind thou art.* 

Passion intense, and sentiment profound 
In thee some answer to such moods resound ; 
While haunted Sadness, tender, deep, and lone, 
Thrills to the pathos of thy pensive tone. 

Genius and Glory, both in thee delight, 
Heard in gay morn, or through the hush of 

night, 
When, like a psalm, thy billowy tongues 

proclaim 
How nature murmurs with her Maker's name. 

And has not Painting from thy myriad views 
Of liquid grace, and oceanic hues, 
An inspiration for her colours caught, 
Making immortal what thy spell has wrought '? 

The Poet, too, in ev'ry age hath been 
A solemn haunter of thy wizard scene ; 
In breeze, or blast, rich noon, or balmy eve, 
To him thy waves cathedral-anthems weave. 

He can interpret thine impassion'd mood, 
And sympathise with sea-made solitude ; 
By rock and bay, or sanded beach can roam 
And feel immensity his proper home. 

Nor need we tell how Commerce hath supplied 
An empire's storehouse from the wafting tide, 
Since on thy waters, far as winds can flee, 
Her boundless treasures are attain'd by Thee. 

Still less doth Valour need victorious lyres 
To sing how Britain's heart the sea inspires : — 
The Isle of Freedom is the friend of waves, 
That field of battle where the world she braves ! 



Isa. lvii. 20. 



82 THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 


And will not heroes of the Cross who roam, 


With whatsoe'er of secret grace 


Far from the spells which bind the heart to 


The Lord to her commits, 


home, 


She strives to rear a heavenly race, 


'To tell the heathen how the Lord is King, 


And each for glory fits. 


Chants of true glory to old Ocean bring 1 — 






But oh, these hearts we poorly scan 


Majestic, lone, and melancholy Sea ! 


If idols none are seen ; 


Sprung from thy God in dread immensity, 


Their temple is that inner man 


For aye art thou to reverential mind 


Where God's own gaze hath been ! 


A floating wonder by no words defined. 






Eye cannot pierce, nor ear perceive 


A vast eternity in endless flow 


What buried thoughts avow ; 


Thine image wears ; and in thy depths below 


Yet souls, who dare the Spirit grieve, 


How sleep the young, the beautiful, and brave, 


Must to some idol bow. 


Till the last trumpet shall unclose their grave ! 






We shudder when Christ's heroes find 


Farewell ! thou symbol of almighty grace, 


Myriads in pagan gloom, 


Whose deeps adumbrate * what for our lost 


With poison'd heart, and palsied mind, 


race 


And conscience like a tomb : 


Mercy provides, when pardon's hush'd abyss 




Engulphs the guilt which loads a world like this. 


Such tale when holy Mission tells, 




Demands the Church's tear ; 


Eternal seem'st thou till th' Archangel rings 


And who can hear of demon-spells 


A blast that summons all created things ; 


Nor throb with sacred fear 1 


Then rise the dead from out thy dismal roar, 




And Time shall gaze upon the sea no more ! t 


But, are not souls baptised a home 




For God enshrined within 1 * 




Father and Spirit, do they come 
To reign o'er self and sin ? 




IDOLS IN THE HEART. 


Yet, what if our base idol be 




Desire, instead of God ] 


"These men set up their idols in their heart." — 


Proud will, — a strong divinity 


Ezek. xiv. 3. " Little children, keep yourselves 


That rules us with a rod? 


from idols." — 1 John v. 21. 




There was a time, in ages dead, 


Say, are we not, before the eye 


When temples huge and vile 


Of Him who fathoms thought, 


Their lowering fronts of darkness spread 


Idolators, whose hearts deny 


O'er Albion's sea-wall'd isle. 


The God our fathers sought % 


But Christ by His apostles came 


We need not by the stumbling-block 


To preach the word divine, 


Of wood, or stone, or gold, 


And, lo ! before truth's living flame 


Discerning reason madly shock 


Dissolved each idol-shrine. 


With shapes which men behold ; 


And now, a Church maternal opes 


Idolatry depraves the Will, 


Her arms of christian love, 


Our idols are desires, 


Embracing with their new-born hopes 


When once our breast some passion fills 


Bright children for above. 


Which aught, save God, inspires. 


And by her sacraments and rites, 


It may be, that the crown of praise, 


Her discipline and care, 


The wreath proud genius wears, 


Calm vigil, fast, and chaste delights, 


A warrior's plume, or poet's bays 


And pure diurnal prayer, 


Excite ambition's prayers ; 


* Micah vii. 19. j Rev. xx. 1. 


* John xiv. 23. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 83 


Or, forms of love, whose grace becomes 




The bloom and breath of all 


INFANTS AXD INFANCY. 


We value in these earthly homes, — 




May weave our inward thrall ; 


" Out of the months of babes and sucklings thou hast 




perfected praise. " — Matt. xxi. 16. 


A husband in the wife may see 


The dew-drop, in whose mirror lies 


A heaven of human charms ; 


A miniature of morning skies ; 


Or, he to her, life's angel be, 


The violet-bud which blooms in spring, 


A shield from daily harms ; 


The flower-bee on its fairy wing, 




The broken lisp of some shy brook 


Or infant beauty, like a ray 


That babbles in a shady nook, 


From her own being sent, 




To mother's love, may night and day 


All that is fragile, coy, and fair, 


Impart too deep content : 


As types of beauty, may declare 




The cherub-loveliness that seems 




To mantle those embodied dreams, 


Whate'er the guise, or winning name 


Sweet infants ! when their baby forms 


Our bosom-idols take, 


Come forth to face life's gloomv storms. 


Strange incense with our altar-flame 




Is blent, when we forsake 






Oh ! I can watch, and almost weep 




To view some angel-child asleep ; 


That God who claims the heart alone 


To mark the alabaster brow 


For His peculiar shrine :— 


Where sinless calm is brooding now, 


A creature must not mount the Throne 


Or see the silken fringe that lies 


Where rules a Love divine. 


And covers its innocuous eyes. 


Heirs of the Spirit, are we not 


So have I stood, and heard each breath 


Anointed sons of grace 1 


Like music in melodious death, 


Alas ! if our celestial lot 


And soft and slow it swells and heaves, 


By treason we efface. 


And at each fall such cadence leaves, 




As may to pious fancy seem 


To some base darling of desire, 


A sigh for Glory in its dream. 


Some earth-made god of sin, 




Shall censers hold unhallow'd fire, 


There is a purity which plays 


By passion breathed within ? 


In the quick gleam of infant's gaze, 




That innocence of heaven-born light 


Oh, better far that love and life, 


Which beams for vulgar sense too bright, — 


With hope, and peace, and joy, 


A lustrous depth whose dazzling spells 


Howe'er with seeming mercy rife, 


Are richer than the blue gazelle's. 


Some blast from heaven destroy ; 






'Tis now the budding dawn of mind, 


Better be friendless, aidless, lone, 


Ere the worn heart grows weak and blind ; 


With none to weep our woes, 


The orient blush of radiant thought 


Than let some idol seize that throne 


Ere life is with those shadows fraught 


Sworn faith to Jesu owes. 


Experience unto manhood brings, 




Or sorrow round cold memory flings ! 


For what is there, on this side hell, 




Which so like hell appears ? — 


To see them in glad sunbeams play 


A doom of dooms ! no tongue can tell, 


As bounding and as bright as they, 


Thus rolling on our ears, 


Or, bike young wavelets laugh and sing, 




Or romp like breezes wild of wing 


" Ephraim * to idols hath his heart 
From God and glory turn'd, — 


Exulting over fields and flowers, 

When May-time leads the lovely hours, — 


Let him alone, and be his part 




The solitude he earn'd ! " 


Oh, this can melt the heart, and make 




Maturer life new colours take, 




A sentiment of vernal hue, 


* Hos. iv. 17. 


Which softens down each sterner view 



G 2 



SI 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Till Age becomes a child again, 
Encircled by some infant train ! 

But yet; a holier chain there is, 

The glory of maternal bliss, 

When first the blossom'd mind is heard, 

In pretty lisp and prattled word, 

While, peering through a curious eye, 

It longs to measure earth and sky. 

And, beautiful beyond compare 
An infant kneeling down to prayer ! 
When, lifting up its little hands, 
The soul beyond the age expands, 
And, touch'd by God's baptismal grace, 
Adores bright Mercy face to face. 

And Infancy hath inward speech, 
A mental life, man cannot reach ; 
For, intercourse of grace may be 
Between a babe and Deity, 
Too rapt and raised for oral sign, 
And deeper than our thoughts divine. 

There's something holy in a child, 
Ere yet by darken'd years defiled, 
When lip, and brow, and cheek declare 
'Tis fit for Jesu's arms in prayer ; 
And when to God and glory given, 
Though born on earth, it breathes of heaven. 



PARADISE OF THE DEAD. 

' ' He is not a God of the dead, but of the living ; for 
all live unto him." — Luke xx. 38. "Absent from 
the body, present with the Lord." — 2 Cor. v. 8. 
" This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise." — 
Luke xxiii. 43. "The general assembly of the 
first-born — the spirits of just men made perfect." 
—Heb. xii. 23. 

The dead in body are in soul alive ; 
Distinct locality to them belongs : 
No more, like us, with sin and woe they strive, 
But in those bowers, where rest the white- 
robed throng 
With garments by atoning Blood made 

clean, — * 
Behold ! pure Spirits who on earth have been. 

In years departed, Superstition dared 
That veil to ruffle with irrev'rent hand, 

Behind whose folds lie undeclared 

Secrets no bodied nature understands ; 

For there in awful shades, our God alone 

Wields His dread sceptre, and holds back His 
throne ! 



Rev. vii. 14. 



But we are sense-blind, and too much adore 
The painted dreams which time and space 
befall ; 
Full seldom do our hearts the dead restore, 

Or back their features into life recall ; 
Their tombs like portals to oblivion were, 
That closed upon us, when we laid them 
there. 

Material life the sad horizon makes 

Of half a worldling's creed pronounces 
true ; 

In soul a Sadducee, his reason takes 
No holier vision and no higher view, 

Than poor realities, which Flesh discerns, 

And earth-sprung feeling into glory turns. 

But Minds exist to whom the dead are 
dear ; 
Still in warm memory lives th' unburied 
past : 
Their grief is something nobler than the tear 
Impassion'd Feeling on their coffin cast ; — 
The disembodied to the heart and home, 
Oft in pale dreams of resurrection come. 

Shame on our souls ! if narrow earth enclose 

Spirits which have eternity to range ; 
If ne'er beyond the tomb a Christian throws 

A thought which images their blest exchange, 
Who neither bound, nor barr'd by blinding 

sense, 
Reap in rapt bliss what Light and Love 
dispense. 

A conscious portion of the Church are they 
Who speed before us to the realm unknown ; 

Although no longer in the beams of day 
They lift their brow, and call this life their 
own, 

Yet do they all to that One Christ pertain, 

Who out of dust shall rear their forms again. 

Nor, let the worshipper of sense, who binds 
To this base world an eagle-spirit down, 

And only in the realm of Epicurus finds 
His grandest sceptre and his brightest 
crown, — 

Reflect on Hades, where the dead repose, 

As whelm'd with darkness in a land of woes : 

'Tis worse than pitiful, when men presume 
Our God to limit to this world of crime ; 

Who call it vacancy beyond the tomb, 
And make eternity succumb to time ! 

Whereas the Spirit, when unearth'd and free, 

Is far diviner than this life can be. 



THE CHRISTIAN" LIFE. 



S5 



Tbink on the numbers who to Christ have fled, 
From babes too beautiful on earth to stay, 

To those departing with a hoary head, 

Beside whose couch 'twas heaven to watch 
and pray;— 

Myriads which no created mind can count,* 

Complete the glory of that great amount. 

And could we gaze beyond an earth-bound 
screen, 

No barren solitude our eyes would view ; 
But, all empeopled with a host serene 

The world of spirits would emerge as true, 
And far more vital, glowing quick with mind, 
Than this dull orb the Dead have left behind. 

And oh ! bethink thee, pilgrim, sad and lone, 
Musing through capitals, where Ages dead 

Lie sepulchred, and riven arch and stone 
Eeveal what desolation's curse hath bred, — ■ 

That all who throng'd some immemorial street, 

Are mingled souls which now in Hades meet. 

So, when thou linger'st on some battle-plain 
Dyed by red carnage once, where Nations fell, 

While banner'd thousands heard the iron rain 
Of death-shot round about them roar, and 
swell, — 

The spirits who that crimson light did face, 

Are yet alive, and fill their destined place,f 

And in the churchyard, where some grassy 
mound 
In trampled ruin all unweeded stands, 
Or sculptured aisles, where marble tombs 
abound 
And memory ponders while the mind 
expands, 



Till saints and warriors, heroes, martyrs, all 
Speak out of stone, and to the living call, — 

Forget not, while the vaulted nave is trod, 
That each unbodied is a thinking Soul 

Under the blessing or the ban of God, 
Eeplete with life, as when their felt control 

By sceptred majesty, or moving speech, 

The heart of empires and of men did reach. 

Thus should we speculate on parted Mind, 
And speak with tones of reverential truth, 

Whene'er the screening veil of sense behind 
Eeligion enters, and on age and youth 

Dreams with pale awe, and hails the sumless 
host 

Who still are loved, and not to faith the lost. 

Yes, be our epitaphs of brighter cast, 
And take our elegies a purer tone, 

Nor speak, as if corporeal life surpass'd 
The consciousness a spirit calls its own : — 

Mere flesh can moulder, yet the Soul survives, 

And in that thought there breathe immortal 
lives ! 



* Rev. vii. 9. 

t As the Author finds he has here unconsciously- 
copied from himself, he ventures to append an 
extract, which may be probably unknown to the 
general reader. 

1 ' But, deep the thought ! momentously sublime, 
To think, — that not one pulse of conscious mind 
A Will Divine hath ever caused to play 
In human being, hath a single rest 
Experienced, since its primal throb began. 
The spirit-people of the Land Unseen, 
Millions on millions though their number be, 
Are conscious, — more than when by flesh encased, 
And clogg'd in action : not a Soul's extinct ! 
Still Adam thinks ; still Alexander feels ; 
Csesar hath being ; Cleopatra lives ; 
And those crown'd butchers whom the world calls 

brave, 
Are feeling more than when they battles fought : 
Yes, all who have been, — great, or good, or vile, 
Patriarchs, prophets, and the lords of mind, 
Heroes and warriors, and those laureh'd priests 
Of truth, the poets of eternity," &c. &c. 

"Luther," Sixth Edition. 



SUBLIME OF PEAYEE. 

" I beseech thee, show me thy glory." 

' Exod. xxxiii. IS. 

Heroic guide of Judah's race 
Who saw Jehovah face to face, 

Sublime of men ! — behold him now, 
As there enshrined, within the cloud 
Which wraps him like a burning shroud, 
He boldly breathes the prayer, " God, unveil 

Thy brow. 

" Eternal ! in the flaming sign 
What though I.saw dread beams combine, 

When Sinai's bush was clothed with fire, 
Or on Thy cloudy pillar gazed, — 
Yet when the riven mountain blazed 
With Thy descending pomp, I dared for more 
aspire ! 

" And I have fasted, pray'd, and felt 
For forty days my being melt 

With wand'ring awe, as Thou didst trace 
That ' Pattern' whose mysterious plan 
O'erveil'd the future Christ for man, 
And prophesied in types, the hidden truths of 
grace. 

"And I have heard that thunder-tone 
Which thrills high angels round the throne, — 



86 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



The rollings of celestial Voice ; 
And seen unearthly lightnings play, 
Which lit me up that rocky way 
When Thy dread law decreed for life, or death, 
the choice. 

" And now, I would no symbol see, 
But gaze on full-orb'd Deity ; 

Thy glory let me witness now : 
God of my soul ! before I die, 
Centre on Thee my thirsting eye, 
And let Thy lustres bright through all my 
being flow ! " 

So prayed the meek, but yet the bold 
Giant of grace, who would behold 

The Self Eternal !— God reveal'd 
Not in the shadow, nor the sign, 
But in deep radiance all-divine, 
Where dwells the viewless God, all gloriously 

conceal'd. 

It was, indeed, a prayer sublime 
Surpassing all conceived in time, 

Or nature, — scaling that dread, height 
Where Attributes are searchless things, 
And Seraphim reverse their wings, 
And shrink, and shudder back, before Essential 

Light. 

Yet, God is moved by mighty prayer ; 
And Moses found his answer there, 

When ark'd within the cloven side 
Of Horeb's sacramental rock, — 
Jehovah " passed" him, while the shock 
Of glory shook the soul, till awed Convulsion 

cried.* 

But we, who with reverted gaze 
Can rend the veil of typic days, 

May in the Church a glory view 
Outshining far what Moses saw, 
When God in thunder gave the law, 
And lightnings red and fierce around Mount 

Tabor flew. 



And is not this the prayer intense 
Of all, who soar above what sense 

And self and sin combine to claim, — 
That more and more meek hearts may 

rise 
To vision with prophetic eyes 
What hidden splendours haunt Jehovah's 

hallowed name 1 



* Exod. xxxiv. 5, 



Divine ambition must be ours ; 
And faith so form the mental powers 
Under Emmanuel's teaching grace, 
That love in earth, and sea, and air, 
May find reflected ev'ry -where 
The glories which effulged before great Moses' 
face. 

And how seraphic proves the spell 

In those deep hearts, which love to dwell 

Within the inner shrine of things ! — 
Who can all scenes in Christ behold, 
And see, as in bright trance unroll'd, 
The charms He there unveils, beyond what 

poet sings. 

Standard and type for all who pray, 
Be this the liturgy we say 

To Him who hears the spirit cry, 
" Thy deeper glories, God ! unshroud ; 
Break, I beseech Thee, break the cloud, 
And on Thyself unveil'd, oh, let me rest mine 
eye." 

The highest saint who heavenward soar'd, 
Prophet, or priest, who God adored, 

In this vast prayer their motto find : 
Such Hearts will hunger, Lord of grace ! 
To look upon Thy perfect face, 
And in that light supreme to love all human 
kind. 



REPENTANCE. 



' Repent ye, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. 

Matt. hi. 

Wake, power divine, awake ! 

Arm of the Lord ! arise, 
And from our spirit take 

The mist which round it lies ; 
Each blinding shade of self dispel 
That veils the sin we love so well. 

Stern Preacher of the wild ! 

Enrobed with camel-hair, 
Convince cold hearts defiled, 

And melt them into prayer ; 
Through conscience be thy thunder sent,— 
" Arise ! cold sleeper, and repent." 

Bold lightnings of reproof 

Through each dead conscience dart, 
Till we no more aloof 

From heaven shall hide the heart : 
E'en as of old, Judea heard, 
Be all our souls with anguish stirr'd. 



THE CHEISTIAN LIFE. 



87 



Lift, brave Elijah, now 

That voice of dauntless truth ! 
Till shame upon each brow 

Of weeping age and youth 
Shall print the scarlet blush that tells 
AVhat pang in deep repentance dwells. 


Our virtues oft are self. 

In bland disguise conceal'd; 
Our charities to pelf 

Some wretched incense yield, 
And holy graces are at best 
But weakness by religion dress'd. 


Thine axe,* Conviction, lay 
Down to the roots of thought, 

Until Remorse shall pray 

O'er all vile sin hath wrought : 

For that which love doth not inspire 

Must perish in God's penal fire. 


Repent we then ! — yet, where ? 

Not as Iscariot did ; 
But by the Cross in prayer 

Be our deep anguish hid : 
On Jesus gaze we,* till the sight 
Shall melt our hearts, and make them white. 


And let repentance prove 

Its vigour by the fruit ; 
That cannot spring from love 

AYhich doth not bud, and shoot, 
And by a life of tears and prayers 
Attest the change God's will declares. 


Repentance stern and true 
Exceeds all common woe : 

Despair for crime may rue 
And scalding tear-drops flow, 

But Self in this alone abounds, — 

Repentance rests on nobler grounds. 


Thy fan, Spirit ! wield, 

And purge the chaff-strewn floor, 
Until the garner yield 

Of wheat a precious store ; 
Baptised with fire, so let us be, 
And bid our hearts resemble Thee. 


What is it but a change 

By Godhead work'd within 1 
A principle whose range 

Subdues the love of sin 1 
'Tis man renew'd, and heaven resought, 
With hate for what our guilt has wrought. 


" Repent ye ! " — 'tis the cry 
By conscience echoed back ; 

From earth and vaulted sky 
Along our sin-worn track, 

"We hear its awful cadence roll 

Like thunder through our warned soul. 


And what can this create ?- 
Not all the powers of earth ; 

The perfect forms of good and great 
In wisdom, truth, or worth ; — 

Not heaven with glory, hell with pain 

Could sinful man for God regain ! 


Nor let religious pride 

On fruitless names repose ; 

For heaven hath aye denied 
A faith of forms and shows, 

And, rather than rank falsehood own. 

Will raise a seed from out the stone, t 


The faintest sin defies 

A universe to crush 
The strength which in it lies ; 

And so, 'twill madly rush 
Downward, to face th' infernal deep 
Where blasted spirits burn and weep. 


" Repent ! " — again we hear 

That cry of just alarm ; 
And let it shake the soul with fear, 

To rouse the opiate charm 
Which lulls the hypocrite to death, 
And cheats him to his latest breath. 


But, oh, there is a Power 

This granite of the heart 
To soften, in that hour 

Ere conscience may depart, — 
Atoning Love, through guilt forgiven, 
The rescued heart can raise to heaven ! 


Repentance ! — what is life J 

But matter fit for tears 1 
Since, all we are is rife 

With worse than what appears : 
If tried without, men are but sin ; 
Yet God discerns the heart within ! 


Such pure contrition springs 
From Mercy's bleeding charm, 

Whose soft compulsion wrings 
The soul with safe alarm ; 

And thus, when wrought by Christ above 

Repentance works by weeping love.f 


* Matt. iii. 10. t Matt. iii. 9. 


* Zecli. xii. 10. j Gal. v. 6. 



HEARTS WHICH HAVE NO ECHOES. 

"The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a 
stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy." — 
Prov. xiv. 10. 

Some hearts lie wither'd in their transient 
spring 

Long ere the yellow leaf of change began ; 
Seldom to them may human summer bring 

A beaming welcome from the soul of man. 

Cinctured as by a preternatural spell, 

Languid their pulse of low dejection beats : 
Yet none who mark their smile-clad face, could 
tell 
How dark the mood which back from man 
retreats ! 

And what, though circumstance may seem 
To gladden life with fortune's envied glow, j 

Or on their brow some bright de^sion beam, 
Hiding the haunted gloom that reigns 
below, — 

They bear a burden language could not speak, 
They feel depression too profound for tears, 

And blush to fancy a betrayful cheek 

Should wear the paleness of their inward fears. 

Yet, say not such sad martyrs of the mind 
Are fever' d by ambition's vulgar fret ; 

Nor think tliey loathe the love of human kind, 
Or hate warm hours when echoing souls are 
met. 

But in them dwells the hush'd and voiceless 
thought, 

How all which reigns without, or rules within, 
With grave-like hollowness is ever fraught, 

Or, canker'd through with selfishness and sin. 

And oft the bitterness of secret pride 
Rankles beneath the play of baffled will, 

While Feeling, wounded by some fate denied, 
Bleeds at the root, though all without look 
still. 

And moods they cherish, passionate as deep, 
And wing'd desires that eagle-like would soar, 

Which never waken from their wordless sleep, 
But prey upon the spirit more and more. 

And when quick minds, electrically strung 
As though each chord of feeling moved on fire, 

Some pang would tell, — how oft the fearful 
tongue 
Has felt each accent on the lip expire ! 



And thus there is a loneliness of heart, 
In all deep souls a never-enter'd shrine, 

Where neither love nor friendship takes a part, 
Which no eyes witness, but, Jehovah ! Thine. 

But shall we mourn, that each is circled round 
With veiling mystery from the ken of man ? 

That waters deep within the soul abound 
No word has fathom'd, and no wisdom can ] 

No, rather let such merciful disguise 

Move the just thinker unto grateful prayer ; 

For who could live beneath terrestrial eyes, 
If such could witness all secreted there ! 

And if no mantle by our God were thrown 
Round fallen souls, to hide man's world 
within, 

How should we hate, what now we love to own, 
And cry for darkness to conceal our sin ! 

None are so chaste, unselfish, and sincere, 
As not to feel the taint of Adam's fall ; 

So, heaven in mercy hides that inmost sphere 
Where each dreads each, and all would 
censure all. 

Yet beats One Heart all other hearts above, 
Whose sympathy no human errors tire, 

E'en Thine, pure Lord of uncreated love, 
Incarnate Semblance of The heavenly Sire ! 

There, may we prove deep tenderness divine, 
And yet, so human that it wept and sigh'd ; 

And when to coldness burden'd hearts incline, 
Haste we to Him, who loved us till He died. 

There is no self in that almighty Heart, 
No changing motion in the casual will, 

For Thou, Lord Christ ! celestial mercy art, 
And though we shun Thee, Thou art gracious 
still. 

balmy thought ! which, like nocturnal dews 
Whose silver freshness stars the herbless 
plain, 
When worse than midnight shades our mental 
views 
Recalls Emmanuel to the mind again. 

Others may gaze with half-averted eyes, 

Coldly may spurn, or scan the woe we feel, 
But o'er His heart are breathed our inward 
sighs,* 
And through His breast our veil'd emotions 
steal. 



Isa. lxiii. 9. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 89 


Nor can one shade of sorrow clothe the cheek, 


Such were those mental sires 


Nor tear-drop from the spirit-fountain 


Who made our English mind, 


roll, 


Whose page the saintly heart inspires, 


But He interprets what no tongue can speak, 


Whose words entrance mankind. 


And reads the thinking volume of our soul. 






Yes ! they, indeed, were men 


Here boast the saints, what no bright seraph 


Of loftiness divine ; 


can,— 


And not till such shall breathe again. 


That they have sympathy upon the Throne ; 


Will British glory shine. 


Christ loves the Angel, but he feels for man, 




Whose very nature hath become his Own. 


We want majestic hearts 




Like those which burn'd and bled, 


No hearts beat echoless, if they believe 


When Rome, with her resistless arts, 


A more than Brother * in yon heavens is 


Denied the Church's Head. 


theirs, 




Who loves them most when all alone they 


The dungeon, steel, and stake, 


grieve, 


A bloody doom, or block, 


And with His incense can perfume their 


Not one of these their vow could break, 


prayers. 


When summon'd to the shock. 


His love is greater than our heart, and knows 


Peaceful as lambs, as lions brave, 


What secret burden loads the inward sigh ; 


The saints of hoary time, — 


And wordless pangs to Him are open woes, 


Still may we hear them from the grave 


Clear as the glories which emblaze the sky. 


Preach with a voice sublime. 


Dear Lord ! be ever thus our Friend divine, 


Their tongues are tipp'd with fire, 


Our Anchor sure while rocking tempests 


Their accent sounds the free, 


roll, 


And into us such men inspire 


And when departing into hands like Thine, 


Their own eternity. 


Relume Thy promise, f and receive the 




Soul. 






RELIGION OF THE YOUNG. 


INSPIRATION OF THE PAST. 


"Bemember now thy Creator, in the days of thy 




youth, while the evil days come not." — Eccles. xii. 1. 


" Your fathers, where are they? And the prophets, 




do they live for ever?" — Zech. i. 5. "God .... 


And wilt thou bring a virgin heart, 


in time past, spake unto the fathers." — Heb. i. 1. 


And lay it on the shrine 




Of holy Love, that so the part 


Our fathers, where are they, 


Of Mary may be thine % — 


The prophets of the past 1 — 


Retreat beneath the Saviour's eye, 


Like solemn dreams, long flown away, 


And to His tones of heaven reply, 


And with th' eternal class'd ! 


While outward breath, or inward sigh 




Adores Him as divine. 


Those patriarchs of the soul 




Of lion heart and mien, 


Then may thy youth securely rest 


Scorning the world's depraved control, 


On more than earth bestows ; 


They hallow'd history's scene ; 


Eternity within thy breast 




Already throbs, and glows ; 


Heroes of faith and prayer, 


Thou hast, ere sin the breast alloy, 


They fought salvation's fight, 


That colour of celestial joy 


Ready to do, and boldly dare, 


Which brighten'd o'er the sainted boy, 


When God reveal'd the right. 


Whose cry, " Speak, Lord ! " arose.* 


* Heb. ii. 11. f Ps. xxiii. 4. 


* 1 Sam. iii. 10. 



90 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



He, to the Temple when a child 
By his dear mother brought, 

Ere manhood's guilt the heart defiled 
With years of sinful thought, 

Like a young priest his ephod wore ; 

And on his girdled form he bore 

The truth of all meek Hannah swore,* 
When she the Lord besought. 



Thus, in the vernal prime of youth 
How blest are they who bring 
Their souls a sacrifice for truth, 

And round Christ's altar sing ! 
Ere shades of evil darkness fall, 
Like folds of that primeval pall 
Which, soon or late, envelops all 
On earth now wandering;. 



Age has not loosed the silver cord, 

Nor at the fountain-head 
Doth Weariness pronounce the word, 

" My pleasant things are fled ! " 
For still around, hope's morning dews 
Fall freshly on thy fairy views, 
And Nature wears those lust'rous hues 

O'er life by feeling spread. 

In youth there breathes a vital bloom, 

A buoyancy and glow 
Which seem to triumph o'er the tomb 

And gladden off dull woe ; 
Elate as lofty, swells the hope 
That longs with dangers firm to cope, 
And ever round some daring scope 

An eager glance to throw. 

When years have cast their blighting frown 
And wither'd prospects pine, 

While on the head Time's hoary crown 
Betrays old age is thine, 

Then, sinner ! 'tis a rueful sight, 

To view thee through thy heart's deep night 

In horror seek that saving light 

Which flows from truth divine. 



It is not, that a dread " too late ! " 

By mortal dare be sigh'd ; 
For never to a brother's fate 

Be hope of heaven denied : 
But, oh ! methinks when harrowing fears 
Haunt the dark mind, and bitter tears 
Like drops of anguish damp the years 
Of those who God defied ; 



1 Sam. i 11; ii. 18. 



When memory's weak, and conscience quails, 

And life's gay tone is dead, 
While hideous doubts the heart assail 

By base experience bred, 
'Tis awful on Death's couch to find 
Some ruin'd Shape of woe reclined, 
Sick of the world, but unresign'd 

In dust to lay his head. 

Divinest Spirit ! truthful Lord, 

May youth remember Thee, 
And gladly in Thy glorious word 

A bright hereafter see : — 
There, bloom the Canaans of the young, 
There, fields with hallow'd fruitage hung, 
Richer than God's own poets sung 

Should wave in Galilee.* 

Thy grace bestow, that vestal hearts 
May more and more be given 

To Thee and Thine, ere youth departs 
From God, — by passion driven 

Along that dark and dismal way 

Where virtues into vices stray, 

Which tempt polluted souls to say 

" Earth makes my only heaven ! " 



SYMPATHY OF CHRIST. 

' ' Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain 
thee."— Ps. lv. 22. 

Go, cast thy burden on the Lord, 
Thou laden Bosom ! dark and lone ; 

Nor deem thyself by Him unheard 

Whose heart beats human on the Throne. 



A Man of sorrows and of tears 
The Saviour once was like to thee, 

And learn'd to face those mortal fears 
Which pierced His soul with sympathy. 

Tis thus we mark Him, homeless, sad, 
A Pilgrim whose mysterious lot 

Was shunn'd by all the gay and glad, 
Unfelt, unpitied, and forgot. 

Yet learnt He thus from finite woe 
What heaven's calm glories could not teach,- 

For there, no tides of anguish flow, 
And no dark cares that kingdom reach. 



* Isa. lxv. l'i 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



91 



And is it not a whelming thought, 

That Christ should leave His heavenly throne 
To be on earth affliction taught, 

And suffer more than flesh hath shown I 

Oh, had He in yon realm of bliss 
But simply fathom'd what we feel, 

Could mortals from their sad abyss 
To Him as brother now appeal ? 

But when we read His matchless life 
That wept, and sigh'd, and sorrow'd o'er 

The heavy pangs of human strife, 

And all which burning conscience bore, 

Such life becomes a lovely proof 
That into His deep bosom pass'd 

Experience, which can ne'er aloof 

From pilgrims now on earth be class'd. 

Nor deem, that when on high He soar'd 
And o'er the radiant heavens retired, 

By chanting hosts to be adored 

Whose hymns are by His Blood inspired, 

What here below as Man He felt, 
Is now engulph'd in bliss eterne ; — 

Still through His heart emotions melt, 
And in Him pure affections burn. 

His regal crown is all divine, 

And glory-flames engird Him now, 

But Faith beholds Him still the same, 
For human feelings line His brow. 

And thus, weary, wand'ring soul, 
By tempest worn, and toss'd, and tried, 

Though surging waves around thee roll, 
Thine anchor is The Crucified ! 

Thy sin confess, each sorrow tell, 
Bold on His love thy burden cast, 

In heaven Who yet remembers well 

The storms through which on earth He pass'd. 

A mother may her babe forget, 

An exile ne'er his home recall, 
Nor orphan'd child the hour regret 

Which reft him of parental all : 

But, oh, whate'er the scene or clime, 

Devotion may Emmanuel see, 
Whose heart expands o'er man, and time, 

Who bled for our eternity ! 

Yes, sympathies intense and deep 
Surpassing all our souls contain, 

Still through His breast in glory sweep, 
And shall for ever glow and reign. 



A sinless Lord, yet touch'd in heart 
With all which blighted moments bear, 

In heaven, Priest divine ! Thou art 
A man-God, with our feelings,* there ! 

By gentleness, by grief, and grace, 
By depth of sigh, and tears profound, 

Faith views Thee to our fallen race 
In links of loving union bound. 

Both heaven and earth in Thee combine 
In Whom that mystic wound + appears, 

Which gash'd in death Thy Form divine, 
And crimson'd it with gory tears. 

Then, lay thy burden on the Lord 
Child of dejection ! pale and lone ; 

Thou canst not sigh by Him unheard, 

Whose heart throbs human on His throne. 



NO PEACE FOR THE WICKED. 

" There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked." 

Isa. lvii. 21. 

How like a spirit shrieks the startled Wind, 
As though the air to agony were torn, 

When conscience hears it with a haunted mind, 
Waking at midnight, fearful and forlorn ! 

No peace apart from purity abides, 

Deep in the heart some dark unrest will be ; 
Though calmest azure gild the ocean-tides, 

Stern are the currents which no eye can see. 

What, if the world, that sees by sense alone, 
Seldom below the surface of our smiles 

Surveys the secrets which to God are shown, 
Believes mock gladness which the truth 
beguiles ; 

Resounding bursts of Bacchanalian joy 

Oft though they ring from out the Belial 
mind, — 

Be sure there lurks some unbetray'd alloy 
Of sad rebuke, yon gilded face behind ! 

The peace of sinners is the trance of death, 
The putrid stillness of a stagnant tomb ; 

Or like the pause before some parting breath 
Which shakes and shudders o'er eternal 
doom. 



Heb. iv. 15. 



t Rev. i. 7; v. 



92 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



But oft this lulling opiate of the heart, 
By passion drunk while principle expires, 

Fails in some hour to do its deadly part, 
When Vengeance lights her agonising fires. 

And thus the wicked have no vital peace, 
Nothing which reason, truth, or knowledge 
makes ; 
The " Blood of Sprinkling " hath not brought 
release, 
Norcalm'd the tempest which dark conscience 
shakes. 

In vain may riches, rank, and power, and pride, 
Fawn round the creedless heart and lawless 
will, 

There is no heaven but in bad self denied, 
And less than Godhead can no bosom fill. 

Man's peace is grounded on majestic truth, 
Enlightened conscience, hope, and faith- 
breathed prayer, 
And they who seek it in hoar'd age, or youth, 
Yearn for God's Holy One to guide them 
there. 

Cold gnaws the worm which on pale conscience 
feeds, — 

A darksome pang of dreariness within ; 
And oft in silence sad remembrance bleeds 

O'er bosom'd stores of unrepented sin. 

The grave ! the grave ! its horrent gloom 
appals 
The craven souls which no atonement seek, 
And from hereafter comes the hell that calls 
The blood of gladness from a blooming 
cheek. 

To guilt eternity a dread appears, 
And God Himself is vision'd as a foe ; 

And how the Throne dark retribution rears, 
Shades a bright present with prophetic woe ! 

Martyr in soul ! with all thy painted smiles, 
Hie thee at once to free salvation's ark, 

And shun the snare of those satanic wiles 
Which dazzle myriads into regions dark. 

Lo, where The Church with mild maternal 
tone 
Thy soul invites to share mysterious peaces- 
Pure as Emmanuel once proclaim'd His own, — 
Born of The Blood which purchased man's 
release. 



John xiv. 27. 



Such is the rest, divinely rich and deep, 

Beyond tempestuous waves of woe to break ; 

Soft as the trances of that blissful sleep 

Which lull'd the Saviour on the storm-rent 
lake. 

Let but the Spirit of the Lord descend 

And o'er our bosom brood with dovelike 
sway, 

Then shall Jehovah be our guardian friend, 
Point to glad Zion, and protect the way. 

So will that hollow rest poor worldlings love, 
No longer o'er the cheated bosom reign ; 

But Peace, descending from her Prince above, 
Becalm our conscience like His breath 
again.* 



INFANT DEATH. 



Rachel, weeping for her children." — Matt. ii. 18. 
"Thus saith the Lord, Refrain thy voice front 
weeping, and thine eyes from tears .... they 
shall come again from the land of the enemy. " — 
Jer. xxxi. 16. 

Pale mother ! art thou weeping 

Beside yon cradled form, 
Which now reclines unsleeping 

In fever's raging storm 1 
Fair mourner, let me feel for thee, 
Engulph'd in such an agony. 

Thine eyes are red with sorrow, 
And sunken back with woe ; 

Or ever dawns to-morrow, 
Thy heart will overflow, 

While tears of burning anguish lave 

The victim of an early grave. 

Such death seems like the rushing 
All sudden, fierce, and strong, 

Of chainless whirlwind, crushing 
The forest-boughs along ; 

As onward sweeps that rending blast, 

Wild ruins tell its wings have pass'd. 

Yet, mother ! when caressing 

Thy darling in thine arms, 
While brooding o'er the blessing 

So treasured in its charms, 
Did not this dream thy soul appal, — 
" Perchance my living flower must fall 1 " 



John xx. 21, 22. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



93 



And often, when surveying 

Its mournful depth of eye, 
A something seem'd arraying 

Those features for the sky, — ■ 
A pensive meaning, sad and mild, 
Too earthless for an earth-doom'd child. 

But since the Soul hath parted, 

Above that baby face 
Thou bendest, broken-hearted ; 

For, cold as sculptured grace, 
The whiteness of that cherub brow 
Maternal tear-drops moisten now ! 

Yet be not thou repining, 
And nurse the pang unmeet, 

Because, no longer shining 
Thy glow of love to greet, 

Infantile charms and elfin ways 

Are welcomed by thy doting gaze. 

Like cherubim surrounding 
The Throne where Jesu reigns, 

With more than bliss abounding, 
And touch'd by no earth-stains, — 

Unbodied infants, in the blaze 

Of Godhead, lisp their perfect* lays. 

Nor dream, because unspoken 

In flesh, the word of grace, 
Thy darling had no token 

Of God's paternal face ; 
Baptismal wonders oft infold 
A germ of Christ no creeds have told. 

Think not, that when translated 

To realms of hallow'd bliss, 
An infant can be rated 

By such base world as this : 
In heaven transform'd, its mind expands, 
And more than scripture understands. 

Then, cheer thee ! stricken mother, 

Let praise ennoble tears ; 
Thy babe has found a Brother 

In yonder heaven-bright spheres ; 
For God's Elect, the Undefiled, 
Was once on earth a cradled Child. 

Though now enshrined in glory, 

What here below He felt 
As read in awful story, 

Doth still remembrance melt ; 
As if the babe His bosom press'd, 
For ever thrill'd That gracious Breast. 



* Matt. xxi. 16. 



Though viewless, yet not banish'd, 
Thine infant, conscious now, 

From this cold world hath vanish'd 
In heaven to lift its brow, 

Where babes redeem'd, in radiant white 

Girdle the Throne, with angels bright. 



A PERFECT WILL. 



'Then cometh Jesus . . 
it becometh us to 
Matt. iii. 13, 15. 



. to be baptized . . . Thua 
fulfil all righteousness." — 



Thott, who didst rend the heavens to be 
The Man, in whom God's eye should see 
A human Archetype of all 
His wisdom could perfection call, 
From Thy sad manger to the tomb 
Through shades of grief, and storms of gloom, 
Implicitly Thy passive will 
Each dictate of the law did lovingly fulfil. 

When Peter's rude and reinless zeal 
Would fain have bade Thee scorn to feel 
The pangs a felon's death must bear, 
What did the Prince of Peace declare *? — 
" Get thee behind me, Satan ! thou 
Of man, not God, dost savour now ; 
Disciple if thou dar'st to be, 
Martyr thy human will, and meekly follow 
me!" 

The dauntless Eremite who saw 
His Lord obey baptismal law, 
And meekly as a lamb descend 
Beneath a sacrament to bend, 
And in God's mystic waters lave 
A Form which came the world to save, — 
At once recoil'd with holy dread, 
And, gazing on the Lord, aloud in wonder said : 

" Wilt Thou, by God and angels prized, 
Prince of all peace ! be thus baptized 
By one like me, whose atom worth 
Is but a speck of sinful earth 1 
Rather baptize me with that fire 
Of holiness Thou dost respire ; 
Too abject am I here to stand, 

Or on Thy sandall'd feet to lay my soiled hand." 

So spake th' Elijah of the wild ; 
But He, of woman born, and mild 
As moon-lit water, when a breeze 
Tones the soft accent of the seas, 



94 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Bent o'er the Baptist His meek brow, 
And answer'd, " It becomes us now ; " 
And lo ! at once the laving stream 
Shed o'er His awful face its sacramental 
gleam. 



And as He rose from that green bank, 
Yon heavens the scene of wonder drank 
Into their depths, which saw their King 
To God such ritual glory bring ! 
Obedience then received a crown 
Surpassing all sublime renown, 
The Law obtains from perfect will 
Bodied by angels forth, who all His work 
fulfil.* 

But while by yon enraptured Heaven 
Peals of divine applause are given, 
And downward on His wings of love 
Descends the everlasting Dove, 
And ere that thunder-voice hath ceased 
Proclaiming how The Father's "pleased," 
Let the saved Church a truth discern, 
And man's o'er-reas'ning heart a lofty science 
learn. 

Subjection is our love divine; 
Believer ! let its law be thine : 
"All righteousness," however small 
Cold reason may its canons call, 
Compliant Faith will yearn to do, 
Finding in Christ her model true ; 
Nor dare to dream men suffer loss 
When duty points the way, and God provides 
the Cross. 

And, wouldst thou like thy Master be ? 
Go, find him near that ancient sea, 
Where the awed Baptist on His head 
The sacramental water spread ; 
There, as thou wander'st, seek a will 
Which can all rectitude fulfil, 
And consecrate thine inmost soul 
To that unfathom'd Law no reason can control. 



And then may He, whose glory came 
On mystic plumes of dovelike fiame,+ 
That Spirit, who on Christ did pour 
The sevenfold grace His priesthood bore,— 
Some drops of saving unction give 
By which believing martyrs live ; 
Till thou, in all thy works and ways, 
Shall unto God devote the priesthood of thy 
days. 



Ps. ciii. 20. 



t Matt. iii. 16. 



CHIEF OF SINNERS. 

'Jesus came to save sinners, of whom I am chief." 

1 Tim. i. 1"-. 
Low in the dust, oh ! let me lie, 
And heavenward lift my asking eye, 
Till Christ becalm with lenient gaze 
The pang which on my conscience preys. 

The more I think, the more I feel 
This heart hath proved in woe and weal 
A Cain-like rebel to my God, 
Whate'er the path experience trod. 

My past appears one blended crime, 
Extending through all scene and time, 
And well may conscience quail to see 
How Self dethroned the Deity ! 

Ay, Self has proved the spring of all 
Enamour'd eyes perfection call ; 
Thought, will and motive, deed and word, 
In each vile Self has been preferr'd. 

Here is the Upas-blast of sin ! 
The poison-blight which burns within, 
The venom'd source of vicious life, 
With treason to the Godhead rife. 

'Tis Self by whose defiling breath 
The soul deserves eternal death ; 
A taint whose omnipresent power 
Contaminates man's purest hour. 

It matters not, what form it takes, 
When human will our God forsakes : — 
The essence of all sin we find, 
Not in the flesh, but in the mind. 

When passions nurse their lava-fires, 
Or Belial lust the blood inspires, 
Or vice, and vulgar riot reign, 
There Self reveals its coarser stain. 

But may not sin defile that soul 
Where bland refinement wields control, 
While art, and taste, and beauty dwell, 
And Culture charms with graceful spell 1 

Yes, there while nature's glories rise 
To fascinate our partial eyes, 
And painting, poetry, and speech, 
A throne of regal magic reach, 

While private zeal, or public worth 
Adorns the land which gives them birth, 
Believe not, in this bright display, 
That Sin and Self have died away ! 



THE CHRISTIAN" LIFE. 95 


Yea, rather may refinement shroud 


The Past will not return in sighs, 


A godless will beneath a cloud, 


The Future ne'er appal, 


And lull the conscience, till it fail 


The present charm celestial eyes * 


To know if God, or man, prevail. 


With Christ, the All in All. 


Thus, " chief of sinners ! " forms the cry 


And dared men like rapt David feel, 


Of all who see with inward eye 


Our frigid hearts would be 


That self is sin, howe'er disguised, 


On fire with archangelic zeal, 


And by approving falsehood prized. 


That heaven of Heavens to see ! 


On these Heaven's perfect law will dart 




Those searching beams which bare the heart, 




Till each fine chord of feeling there 


THE HEART'S TREASURE. 


Thrills into dread, and throbs with prayer. 


' ' Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven . . . for 




where your treasure is, there will your heart be 




also."— Matt. vi. 19, 21. 
Men of faith's heroic mould ! 






"Who your birthright have not sold, 


DIVINE THIEST. 


But the heirship of God's truth 




Have preserved to age from youth, 


"My soul thirsteth for God."— Ps. xlii. 20. 


Let the freedom of your soul 


As pants the hart for living brooks 


No debasement draw from earth, 
But the Law of heaven control 


So pines my soul for Thee ; 
Away from this lone earth it looks, 


"What you deem of peerless worth. 


And longs Thy face to see. 


"Let not earth your treasure be, 




Ne'er from rust and robber free ; 


Thrice Holy One ! athirst I am 


But in heaven behold a mine 


From man's false world to fly, 


Where the gold is all divine ; 


And on the glories of the Lamb 


That which mortal love doth measure 


To feast my fasting eye. 


As of time the truest spell, 




Aye becomes a witching treasure 


'Tis here a bleak and barren land 


Where false hearts delight to dwell." 


"Where hearts and hopes are vain ; 




But Faith perceives at Thy right hand, 


Miser ! with thy golden heap 


Supernal wonders reign. 


Glaring through perturbed sleep, 




In thy wealth no wisdom lies ; 


There pleasures bloom which cannot lead 


Yet thy soul doth sacrifice 


Compliant souls to sin ; 


Heaven and hope, with all the bliss 


And all celestial Love decreed 


Which on high the pure await ; 


Yictorious martyrs win.* 


Gilded clay thy treasure is, 




And how cursed thine envied state ! 


No shades of guilt or sorrow now 




Athwart remembrance roll ; 


Worldling ! who for earth-prized gain 


Eternity unveils its brow, 


Creed and conscience both wilt strain ; 


And God enshrines the soul. 


Fill'd, and fever'd o'er with cares, 




Doom'd to be but Sorrow's heirs, 


Those pulses of ethereal bliss 


Dwarf 'd and mean thy nature grows, 


"Which here so feebly play, 


Day by day intensely vile ; 


Shall throb within a realm like this, 


Deeper far than virtue knows, 


Divine beyond decay ! 


Coils the serpent in thy smile ! 


At length we find our purest dreams 


Patriot ! in whose haughty plan 


Of finite rapture flown, 


Looks reveal'd a heaven for man, 


"When saints are basking in the beams 


Madly dreaming time and sense 


"Which glorify Thy Throne. 


All in all for man dispense, 


* Rev. ii. 10. 


* 1 John iii. 2. 



96 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Brain may work, and genius build 
Schemes of most colossal name, 

But o'er visions unfulfill'd 

Thou shalt sing the dirge of shame. 

Student ! cloister'd in the cell 
Haunted with some hoary spell 
Books of sages and of seers 
Breathe from immemorial years, — 
Rich and radiant are the hopes 

Round thy soul that beam and play, 
But ambition with thee copes, 
And of this thou art the prey. 

Poet ! thou art priest of song ; 
Heaven and earth to thee belong ; 
Beauty, grandeur, love and grace 
Circle round the bardic race ; 

Seize thy harp, and sweep the chords 

Till they glow with mental fire, 
And like oracles, rich words 
Roll from thy melodious lyre ; 

But if gold, or gain intrude 
On thy soul in solitude, 
If mere passion for renown 
Should assail thy minstrel-crown, 

Should thy chant, debauch'd and base, 

E'er for sordid end be sung, 
Angels blush for thy disgrace, — 
Would thy harp were never strung ! 

Lord ! and will affections be 
Fill'd with dust, and dead to Thee, 
If around one heart they twine, 
With a passion half divine 1 

Teach us, then, no creature can 

Saint, or seraph-heart enchain, 
But it mars the mighty plan, — 
God alone as God must reign ! 

Mother ! 'tis a beauteous sight 
When thou watchest day and night 
Fondly round some elfin creature 
Budding with maternal feature, 
Oft in cradled slumber rock'd, 

Flush'd with fascination's dreams, 
While each baby hand enlock'd 
Clasp'd in adoration seems ; 

But if love should Christ betray, 
And devotion steal away 
From the God of babes, and men, 
Wilt thou not be chasten'd then 1 
Or perchance, when fever'd breath 
From thy little one is heaving, 
Thou wilt learn by infant's death 
That thy soul has God been leaving ! 



If upon thy sailor-boy, 
Star of home and social joy, 
Far amid the wild sea-waves 
Where his head the tempest braves, 
Thou ai-t dreaming, when thy prayer 

Heavenward should in faith be swelling, 
Canst thou hope thy God is there, 
If no grace be in thee dwelling 1 

Wife, and parent, husband, child, 
Let not feeling be defiled 
By a worship that withdraws 
Love from those celestial Laws 

Which in creatures claim the heart ; — 

There the Lord erects a throne 
In whose glories none have part, 
Where He reigns, and reigns alone ! 

Hide our treasure, Lord, in Thee ! 
And regenerate hearts will be, 
Like the ransom'd, more and more 
When they scan their radiant store, 
Bliss seraphic taught to feel 

While around the Lamb they bend, 
Chanting with impassion'd zeal, — 
"Glory's fount ! and sinner's Friend !"* 



WISDOM OF PRAYER. 

"O Thou that hearest prayer, unto Thee shall all 
flesh come." — Ps. lxv. 2. 

Why should the reas'ning sceptic dare 
To stand between the Godhead and our prayer ] 

A mental antichrist, too oft 
Madly presuming mind will soar aloft, 

And from Jehovah's nature draw 
A reason why we should reject his law, — 

That all who would Heaven's pardon claim 
Must clasp that mercy in Emmanuel's name. 



God is not changed by hearing prayer, 
But would be changed, if our petitions were 

By Him unheard ; Whose page inspired 
Hath said, "For this My Throne shall be 
enquired." + 

Thus, end and means together meet 
When bows the sinner at Heaven's mercy- 
seat : 

To this God's changeless purpose tends, 
And with His glory our salvation blends. 



Rev. v. 9. 



f Ezek. xxxvi. 37 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



97 



Avaunt ! ye hell-breathed doubts, away ! 
Mora, noon, and night, let true adorers pray; 

Precept, and promise, doctrine, — all 
To this vast privilege our being call. 

No saint in earth, or heaven is found, 
"Who did not in such glorious work abound ; 

His prayer, whatever path he trod, 
Drew God to man, and lifted man to God. 

Prayer conquers scene, and space, and time, 
Entreats no temple, and demands no clime, 

But, like an omnipresent charm 
Can shield the saints from all corrupting harm ; 

Howe'er remote from genial home 
The surging waves of life may bid them roam. 

Oft riven Friendships pray afar, 
Each thrilling each, beneath some alien star. 

Elijah, Moses, Jonah, pray'd ; 
And how those heroes of The Spirit sway'd 

Nature, and Providence, and Man ! — 
As though the movements of almighty plan, 

However fathomless they were, 
Hung on the breathings of a human prayer ; 

Or else, that He whose will is law, 
Were sway'd in heaven, by what on earth he 
saw.* 

And mark, thou prayerless Thing of dust ! 
If doubt thy God, and reason be thy trust, 

How Abram, that Elect of heaven 
To whom the Church's promises were given, 

With sixfold intercession bent 
Before His wrath, Th' enthroned Omnipotent ! 

And, when the bolt was almost hurl'd, 
By prayer held back His thunders from the 
world. 

But oh ! if pure example can 
Melt the cold mind of antichristian man, 

Behold it, in the Saviour mild, 
The God in flesh, the manhood undefiled : 

For He, by whom the worlds were made, 
In the hush'd midnight on the mountains 
pray'd, 

And wintry stars from their high spheres 
Blent their cold radiance with His awful tears !f 

Here let us pause : His finite will 
Before the Infinite of heaven did fall ; 

Though spotless, Christ was human still, 
And ceased not on His Father-God to call. 

And what but heartless sin will dare 
To doubt that He is moved by mighty 
prayer 1 — 

My Saviour wept, and watch'd, and pray'd ; 
Be each unhallow'd thought by that o'ersway'd. 



Gen. xviii. 23—33. 



t Heb. 



And this, when worlds shall disappear, 
Will rock to slumber each tempestuous fear ; 

All pangs without, all pains within 
Yield to its spell ; and each tyrannic sin 

Is vanquish' d by believing prayer, 
Which proves God greater than our greatest 
care : 

And deep will be his hallow'd rest 
Who drops his burden on Emmanuel's breast. 



CONVICTION, AND CONFESSION. 

" He will reprove the world of sin . . . because they 
believe not onine." — John xvi. 8, 9. "O wretched 
man that I am, who shall deliver me?" — Rom. vii. 
24. "Wretched, and miserable, and poor, and 
blind, and naked." — Rev. hi. IV. 

There was a time, Avhen earth appear'd 
From each cold mist of sorrow clear'd, 
A landscape clothed with calm and grace, 
Whose flowers conceal'd the serpent's trace. 

Then Nature seem'd a fairy world 
Where beauty all its wings unfurl'd, 
Till soil, and sea, and sun, and sky 
Entranced me with their poetry. 

Brightness and bloom o'er objects threw 
The witchery of that wond'rous hue, 
Which makes the very ground to glow 
With gladness beaming hearts bestow. 

And as with Nature, so with life, — 

It seem'd with radiant magic rife, 

Where hearts, and homes, and friends, and 

smiles, 
Around me group'd their dearest wiles. 

I did not hear the booming knell, 
Nor let the tomb its wisdom tell ; 
Sickness and sorrow, change and grief, 
Appear'd too dark for my belief. 

And when from Heaven's most awful book 
My blinded heart some utt'rance took, 
The God I worshipp'd was my own, 
Without a sceptre, law, or throne ! 

And thus, Religion's peerless claim 
A sentimental lie became : 
It touch'd the fancy — but the heart 
From ruling grace beat all apart. 

Till He, who bowed the heavens in love, 
Beheld me from His shrine above, 
And so my sensual trance awoke, 
With legal Sinai's lightning-stroke. 



PS 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Then, dread conviction through me burst, 
And I sank down, accurst ! accurst ! 
No more I lived, but seem'd to die * 
Like those who dare their God defy. 

Both heart and brain with horror felt 
Vengeance divine my being melt : 
The pleasure loved, grew loathsome now, 
And stamp'd, like Cain's, my branded brow. 

Creation's glories ceased to shine 
Upon a heart depress'd as mine ; 
And round her fairest landscape stole 
The blight and blackness of my soul. 

Where'er I went, whate'er I saw, 
The haunting curse of holy law 
Came like my shadow ; — dread and deep 
It quiver'd o'er my harrow'd sleep. 

Matter and mind, and time and space, 
Sun, air, and sea, with heaven's bright face, 
Whate'er I saw, or felt, or heard, 
Echoed The Law's condemning word. 

" Oh wretched man ! " (thus breathed my 

groan) 
" The body of this death to own ; 
As though the corpse from out its grave 
Were fasten'd to some living slave, t 

I bear without, and drag within 
The clinging weight of woful sin I — 
Who can deliver, and my soul 
Rescue from this abhorr'd control ? " 

My virtues, now, to vices turn'd, 
As more enlighten'd reason learn'd 
The pureness of that perfect Law, 
Which sees what Conscience never saw. 

Eager with light from God's own eye 
It can the shades of sin descry : 
Nor could one pulse of feeling play 
That throbs not in its searching ray. 

And thus, gay sinner ! down to dust 
Be all thy tow'ring virtues thrust ; 
The law of God is legal death 
By guilt inhaled at every breath.:}: 

Go, cultivate a grief divine ; 

A noble wretchedness be thine ; 

A heaven-born pang, like Paul's profound, — 

The bleeding of the spirit's wound. 



Roto. vii. 9. 



■f- Rom. vii. 24. 



Rom. vii. 10. 



Nor fancy, as we Godward rise 
And grace soars nearer to the skies, 
Our sainted calm will deeper grow, 
As if we found true heaven below. 

Insatiate conscience, strong and stern 
Will evermore this wisdom learn, 
That our perfection is to prove 
Imperfect reigns man's purest love. 

Oh ! bless we God, for gracious tears, 
For sunken hopes, and shadowy fears : 
Those Hearts are not for glory meant 
Who feel no glorious discontent : 

Enough for souls this truth to gain, — 
In Christ alone we live and reign ; 
And all who would perfection find 
Must seek it in the Saviour's mind. 



BELIEVER'S DESTINED WORK. 

Ye are the salt of the earth ... ye are the light of 
the world ... let your light so shine before men, 
that they may see your good works, and glorify 
your Father which is in heaven." — Matt. v. 13, 
14, 16. 

The World exults to crucify 

The truth it loathes to feel ; 
And thus, all time repeats the Cross, 
And Christians must through shame and loss 

Maintain a martyr-zeal. 

They cannot on this impious earth 

Expect a brighter doom 
Than that the Prince of Glory bore, 
When He rebuked the world of yore, 

And gain'd a borrow'd tomb. 

But not for this, with craven hearts 

And love of selfish ease 
Shrink they from conflict, or the crowd, 
And in dull cloister bent and bow'd 

Enjoy a bad release. 

Alas ! for their religious mock 

Whose creed is Self disguised ; 
Our sacrament of second birth 
Anoints us to contend with earth ; — 

Have we our unction prized 1 

The heavenliness of blissful calm 

In some poetic shade, 
Where nature is the nurse of thought, 
And all seems with religion fraught 

And for devotion made : 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 99 


For this indeed, mild spirits yearn, 

And long for dove-like wings 
Away to flee, and be at rest 
With God and angels purely blest 
Above terrestrial things. 


How can we " shine," unless we face 

A world of guilt and gloom ? 
Or, be like salt's corrective force, 
By hallow'd deed, or high discourse, 
If life itself entomb ? 


Hence, most divine to musing hearts 

When sick of toil and strife, 
Monastic bowers of peace and prayer 
Where time intrudes no fev'rish care 
To fret the saintly life. 


Earth needs the grace, and wants the beams 

Embodied grace imparts, 
When worldlings view a valiant band 
Maintain with hope and heart and hand 

The creed of sainted hearts. 


But, where is then the martyr's will ? — 

That oath by which we vow'd 
Under Christ's banner, in His name, 
To battle for His crown and claim 
Amid earth's warring crowd 1 


A cloister's gloom, a cowl, and cell 

May oft a mind conceal, 
Where rancour, pride, and envy reign, 
While Passion gnaws a viler chain 

Than fettered world-slaves feel. 


Mistaken victims of themselves ! 

Who violate their creed 
And fly with recreant heart and will, 
Instead of facing stern and still 

The front of battle's need ; 


Lord of the Church ! of creeds, and souls, 

Thy wisdom make our own, 
Not of, but in, this world to be, 
And hear the summons, " Follow me," 

From manger to the throne. 


'Tis not by flight or fear we gain 

The jewell'd crown of bliss ; 
But by enduring unto death, 
And battling to our latest breath, 
We claim reward like this. 


Contention with a godless world, — 

Here is our law of life : 
The salt must spread, the light must shine, 
Unless we cross the will divine 

And sink from duteous strife. 


The world is dark, the world is dead, 

Corruption broods in all ; 
Those painted splendours which appear 
Glitter like spangles on a bier, 

And worse than gloom appal. 


'Tis easy when the flesh-born will 

In solitude retires, 
To choose the calm of constant prayer, 
And thus avoid the fretting care 

A public fate inspires. 


Hero for heaven, baptised and brave, 

The vow is on thee, — fight ! 
Full at the Fiend, the flesh, and world 
Be all thy weapon'd graces hurl'd, 
And God shall guard the right. 


But, social is the cause of God ; 

And Christ demands a creed 
That shall not seek monastic shade 
Of all but righteous self afraid, — 

But front the dreadest need. 


Or, if thou wilt the mystic words 

Of " light " and " salt " translate, — 
Then, shine by contrast in the dark, 
And by correction probe and mark 
The evils of our state. 


Time salt and sunlight make us, Lord ! 

Thy Spirit forms them both; 
So may we best Thy word obey, 
And rev'rence thus by night and day 

Our sacramental oath. 


We live in evil times ; and tongues 

Against the truth contend ; 
When Motive, Principle, and Power, 
Around us in rebellion tower 
And loud their challenge send. 


The crowded world Thy Sceptre rules ; 

And Thou not less art there, 
Than in the lull of lone retreat ; 
And saints may thy pure guidance meet 

In duties ev'ry-where. 


Then, soldier, put thine armour on 
And wield thy weapons bright ; 
With spear and breastplate, sword and shield, 
Thus panoplied, — go, take the field 
And foremost fall, or fight ! 


But while Ave seek to shine and act, 

In all our words and ways 
Thy veil, Humility ! bestow, 
And over us protection throw, 
Lest we aspire for praise. 



n2 



100 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



The work, but not the worker, seen,- 
Behold ! a heaven-drawn plan* 

For saints to lead their life in God ; 

Such path a Saviour's virtue trod 
And made it bright for man. 



SACREDNESS OF FLOWERS. 

' ' Consider the lilies. " — Matt. vi. 28. "Glorious beauty 
is a fading flower." — Isa. xxviii. 1. "All flesh is 
as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of 
grass." — 1 Pet. i. 24. 

Ye silent poems ! which from nature's book 
Warble of Eden to our inward ear, 

Filling the thoughtful eyes that on ye look 
With the soft mystery of a sacred tear, 

Not the chaste stars, whose placid eyes salute 
The musing gaze of man's poetic mind, 

Throned in their skyey radiance, — dare dispute 
The spell ye wield o'er every heart refined. 

Since God, from Whose ideal wealth of thought 
All that is bright, or beautiful, or fair, 

By shaping wisdom into form was wrought 
And thus committed unto sun and air, 

Made the wild flowers like earth-sprung stars 
to shine 
With gleams of almost sacramental power, — + 
Dull is the heart which hails no tone divine 
When these accost him from their vernal 
bower ! 

Nor dream, that He who marks a sparrow's 
flight 
Forgets the dew-fed darlings of the Spring ; 
Angels are not more surely in His sight 

Than the soft flowers which breeze and bright- 
ness bring. 

For such adjustment doth His hand ordain 
Amid all forms and faculties to be, 

That 'tween the snow-drop and vast earth must 
reign 
Proportions pure as Science loves to see. 

AY ere the huge world one atom more or less 
In majesty, from centre to the pole, 

The flowers might lose their bending loveliness, 
Like living sympathies with nature's Whole. 



Matt. vi. 16. 



t Matt. vi. 28, 29 



And in man's world, where sin and woe prevail, 
Harshness, and heat, and hurry so abound, 

How sweet the hush of some sequester'd dale 
Where slaves grow freemen upon nature's 
ground ! 

There can we hold communion meek and mild 
With flowers, which deck some grove, or 
vernal wood, 
And guard their innocence as undefiled 
As when their greeting Maker call'd them 
"good." 

Orphans of Eden, their parental soil 

Has long been wither'd, and by weeds o'errun ; 

While burden'd Manhood, with a brow of toil, 
Endures the desert, and outworks the sun ; 



But these, like babes whose mother we deplore, 
Still do their budding features love to keep 

A soft sad trace of paradise no more, 

And waken memories that well may weep. 

Of old, before the God Incarnate came, 
Oft did high song, and sentiment, and art 

Borrow from flowers an ever-beauteous fame 
Which feeds the mind, and purifies the heart. 

But since the hour a lily blush'd, and bow'd 
Its head of grace beneath Emmanuel's smile, 

Divine and deep associations crowd 

The dreaming soul which o'er them bends 
awhile. 

" Behold the lilies of the field, and learn 

From their sweet lives, who neither toil, nor 
spin," — 

Well may such consecrating words return, 
And waken truths whose echoes sleep within ! 

And might we shape one hallow'd dream of Him 
Whose life was pure, mysterious, deep, and 
lone, 
Whose glory to the wing-veil'd Seraphim 
Beamed from the Cross, more wondrous than 
His Throne, — 

Thought may imagine hours of worldless calm, 
When all unwatch'd, Messiah's human soul 

Found in far meads a meditative balm, 

And in bright flowers some beautiful control. 

As God, He made them, and as Man, admired 
The blooming product of His lovely power ; 

And oft may genius, by their grace inspired, 
Read silent poems in a sacred flower. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 101 




Should not blest angels' saving arms 




Upbear the soul from sudden harms. 


INGRATITUDE TO ANGELS. 




"He shall give|His angels charge over thee, to keep 
thee in all thy ways." — Ps. xci. 11. 


And moods are felt no words define, 

When earth and heaven appear to meet, 




While faith half hears a tone divine 


And must we, now the God-maiTreigns 


From out yon orbs of 'Glory greet 


In regions where no senses roam, 


Each praying heart, and placid soul - 


Refuse to hear angelic strains 


Which echoes to such sweet control. 


Float through the heart,' and fill our home 1 




Have Seraphim quite ceased to walk 


When gracious beams of holy light 


Man's world, and with man's spirit talk 1 


From spheres of radiance seem to play, 




And from lone hours of suff'ring night 


'Tis true indeed, nor eye nor ear 


Melt half their haunted gloom away, — 


Their shapes discern, nor know their voice; 


Our perill'd souls prompt Angels see 


But still they haunt a human sphere, 


And hover by the bended knee. 


To make elected souls their choice ; 




And round them may bright Angels be, 


Sickness and sorrow, too, may have 


Though nothing but blind earth they see. 


Ethereal Hosts whom none perceive, 




Whose golden wings around us wave 


Oh ! never till the clouds of time 


When all alone men seem to grieve ; 


Are rent by awful death from man, 


And while we sigh, or shed the tear, 


And he from yonder heaven sublime 


Their sympathies may flutter near. 


Shall look back where dark life began, 




Will gather'd saints in glory know 


Or, by some law to man unknown, 


What blessings men to angels owe. 


Their spells may o'er us act and steal, 




And strengthen Faith upon her throne, 


This earth is but a thorny wild, 


When fury-passions make us feel 


A tangled maze where griefs abound, 


How Self and Sin would monarchs be, 


By sorrow vex'd, by sin defiled, 


And give the law to Deity ! 


Where foes and fiends our walks surround ; 




But does not dread Jehovah say, 


Thus, human Life from them may take 


Angelic guardians line the way ? 


Some moral tinge, or mental hue, 




Which not till dust the soul forsake 


It is not when gigantic woe, 


Elected saints will value true : — 


Or crisis unforeseen assails 


Before God s throne, and only then 


Our earthly doom, that most we glow 


These guardians will be thank'd by men. 


To feel heroic faith prevails, 




When perill'd by the bitter shower 
Temptation pours in sorrow's hour. 






The precipice men rarely find ; 


FOLLOW CHRIST. 


On us no avalanche may fall ; 




But petty woes distract the mind 
And take sweet temper from us all ; 


" Jesus saith unto them, Follow me; and .... they 
followed Him."— Matt. iv. 18—20. 


As some by thickets are o'erthrown, 


The sheep who know the shepherd's tone 


Whose feet escaped the crushing stone. 


Delight to hear his voice ; 




His guiding way becomes their own, 


Mean trifles our true dangers make, 


His wish their willing choice : 


Weak'ning the spirit unawares ; 


So is it with regenerate Souls, 


And tiny griefs would often break 


Whose love the law of grace controls ; 


The heart unbow'd by pond'rous cares, 


Let but the Shepherd of the Spirit call, — 


Did not our guardian angels glide, 


Like echoes they reply, and leave their noblest 


And watch, unseen, the naked side. 


all! 


Some pebble in our daily path, 


So was it in the Church of old 


The little stone we scarce behold 


When, walking by the sea, 


A world of secret ruin hath, 


The Lord of Mercy did behold 


O'er which might trip the brave and bold, — 


The twin elect of Galilee, 



102 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Two fishers there, who cast the net 
The produce of the lake to get ; 
But when that " Follow Me ! " from Christ 
was heard, 
The laden ships they left, responsive to His word. 

So is it now ; if Hearts be true 
To Him whose shepherd-cry 
Will never cause that soul to rue 
Which dares itself deny, 
And lives for Christ, where'er it roam ; — 
Serene abroad, resign'd at home, 
By crowded mart, or in resounding street 
Where all the mingled tides of sin and struggle 
meet. 

Life need not seek monastic cell, 

Nor yearn for cloister'd shades ; 
Nor sigh for some Arcadian dell, 
And green poetic glades 
Where blissful Quiet can enjoy 
The bower of peace without alloy ; 
But rather rest where Providence doth say, 
" Move in thine orbit here, for Wisdom chose 
the way." 

They are not meek who fretful ask, 

Or pine for distant spheres ; 
Let heaven be view'd in ev'ry task 

And that will soothe our fears ! 

We should not e'en by thought rebel ; 

For God works all things wise and well, 
And for each being doth unroll the plan 
Eternity decreed, before the hills began. 

To sigh for some romantic spot 

Of solitude and peace, 
And clasp in dreams a perfect lot 
Where care and sorrow cease, — 
To God must breathe of discontent, 
Howe'er with sainted feeling blent ; 
Our proper sphere in providence must be 
Where Christ in spirit comes, and utters, 
" Follow Me ! " 

Localities alone confine 

The gilded mocks of earth ; 
But they who bear a charm divine 
Which seals our second birth, 
High o'er the world's bewilder'd sphere 
The still small voice of Christ can hear : 
And so, when Mammon tempts, or Belial 
reigns, 
Bound at the Master's voice, and burst their 
venal chains. 

Thus to the publican there came 

A '* Follow Me," which drew 
His heart to hear That holy Name 

Which heaven proclaim'd the true ; 



All circumstance, and scene, and lot, 
The den, the dungeon, or the cot, — 
Let but the voice of duty call us there, 
And Faith may hallow each by watchfulness 
and prayer. 

And hence may those who dwell 

Far from the hurried mart, 
Where sylvan homes with quiet spell 
Attune some thinking heart, 
* When haply through harsh cities loud 
They wind amid the toiling crowd, 
Or through damp courts and dusky lanes of 
woe 
See haggard Want and Age, with shrunken 
features go, — 

Oh ! let them not presume to say 
That there, 'mid vexing strife, 
No saintly Minds can muse or pray, 
Or consecrate a life 

To heaven-born cares, and hopes of bliss 
Which lift them o'er a doom like this : — 
For though the heart in rustic dreams will 
roam, 
It glories in the truth, that Faith can find a home 

Wherever love and prayer abide : 
And hence, dear Lord, may we 

Remember that calm Yoice which cried, 
To Levi,— "Follow Me ! " 
Whate'er the pathway life must tread, 
Around us be Thy graces spread, 

And thus no time, nor toil, nor space, nor scene 
To hide Thy Word from us will ever intervene. 

If such Thy will, by wooded streams, 

Or vales of blissful calm, 
Where the deep hush of holy dreams 
Inspires unearthly balm, 
Where from green hills the gladden'd eyes 
Look speechless hymns beyond the skies, — 
If there embower' d, Thou doom'st our lot to be, 
Lord of the landscape fair ! we glow to " follow" 
Thee. 

Or, if Thy regal Word decide, 
That cities throng'd and loud 

Which billow with the restless tide 
Of life's tumultuous crowd, 
Should be our peopled deserts, where 
Unechoed hearts conceal each care, — 

Still may our souls by meek compliance find, 
The ever-present Christ an anchor for the mind. 

Love need not quit the humblest call, 

But calmly work and wait ; 
For safety dwells where duties all 

Attend our mortal state ; — 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



103 



Messiah did not die to give 
Each heart the choice where faith would live ; 
But this He grants to all who seek for grace, — 
The guidance of His truth, and glory of His 
face.* 

Yes, " Follow Me ! " be this the word, 

The motto of our lives ; 
Morn, noon, and night, let such be heard, 
When Sin or Satan strives ; 
Should Passion rage, or Pride begin, 
Or treason-banners rise within, 
In all we feel, or fancy, do or dare, 
Let Thy mild " Follow Me," pursue us every 
where, 

Great Captain of the meek and good ! 

Whose crimson guilt and stain 
Shall never, through Thine awful blood, 
Assail their souls again, 
In self-denial, grief, or loss, 
In all we have of care and cross, 
Thy hand of mercy out of heaven bestow, 
And let us feel its grasp, where'er our footsteps 
go. 

Thy path was one of pain and grief, . 

A sacrifice of love ; 
Nor God, nor angel brought relief 
From bowers of bliss above ; 
We ask not then poetic fields 
Where life all bloom and brightness yields ; 
But this we seek, — a soul from murmurs free, 
Whose heaven on earth it proves, in all to follow 
Thee. 



NAME WITHOUT NATURE. 

"Thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead." — 
Rev. hi. . 1. "Many will say unto me, in that 
day, Lord ! Lord ! have we not prophesied in Thy 
name? . . . Then will I profess unto them, I never 
knew you." — Matt. vh. 22, 23. 

When plaintive knells peal sadness o'er the 
wind, 
And echoes haunt the mind 
With thoughts, whose voiceless depths of awe 
infold 
Meanings which are not told, 
Dark fears from hush'd eternity arise 

Too deep, except for sighs : 
Men dare not speak it, but they ponder this, 
Where wings the parted Soul 1 ? — to agony, or 
bliss ? 



Ps. iv. 6, 7. 



And solemn terrors, blent with truths pro- 
found, 
In these vast words abound, 
Which tell what imitation's power achieves, 

When formal man believes 
That he in Christ by nature, as by name, 

His own can truly claim, — 
While far as earth from heaven his spirit lives 
On that base food alone, the power of pleasure 
gives. 

And marvel we, such midnight error can 

So darken over man, 
That he a hollow lie for truth mistakes, 

And life for death forsakes 1 
And thus, while dead in selfishness and sin, 

Doth never gaze within 
The deeper fountains of his soul to prove, 
Whether from earth they rise, or stream from 
grace above 1 

The mystery may here its web unwind, — 

Self-love deludes the blind ; 
And in the blindness of bad hearts they see 

A shade of miscall'd deity ; 
And, like their god, a false religion seems 

Reflecting back their dreams ; 
And so, from year to year they live, and die, 
Feeling their souls secure as angels in the sky ! 

Void of all grace, perceptive reason can 

So educate the man, 
And unto plastic mind and morals give 

Those forms, by which men live 
In seeming concord with what Heaven 
requires : 
Yet God alone inspires 
Life from The Spirit, and that sacred love 
Whereby all saints on earth, are yet in soul, 
above. 

Thus can the outworks of religious grace 

Impress their lovely trace 
On creed and conduct, character, and all 

The world-slaves " nature " call ; 
Reason and Sentiment may both forbear 

To doubt what texts declare ; 
And ritual zeal so mechanise the soul 
That much the Church decrees, may wield a 
due control. 

The beauty of unblemish'd morals, too, 

May guard its vestal hue, 
Nor vulgar passions by their vicious reign 

Cast o'er the law a stain ; 
And thus complete in all mere sense admires, 

Who doubts, that faith inspires 
So fair a specimen of social truth 
Beheld in wintry age, or seen in vernal youth 1 



104 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Love will not criticise a brother-soul ; 

And when the death-knells roll 
Their dirge-like cadence, while the living 
sigh 
To think, how soon we die ! 
Oh, marvel not, blind Charity conceives 

That he who this world leaves 
With such a sanctity around him spread, 
Hath up to Glory's throne by angel-bands been 
led. 

Still, dare we not Truth's warning tone 
forget, 
For, ah ! 'tis needed yet : 
" Lord," on our lips most orthodox may be, 

And none our danger see ; 
And yet not Christ, but our own will preside 

O'er passion's inward tide, 
O'er thought and feeling, motive and desire 
Which from the outer-sense to secret life 
retire. 

Yes, we may prophesy and preach, 

And high distinction reach ; 
O'er our mute dust pale monuments arise, 

Or throne us in the skies, 
While the loud trumpet of a world-wide fame 

Rings through all hearts our name ; 
And when rapt eyes our sculptured praises 
read, 
They glisten with the thought, — here lies a 
saint indeed ! 

And yet our soul's eternity, the while, 

Unlit by glory's smile, 
Though canonising Praise adorns our tomb, 

May be immersed in gloom ; 
And realms of horror round that darkness 
burn, 
"Where hypocrites must learn 
How vast a gulf between profession lies 
And that celestial life which .moulds us for the 
skies ! 

But, Lord, while we in self-abasement lie 

Beneath Thy searching eye, 
Home to the centre bare the soul within 

Where hides a bosom-sin, 
Which oft amid pure seemliness of life 

With secret lust is rife : 
Yea, some, professing to uphold Thy throne, 
Have cast all devils out, except their spirit's 
own !* 

From such delusion, God ! our conscience 
save, 
Which to the very grave 



* Matt. vii. 22. 



And e'en beyond it, — to the Judge on high * 

Extends the cheating lie ! — 
That spell of Satan, whence a worldling 
dreams 
He is the all he seems, 
And dares not search his own deluded heart, 
Till Christ shall rend the veil, by that dread 
word, " Depart ! " 



THE HOMELESS OXE. 

"The Son of Man hath not where to lay his head." 
Matt. vih. 20. 

Could Fancy, in some dream sublime, 
With circumstance have clothed the time 
When God incarnate should appear, 
To roll the curse from earth's dark sphere, 

With what a pomp of heaven-bright rays 
Would she have circled round His ways ! — 
Angel, and harp, and seraphim 
Would all have been foretold for Him. 

Sun, moon, and star, and sky and sea, 
Would each have felt a sympathy : 
Some impulse, like a throbbing awe, 
Through Earth had thrill'd, when Christ she saw. 

But, not in Glory's pall He came ; 
Xor did an earthquake's throb proclaim 
The world's Creator was a child, 
Born in our flesh, but undefiled. 

ZSTo fameless offspring of the poor 
On mountain bleak, or barren moor, 
Was ever rock'd on mother's breast, 
To outward sense, so little blest 

As yonder Babe Divine appears, 
Baptised by Mary's virgin tears, — 
Those pearl-drops of the heart which flow 
While mothers o'er a first-born glow. 

And as the inns no room afford 
To cradle earth's infantine Lord, 
But in the manger's welcome cold 
The Virgin must her Child enfold, — 

In this, prophetic shades we find 
Of that dark lot, by heaven design'd 
Hereafter to o'ershade The Man, 
In working out redemption's plan. 



Matt vii. 2: 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



105 



Grandeurs, indeed, to Christ belong ; 
But shine they not in bardic song, 
Such as the lyric choirs of earth 
Are wont to chant for Hero's worth. 

Ne'er did our world such meekness view, 
Such self-oblivion, vast and true ; 
His very majesty was mild, — 
The Man of Sorrows never smiled. 

The fox his cave, the bird his nest, 
But where His glorious head to rest 
My Saviour had not ! — doom'd to roam 
From earth to heaven without a home. 

Oh, miracle ! which dazzles thought, — 
With all the wealth of Godhead fraught 
That He, who died the world to save, 
"Was buried in a borrow'd grave ! 

And yet, beneath that bland disguise 
"What glory in suspension lies ! — 
Jehovah, in our manhood shrined, 
Is mock'd by unappall'd mankind. 

But He, by whom yon worlds were made, 
W T hose will their huge foundations laid, 
Though matter, motion, time, and sense 
"Were slaves to His omnipotence, 

Repress'd His Godhead ; nor alloVd 
Full beams to flash from out the cloud ; 
For at the glance of one dread ray 
The Universe had shrunk away ! 

For Him no monuments arise; 
No motto'd pillars seek the skies ; 
Unlike the earth-gods fame admires, 
His awful life no World inspires. 

Alone, beyond all loneliness, 
Which e'er a burden'd soul could press, 
Emmanuel's heart through toil and tears 
Went beating on its destined years. 

Martyrs are found, whose bosoms bleed, 
When by mysterious Heaven decreed 
In the hush'd depths of their lone heart 
To bear untold some venom'd dart : 



But neither saint, nor angel could 
Uncurtain that veil'd solitude 
W T here Christ alone,* unstain'd by sin, 
Baffled the powers of Hell, within. 



Isa. lxiii. 3. 



And thus, eternity nor time, 

Nor sorrowing earth, nor heaven sublime, 

Except in Christ, — did ever see 

A Soul without a sympathy, 

And wilt thou, ere thy course be run, 
Betake thee to the Homeless one 1 
Then, sinner, count the mighty cost ! — 
To thee the world is blind and lost ; 

Not rashly bear His awful name ; 
Nor dream that fortune, bliss, or fame, 
Or aught that hero-worship loves, 
The Lord of meekness e'er approves. 

In fasting, solitude, and fears, 
Through buried pangs, and hidden tears, 
Unecho'd, and by most, unknown, 
Prepare, like Christ, to live alone. 

Yet oh, within thee, dark and deep 
When thy crush'd thought retires to weep, 
And harshly cold, its iron heart 
The world presents to all thou art, 

Then, think of Him ! and back recall 
The Homeless, Who was Lord of all ; 
A God with angels round the throne, 
Too poor to call the grave His own. 

Pillow in prayer thine aching breast 
On Him, who had not where to rest 
His head on earth ; but W 7 ho in heaven 
Can feel thy heart, and cry — forgiven ! 



FIEST SOUL IN HEAVEN.* 

By faith Abel . . . obtained, witness that he was 
righteous, God testifying of his gifts: he being 
dead, yet speaketh." — Heb. xi. 4. "No man could 
learn that song but . . . the redeemed." — Rev. 
xiv. 3. 

In hush'd eternity alone 

Before all creatures were, 
Jehovah held His awful throne 

Unworshipp'd by a prayer. 

There was no space, nor scene, nor time, 

Nor aught by names we call ; 
But, center'd in Himself sublime 

Was God, the All in All ! 



* In this, and other portions of the volume, the 
word "heaven" is used in a popular and poetical 
sense, rather than in the strict and theological one. 



106 THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 


But through eternity there ran 
A thrill of coming change, 

And lustrous Shapes of life began 
Around His Throne to range. 


Angels for bliss and being sang 

Their ecstasies on high ; 
But how the heavens with wonder rang 

When Man awoke the sky 


Radiant with rapture, pure as bright, 

Angelic myriads rise, 
And glow and glisten in the light 

Of God's approving eyes. 


With that new song, Redemption gave 

To Abel's pardon'd soul ! 
Till angels ceased their wings to wave, 

Nor let their chorus roll, 


In volumed waves of golden sound 

Eoll from celestial lyres 
Those swelling chants, which peal around 

From new-created choirs. 


But listen'd with entranced ears 
To that bright martyr's strain, 

Whose notes were born of banish'd fears 
And breathed of ended pain. 


But, hark ! amid the shining throng 
Of Shapes who arch their wings, 

A single Yoice another song 
With mortal cadence sings : 


But from the hour when rescued man 

Enter'd within the veil, 
And heaven's delighted host began 

To list Redemption's tale, 


Alone he seems, and chants apart 

In unexpected notes 
A music, where the grateful heart 

In strains of feeling floats : 


Myriads of blood-wash'd souls have flown 

Where the first spirit went 
Till he, who once hymn'd Christ alone, 

Is now with numbers blent. 


A beauteous Soul ! whose seraph brow 
Is bright with glory's hue, — 

Lo, Angels pause to hear him now 
Their harping praise outdo. 


Each nation, kindred, home, and clime 
Helps to increase the throng, 

Making the heavens grow more sublime 
With Earth's redemption-song. 


Their choral rapture swell'd as deep 

As purity could pour ; 
But they, who have not learn'd to weep, 

May never God adore 


Each minute, guardian angels mount 
With some new soul on high, 

And hear it, close to Glory's fount, 
Deepen that endless cry, — 


With such a burst of whelming love 
As Earth's first martyr sang, 

When, glory to the Lord above ! 
The voice of Abel rang. 


" Salvation ! through the bleeding grace 

Of God's incarnate Son, 
Whose merit for a banded race 

A more than Eden won." 


Angelic harps their key-note found 
In God, as great and good : 

But Abel's life-pulse beat and bound 
As only sinner's could. 


And louder, louder, yet will grow 
That song before the Throne, 

As added saints set free from woe 
Shall make the strain their own. 


" Worthy the Lamb ! who shall be slain ; 

Kedemption crowns my song : 
Ye seraphim ! your notes retain, 

But these to me belong." 


Lord ! grant that we on earth begin 
To tune the heart's deep lyre, 

And by prophetic notes within 
Anticipate the choir, 


Thus might the primal Soul who came 

Forth from its bleeding clay, 
Kindle the heavens with His bright name, 

Who is our Truth, and Way. 


Who ever round Thee chant, and sing 

The song no angels can, — 
" Hail ! Prophet, Priest, and destined King 

Before the world began, 


And with that blissful song he blent 
A humbling depth of tone, 

Which to the ransom' d harper lent 
A music all its own. 


" Prostrate beneath Thy face to fall 
And cast our crowns before Thee, 

Oh Thou, The Everlasting All, 
Be this our brightest glory ! " 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



107 



GUILTY FEARS. 

thou of little faith ! wherefore didst thou doubt. " 
Matt. xiv. 31. 

Around us moves this magic world 
With all appeals of blended power ; 
And o'er our heads unfurl'd 

The heavens, which change each hour. 

Above, beneath, where'er we gaze 
On sky, or soil, or living sea, 

Some chord is touch' d, which plays 
And thrills, God ! from Thee. 

Divine as deep the eloquence 

Through form and fact creation wields, 
When through the veil of sense 
A solemn vision yields 

Stern truths, — which teach the soul to pray, 
And ponder them with deepest awe ; 
Till conscience own the sway 
Of heaven's interior law. 

For though in calm, the poet sees 
Rich Beauty reigning like a queen, 
And grace from flowers and trees 
Bedecks some fairy scene ; 

Yet Nature hath her moods of ire, 
Deep thunders of prophetic tone, 
Lightnings of ghastly fire, 

And winds with conscious moan. 

Darkness and thunder, wave and wind, — 
Amid them let the godless think, 
And soon the awe-struck mind 
Will in dejection sink. 

For, oh, that echo faint and broken 
Of God, the holy and the just, 
Within us like a token 
Awaken will, — and must ! 

And then, judicial conscience yearns 

To know where God and man can meet ? 
And with this question burns, 
" Is there a mercy seat ] " 

But what can mere creation preach 1 
Is mercy mirror' d on the sky 1 
Can all earth's glories reach 
The source of one deep sigh 1 

Is there a grace to heal our sin, 

Atonement for the guilt-stain'd hearts ? — 
Around, above, within, 
No answer earth imparts. 



In health, and hours of reckless glee, 
We mould a god from mortal smiles, 
And thus, from judgment free, 
Enjoy our transient wiles. 

Still conscience is not murder'd quite ; 
But in some gloom of anguish rolls 
Its challenge for God's right 
Athwart our echoing souls. 

Then, to the root of moral life 

Our being rocks with more than fear ; 
And in that harrowing strife 
The Judge seems drawing near ! 

Hence, like disciples on the deep 

When yawning billows o'er them swept, 
While lapp'd in lovely sleep 
The Lord calm slumber kept, 

Our souls are in tempestuous fright, 
Our bark of hope is sinking fast, 
And death's eternal night 
Seems all around us cast. 

Then, fear we, Lord ! and learn at length 
What saints must feel before they die, — 
A sinner has no strength 
Except to grace he fly. 

" Oh, little faith,"— alas, how true ! 
Our pagan fears in calm and storm 
Darken from love's own view 
Thy Mercy's present form. 

And thus, 'mid promises divine, 

And with the wealth of Godhead stored, 
Like orphans, Christians pine, 
As if they had no Lord ! 

Shame on our sunken hearts, and base, 
That men like creedless orphans live, 
Though God redeem'd our race 
With all a God could give. 

Oh, had we faith, though earth and sky 
To second chaos were confounded, 
Christ would not hear the cry, — * 
" By death are we surrounded ! " 

But, calm, as was the Saviour's brow 
Who slept amid the thund'ring wave, 
Each soul would prove him now 
Mighty to shield and save. 



Matt. viii. 25. 



108 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Rebuke then, Lord ! not waves and winds, 
But rather raise our blush of shame, 
That men with heathen minds 
Can bear Thy blessed Name. 

Anchor of Souls ! in life and death 

Though loud the storms of anguish be, 
May Love, with latest breath, 
Her haven seek in Thee. 



JESUS TEMPTED. 



"Then was Jesus led up of the spirit into the wilder- 
ness, to be tempted of the devil." — Matt. iv. 1. 

And wert Thou by the prompting Spirit led 
Through desert lone, to face Satanic power, 

Oh second Adam ! our anointed Head, — 
To balk the demon in his blackest hour % 



One moment, by baptismal waves we hear 
From opening skies deep melody descend, 

And drink that Voice with reverential fear 
Which hail'd Thee, Son of God, whom Grace 
did send : 

The next, — and Thou art in yon homeless wild 
Fasting and foodless, with no eye to see 

How the lost angel tempts Thine undefiled 
Manhood, to break the bond of Deity. 

'Twas even so : and if when Satan threw 
A fiendish shade of subtlety and hate, 

By tempting wickedness of words untrue 
Into the heart of man's primeval state, 

A mystery darkens round the deepest mind 
Which ponders o'er that scene with prayerful 
thought, 
How can we dream (unless by sin struck blind) 
A tempted Christ, with less of mystery 
fraught ? 

Thus doth our Athanasian symbol teach 
A truth sublime which deep in Godhead 
dwells, 

Something beyond a soaring thought to reach, 
Surmounting all that winged reason tells, — 

How in Emmanuel God and Man unite 

Both natures true, in properties and powers ; 

The first retain'd its uncreated light, 

The second, sin except, was weak as ours. 



In act quiescent, though by Godhead there, 
Divinity did not the man withdraw ; 

And thus obedient down to weeping prayer 
The Infinite became, by finite law. 

So may we read, with simple hearts and pure, 
How thus between the Darkness and the 
Light 

A conflict reign'd ; nor let cold science lure 
Our souls from faith in that mysterious fight. 

No dream it was ; no parable, no trance ; 

Nor mental ecstasy, which rapt the soul 
Beyond the bounds where time and space 
advance 

Their true conditions, or their just control : 

Close to the record simply may we cleave ; 

Then, each temptation will to man impart 
Wonders that whelm no reason to believe, 

And awing wisdom which improves the 
heart. 

Tempted by Satan, lo, the Adam first 
Yielded, and fell beneath a boundless lie; 

And by his fall condemn'd mankind were curst, 
In whose one death all generations die ! 

But when again the Prince of Evil would 
A second Adam likewise have assail'd, — 

Based on eternity, our Rock * withstood 
And humanly o'er sin and hell prevail'd. 

Vainly to crush Him thrice the Tempter 
brought 

The magic fulness of infernal skill ; 
Nothing which sense or inward feeling wrought, 

Assail'd the Holy One with shade of ill. 

Far o'er the fiercest hunger faith arose ; 

No pride of life His meekness could o'er- 
whelm ; 
And Kingdoms of the world, as painted shows, 

His heart rejected from its holy realm. 

He came to suffer, long before He reign'd, 
And home to God our human will to bring; 

Thus, no temptation from the demon stain'd 
That perfect Virtue, saints and angels sing. 

Hail, Son of Mary ! Arch-Elect + of heaven, 
Victim Divine, whose blood redeem'd our 
fall, 
Conquer'd by grace, to Thee the world is 
given, — 
Wield Thy love-sceptre, and subdue it all ! 



2 Sam. xxii. 32. 



t Isa. xlii. 1. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



109 



YOICE OF THOSE NO MORE. 

"He being dead, yet speaketh." — Heb. xi. 4. 

Our Fathers, where be they, 
The guides of vernal youth, 
Who taught our infant lips to pray, 
And vow'd the heart to truth 1 

The Prophets, who foretold 

What life's worn scene would be, 
And bade us in our God behold 

The hopes which make us free ? 

All fleeted by, and fled 

To orbs of bliss unknown ; 

Their dust is with the countless dead, 

And we, — must walk alone. 

But in time's weary track 
Of sorrow, change, and care, 
How oft their words come rolling back, 
And breathe us into prayer ! 

Oh, little did we think 

When their hoar'd wisdom spake, 
How soon our lofty hopes would sink, 
And life's gay bubble break ! 

We call'd them gloomy seers, 
Too boding, dull, and sad ; 
And when their eyes were dimm'd with tears, 
Our own smiled ever glad. 

They warn'd us of the world, 
Gave to each rose its thorn, 
And when false hopes their tvings unfurl'd, 
Spake words which seem'd forlorn. 

They bade us walk with God, 
And, Christ-like, bear the cross, 
Learning true wisdom in the rod, * 
And love from earthly loss. 

And have our lives gainsay'd 
The warning truth and word 
Which once, ere Time these hearts betray'd, 
Approving conscience stirr'd ] 

Ah, no ! — in grief and gloom, 
Their counsels and their cares 
Accost us from their distant tomb, 
And show the truth was theirs. 



* Rev. iii. 19. 



Though mortal was their breath, 
Immortal breathes the mind ; 
For how can That be sunk in death, 
Whose wisdom rules mankind ? 

Dead prophets, then, seem nigh, 
And round us dwell and reign ; 
And all who in the Saviour die, 
Shall hear those seers again. 



SINFULNESS OF SIN. 

" Sin, that it might appear sin, working death in me 
by that which is good ; that sin by the command- 
ment might become exceeding sinful." 

Rom. vii. 13. 

Sin colours all we do and prize, 

And, like our shadow, ne'er departs ; 

E'en when we sleep, its blackness lies 
In spirit brooding o'er our hearts. 

The cleansing grace of Blood Divine 

Alone can wash the stain away, 
" So let it bathe this heart of mine ! " — 

Believers thus for ever pray. 

Sin struck the moral root of Man 
And poison'd there the branches too ; 

From Adam down to us it ran, 
And venoms all we think and do. 

Still, not in earth, but heaven above 

Rebellion first its flag unfurl'd, 
When God's bright Angel left his love, 

A fiend became, and sought our world. 

mystery ! too deep for all 

Except for Truth's omniscient eye, 

That one in heaven from faith might fall, 
Whom nothing from without could try. 

Yet refuge in this thought we find, 
That sin no perfect substance is ; 

But mere negation, bad and blind, 
Which cankers man and mortal bliss. 

Dark paradox of will perverse, 

Self-worship forms the secret ground 

Where Sin begets that boundless curse, 
Hearts without God have ever found. 

Self-pref 'rence frames a hell within, 

Eternity in seed is there ; 
And death and darkness thence begin 

The torment souls undone must share. 



110 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



How sin commenced, vain reason tries 
To speculate, till thought grows wild ; 

But modest faith this truth can prize, — 
That God is pure, though man defiled. 

Sole Teacher of all saving truth ! 

Divine Convincer of our need, 
Guardian of age, and Guide of youth, 

Under the Cross we learn our creed : 

Sin blasted with primeval blight 
Our first estate in Eden's bowers, 

Cover'd creation o'er with night, 
And crush'd her prospects, and her powers. 

And since that most stupendous fall, 
Matter and mind, with secret groan 

Have ceased not for their God to call, 
Like orphans left to sigh alone. 

All pangs, and penalties, and pains, 
Sickness and sorrow, grief and care, 

Where ruin frowns, or anguish reigns, — 
The sinfulness of sin is there. 

The babe who dies ; the tomb which opes 
For buried joys, or broken hearts; 

Each leaf that falls from wither'd hopes 
As friend on friend from earth departs, — 

What prove they all, but seal and sign, 
How sin hath havock'd earth and man, 

And, as the foe of law divine, 
Merits an everlasting ban 1 

But seek we this sad truth to know. 

How sin by virtual root can be 
A deicide, who strikes a blow 

Which aims at awful Deity ? 

Then, look we to supernal Grace, 

Almighty Love in flesh unveil'd, 
Whose worth restored our sunken race 

To heights beyond what thought hath scaled. 

Did grateful awe His form attend ? 

Or, round Him adorations fall, 
And with encrowning anthem blend 

In one loud burst, — " Hail ! Lord of all ! " 

Alas ! the world an atheist proved ; 

His life became embodied woe, 
And He whom God supremely loved 

Was hated, worse than fiends below.* 



* John viii. 42, 44. 



Sin nail'd Him to the felon's tree, 

Marr'd His meek face, and spear'd His side ; 
Nor was one sigh of sympathy 

Breathed o'er Him, when the Man-God died ! 

Well might Creation feel affright, 
And her dread anguish seem to say 

The sun could not endure that sight, 
But veil'd its brow, and look'd away. 

Yet man, the sinner, does not shake, 
Recoil nor shudder, groan nor weep ; 

And while the very dead awake, 
His heart retains its iron sleep ! 

Lord of the soul ! while thus we find 
Ourselves in all the Past hath done, 

Teach the bad conscience of the blind, 
Of spirits all Thou art the Sun. 

In Thy pure lustre, sin appears 
A contrast fell to man and God ; 

And makes us tremble at the tears 

Which gush'd where bleeding Mercy trod. 

Religion thus atonement brings 

When faith and fear in one combine ; 

While purity from pardon springs, 
And proves them both indeed divine. 



WORLD OP SPIRITS. 

"Give place: the maid is not dead, but sleepeth." — 
Matt. ix. 24. "God is not the God of the dead, 
but of the living. " — Matt. xxii. 32. ' ' To-day shalt 
thou be with me in paradise." — Luke xxiii. 43. 

Men are not dead because they die, 

From outward sense receding, 
But where extends no mortal eye 
A spirit-life are leading : 
In some vast orb, whose unveil'd glories shine, 
They wait the pealing of the trump divine. 

What, though the slaves of tyrant sense, 

Wild Hearts, with sorrow blind, 
Dare catechise Omnipotence 
As though it mock'd mankind, 
And tempt some daring Sadducee to say 
" On life unseen can Reason dart her ray ] " 

Yet, just as reason sense can lift 

Into some higher sphere, 
So can pure faith, heaven's peerless gift, 

O'er reason's known career 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. Ill 


Soar on wing'd thoughts, — and bid rapt feelings 


The weak and bad, the beautiful and brave, 


roam 


And made the earth-scene one enormous grave. 


In dreams immortal round the Spirit's home. 






And yet, of all our sumless dead 


That spirit-home ! that clime of Souls, 


Not one hath back return' d 


The palace of the Blest, 


To soothe some heart which inly bled, 


"Where neither storm nor shadow rolls 


And for this secret burn'd, — 


Athwart the halcyon breast, 


To understand, how Spirits think and act, 


Oh, there embower'd, unbodied saints repose, 


And what the glories which the dead attract 1 


And each pure heart with placid virtue glows. 






In vain may restless minds intreat, 


They are not dead, whose bodies die, 


Or for such knowledge groan ; 


Commingling with cold earth ; 


Silence before the Mercy-seat 


For soul is man's eternity 


Befits the faith we own, 


And hath such godlike worth, 


When Hearts bereaved a parted soul pursue, 


That no corruption makes its pulse to pause ; 


And seek to learn what martyrs never knew : 


Nor can mere death arrest its mighty laws. 






Oft in the hush of holy night, 


Created once, it lives, and lives 


In shades of solemn grief 


For ever, and for ever ! 


When bow'd beneath some awful blight, 


The God of souls a fiat gives 


With none to bring relief, 


That flesh from it may sever, 


How have we sigh'd to see that viewless State 


But round itself no trance sepulchral steals, 


Where dead Immortals for their glory wait ! 


And when unearth' d, diviner impulse feels. 






But, ah, the Universe is dumb 


The life men touch, and see, and taste, 


To each high-breathed prayer ; 


Is but organic show ; 


From earth and heaven no answers come, 


And onward as wing'd moments fleet 


But echo murmurs " Where 1 " 


Our organs weaker grow ; 


When lonesome Thinkers in the churchyard cry, 


But character enfolds eternal doom, 


" Where rest the souls whose bodies round us 


Bearing a life which breathes beyond the tomb. 


Her' 


And might some parted soul return 


But, calm thee, riven Heart ! lie still ; 


Back from the viewless state, 


Nor wise beyond The Word 


Our yearning minds would meekly learn 


Attempt to prove, lest haughty will 


What voiceless wonders wait 


To Christ should be preferr'd ; 


The flesh-deliver'd, who, from bondage free, 


Enough to know, that all in heaven who trust 


Fly to that Hades God proclaims to be. 


God shall awaken from sepulchral dust. 


Secrets of glory might disclose 


They " are not dead, but sleeping," — 


Their rich contents to man ; 


.Bright words of balm and grace ! 


And truths beyond what Learning knows 


To Anguish worn, and weeping- 


Or Science ever can, — 


Above some marble face, 


Might then illuminate with earthless gleams 


When placid death has closed the silken lid 


Darkness which makes us tremble in our 


And from our hearts the soulless glances hid. 


dreams ! 






But in that hour of deepest trance 


But He, who is of life and death 


While bend we o'er the dead, 


Puissant Lord and King, 


And into realms of thought advance 


And portions out all human breath, 


Where Scripture hath not led, 


Forbids the Dead to bring 


The calm seraphic each white feature wears 


Intelligence from that far world unknown, 


Seems to embody what The Lord declares 


To whose veil'd wonders countless souls have 




flown. 


When death a transient " sleep " He calls ; 




And thus from hearts half-breaking 


Six thousand years have almost roll'd 


Rolls back the cloud which flesh appals, 


Their human waves along, 


And prophesies the waking 


Since Death, the uncontroll'd, 


Soon to begin ! — when Time's last trumpet rolls 


Hath triumph'd o'er the strong, 


The blast that summons bodies back to souls. 



112 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Meanwhile, though " earth to earth " 

Be o'er their temples cried, 
The souls who shared a second birth 
No dust and darkness hide : 
Wafted by angels to immortal bowers, 
They muse in Paradise, with conscious powers. 

Beyond such creed faith dares not go, 

Nor speculate on more ; 
True wisdom loves her sphere to know, 
Nor lets the heart run o'er 
In aimless dreams, which cannot love inspire, 
But mock the fancy with a lurid fire. 

When Laz'rus back to life was brought, 

He breathed not what he saw ; 
As though oblivion's spell had wrought, 
Or some celestial law 
The lip restrain'd, and lock'd in silence all 
The shrouded wonders which the dead befall. 

And that young maid of Judah's race 

Whom Christ to earth restored, 
When life's glad bloom inspired her face, 
And she whom Love deplored, 
Clasp'd in a mother's arms, again was prest 
Heart close to heart, and breast to echoing 
breast, — 

No whisper gave she of the scene 

To which her spirit fled ; 
Nor conscious look'd her soul had been 
Communing with the dead, — 
Glory and Music might have seen and heard, 
For which on earth we find no sign, or word. 

Thou ! Whose sceptre life and death 

By equal law obey, 
The grace to consecrate each breath 
To Thee, our Truth and Way, 
Be ours to prize ; and then, both dooms will be 
Soothed with the thought, that each is sway'd 
by Thee. 



GLORY OF THE MOUNTAINS. 

"The Lord called to him out of the mountain." — 
Exod. xix. 3. "The glory of the Lord stood on 
the mountain." — Ezek. xi. 23. 

How glorious are the mountain-Kings ! who 

overawe the soul, 
And lift us into fellowship with their sublime 

control. 
An era forms it in the hearts which first 

beneath them bow'd, 
When haughtily some Alpine-peak out-soar'd 

the highest cloud. 



They are not what the dull believe, a mass of 
speechless earth, 

But with embodied eloquence proclaim their 
regal birth ; 

Like anthems mute but magical, to inward 
thought they praise 

That Infinite of Architects, Who their founda- 
tion lays. 

Be glory to the mountains ! then, — what poetry 
they make 

When canopied by lucid air, or mirror'd on the 
lake; 

Or when the ravish'd pilgrim cries, from off 
some wooded brow, 

" Three hundred cloven summits lift their ice- 
bound foreheads now ! " 

The throned Archangels who in bliss on seats 

of glory rest, 
And through eternity behold the landscapes of 

the blest, 
Can scarce, to our imperfect dream, sublimer 

views enjoy, 
Than what these Alpine monarchs form, — the 

mountains of Savoy. 

The magic of their whiteness seems miracu- 
lously pure, 

And upward their ascending snows our lifted 
hearts allure ; 

And radiant are the icy spells their soaring 
masses wield, 

When seventy leagues cannot o'ershade the 
dazzling sight they yield. 

All glory to the ancient hills ! which to the 

godless preach 
Sermons of more stupendous power, than 

erring man can reach ; 
Dumb orators to sense they look, but how 

divinely grand 
The deep significance they bear, to hearts that 

understand ! 

The stillness of their frozen trance is more than 

thunder's tone, 
Resembling that celestial hush which deepen'd 

round the Throne 
When silence through the heaven of heavens 

for half an hour there reign'd, 
And seraphim before their God eternity 

sustain'd ! 

It is not that the clouds array with myriad- 
tinted hues 

Those peaks of alabaster ice which pinnacle our 
views : 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



113 



Nor is it, that our sateless eyes are spell-bound 

by the scene 
Of rocky scalps ten thousand feet above some 

black ravine : 

Nor is it, that the glaciers lift their crags of 
gleaming snow 

And move down in a noiseless march to meet 
the vale below ; 

Nor all the dreadful joy that chills the soul of 
him who braves 

Montanvert ! from thy summit vast, the ever- 
frozen waves : 

Far more than this do mountain-spells to 
echoing minds impart 

When through the veil of outer sense, they 
reach the central heart, — 

There enter with mysterious power, like 
purities to reign, 

And over all its hidden springs a moral influ- 
ence gain. 

Thus oft amid the crowded street, or some 

contracted room, 
Or in that hour of mystic sway when all things 

wear a gloom, 
The Alpine monarchs lift their peaks, and in 

remembrance rise, 
And elevate our sunken hearts through their 

bewitching skies ! 

They cause our very souls to blush, to think 

how base and weak 
Are half the fancied woes we feel, or morbidly 

would speak ; 
Until their awful summits seem to lift the 

rallied mind, 
And bid it soar to peerless heights above 

depress'd mankind. 

But what a sacred loftiness do regal mountains 

claim, 
"When we connect their giant forms with that 

undying fame 
Which clings and cleaves to each and all 

celestial archives bring, — 
The truths, that martyr'd seers foretell, or 

sainted harpers sing ! 

Then, glory to the sacred Hills ! which rose in 

childhood's years, 
And by their ever-awing names inspired our 

faith and fears, — 
Moriah's mount, and Amalek, Gilboa and the 

scene 
Of Hermon and of Horeb too, where God of 

old has been. 



How Gilead and Gerizim's forms, with Lebanon, 

appeal, 
And Ebal's, whence the curse roll'd down, to 

man's religious zeal, 
And make us through believing awe invest a 

mountain's brow 
With magic and with deathless might, beyond 

what lips avow. 

And, who but recreant hearts forget, how much 

sublime event 
Hath to the hills of Palestine a solemn beauty 

lent? 
Behold the peaks of Ararat ! for there the Ark 

did ride 
And floated o'er a deluged world, which then 

our God denied. 

And were not earth's primeval shrines upon 
lone mountains built ] 

Upon them rose the altars green, where offer'd 
blood was spilt ; 

There sacrifice from votive hearts, with incense- 
prayer was given, 

And who forgets Moriah's hill, and Abram's 
crown from heaven ! 

And did not in deep thunder-tones the Deca- 
logue descend 

From Sinai's brow of burning gloom, and with 
dark conscience blend 

Such horrors of unearthly sound, that pallid 
hosts must cry, 

" Oh, let not God directly speak, or we the 
death must die ! " 

But neither what dread Moses saw, nor hoary 

Tishbite heard, 
Hath ever man's responsive mind with such 

emotion stirr'd 
As have those hills and heights divine, where 

Jesu pray'd and trod, 
Who by the priesthood of His grace brings 

pardon'd man to God. 

'Twas on some mountain where He met the 

Demon in that hour 
When all the gather'd crafts of Hell combined 

their gloomy power ; 
And thus on hills of loneliness, in lofty hush 

afar 
Emmanuel kept His midnight-watch, and 

pray'd beneath the star. 

And when His form transfigured grew, with 

glory more than bright, 
Which dazzled into dim eclipse the powers of 

mortal sight, 



114 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



'Twas Horeb in its soaring grace that witness'd 

what appear'd, 
When God Himself unclosed the Heavens, and 

pale disciples fear'd. 

But ah ! of mountains all which speak to ears 

of list'ning Time 
With tones of superhuman truth and eloquence 

sublime, 
Dread mountain of The Crucified ! in faith we 

turn to Thee, 
And echo, with revering hearts, the name of 

" Calvary !" 

And next to this eternal Mount, be that where 

Jesus taught 
His sermon on Beatitude, with grace and 

glory fraught,— 
Those lessons which divinely tell how pure that 

Heart must be, 
Which hopes to hymn the Lamb above, and 

gaze on Deity ! 

So, when the Lord of light arose from out this 

world of gloom, 
And re-ascended back to God, His splendour 

to assume, 
Thy mountain, Olives ! was the spot from 

whence He upward soar'd, 
While underneath a cloudy shrine the prostrate 

band adored. 

Then, glory to the mountain-Kings ! they charm 

the brave and free, 
Like monuments to God uprear'd, proclaiming 

liberty ; 
Eeligion, Law, and Grace combine, around their 

form to cast 
A lofty spell of more than earth, while time 

and being last. 

Lord of the Everlasting Hills ! Thou life of 

nature's scene, 
Whene'er upon some mountain-brow our musing 

steps have been, 
Not seldom have such heights become, for 

mental sacrifice, 
Like altars which from earth to heaven in 

lonely grandeur rise : 

There in the hush of twilight-hour, oh, teach 

us how to pray, 
And 'mid their sainted calm of scene adore the 

Truth and Way; 
Till what begins in poesy, shall end in deepest 

prayer, 
The Mountains into temples turn, and God be 

hallow'd there. 



OUR PATTERN IN TEMPTATION. 

"We have not a high priest which cannot be touched 
with the feeling of our infirmities ; but was in all 
points tempted like as we are." — Heb. iv. 16. 

Come to the desert where sad Jesu went 

Lone sinner ! — there, as in God's mirror, see 

Reflected truths, by gracious wisdom meant 
To balk the arch-Fiend when he tempteth 
thee. 

Prophetic actions, typically deep, 

Forecasting all the future Church should feel 
When blasting trials round her bulwarks sweep, 

And fiend and foe combine against her weal 

Were those dark trials, when by grace upheld 
The fasting Saviour with a Demon fought, 

And by His word the powers of darkness fell'd 
And back to perfect heaven our Nature 
brought. 

Unknown, the virtue which is never tried ; 

And principle by keen temptation proves 
How much for God and glory is denied 

The earth-born will our ruin'd manhood 
loves. 

The triple * force of this perverted world 
Aims at our heart a threefold blow of sin : 

And souls that would not from their faith be 
hurl'd, 
By providence without and prayer within 

Defence must find; — from these apart, they 
fail 
The world, the devil, and the flesh to fight ; 
Darkness and doubt will o'er their creed pre- 
vail 
And, Cain-like, plunge them in disastrous 
night. 

How did Emmanuel each infernal dart 

Repulse, unwounded, from His perfect 
soul?— 
By words divine ! those bucklers of the heart, 
Temper'd by Heaven against the Fiend's 
control. 

Alas ! for souls, if in their perill'd hour 

When sin and. self, those Satans of the mind, 

Besiege our graces with commingled power, 
Staid reason prove the only shield we find. 



* 1 John ii. 16. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



115 



Nor let the righteous who to Love belong, 
Dream that temptation will not dog their 
path ; 
When saints are weak, alone they seem the 
strong, 
And self-mistrust a true foundation hath. 

E'en in pure ecstasies of prayer and praise 
When nearest round the Throne of bliss they 
move, 
Visions from hell may float before their gaze, 
And hide the glories of the heaven they 
love. 

Here is our wisdom, — with a wakeful mind 
The sense to watch, and pray down each 
desire 
Which tempts the conscience to be base, or 
blind, 
By fanning embers of unhallow'd fire. 

And oh, what deeps of consolation ope, 

Like heavens of comfort, in this creed 
divine, — 

That not alone with Darkness thou wilt cope, 
For in temptation Christ believed is thine. 

He left His Throne, The stricken Man to be, 
Tempted and tried, by anguish spent and 
worn, 

And drew from earth that boundless sympathy 
By which He lives,* to succour the forlorn. 

Then cheer thee ! thou troubled, toss'd, and 
tried ; 

Orphan' d in spirit, dream not of despair, 
Open yon heavens, and lo ! The Crucified 

Echoes thy heart in beating concord, + there. 

Thy Lord beseech, by all on earth He knew, 
Facing the Demon in his dreadest hours ; 

Whose soul remains as tender and as true 
As when it wept o'er Judah's fated towers. 

A mother may her new-born child forget, 
And exiled hearts their fatherland forego, 

But Christ in heaven eternalizes yet 

Each tone of Manhood He obtain'd below. 

E'en there, behold our sympathising Priest 
In feeling human as in form divine ; 

And seraphs listen, when of saints the least 
May boldly cry, — " Incarnate Love is mine ! " 



Heb. vii. 25. 



t Isa. lxiii. 9. 



REASON AND DEATH. 

The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to 
heart . . . none considering that the righteous is 
taken away from the evil to come." — Isa. lvii. 1. 

The noblest wealth our world contains 

Is holiness of heart ; 
All other gold it gets, or gains, 

But proves the meanest part. 

Most regal is that glorious will 

Enslaved to God alone, 
Which finds it freedom to fulfil 

Each mandate of His throne : 



Blest Angels by a law like this 
Partake their perfect heaven, 

And could not feel consummate bliss 
If other law were given. 

Obedience is adoring joy, 

Rebellion brings despair, 
And would tlje heaven of heavens destroy 

If Self-will triumph'd there ! 

Yet holiness may not avoid 

The doom corruption brought ; 

Since Adam fell, by sin destroy'd, 
Hath death his carnage wrought. 

The sting, but not the stroke, of death 
The Lord from man removed ; 

And they who draw the briefest breath 
Are oft the most beloved, — 

Beloved by Cod, and angels too, 
And thus from grief and pain 

Rapt far above our sense-bound view, 
With Christ in heaven to reign. 

But oh ! how cold the world becomes 

As saint on saint departs, 
To brighten in elysian homes 

With pure and perfect hearts. 

As if from out yon starry choir 
Which chant around the sun, 

Some choral planet quench'd his fire 
Which we were gazing on, 

Impov'rish'd seems our orphan'd earth 

When good men pass away ; 
Time cannot spare their solemn worth, 

But needs it, day by day. 



i2 




But still, for them we dare not grieve 

The christian path who trod, 
If early call'd this life to leave 

For glory, and for God. 

To them the gain, to us the loss 

High providence assigns ; 
And so appoints a deeper cross 

Than mortal thought divines. 

Genius, and worth, and wisdom, all 

From God alone arise ; 
And when He wills the same recall, 

They seek their natal skies. 

Then hush thee, murm'ring Heart ! and let 

Profound bereavements teach 
Lessons more pure than pale regret 

By discontent can reach. 

The righteous die, but still they live 

A life of soul in bliss ; 
And what Eternity can give, 

Outweighs a world like this ! 

Men would not marvel, could they see 
The lustres round The Throne, 

Why saints and martyrs yearn'd to be 
Where all the Just have flown. 

Sorrow, and sin, and change no more 

In heaven their love 'alloy ; 
The fever of harsh time is o'er, 

And Christ their perfect joy. 

We talk and think, as if our world 

Were all Jehovah made, 
And when from some false mountain* huii'd, 

Tremble, as tho' betray'd : 

Yet, earth is but a point in space, 

Our being, scarce a breath ; 
And he who will not life disgrace 

Must die before his death, f 

The booming knell, the opening grave, 

The vacant room and chair 
Should summon us to hopes which save 

The mind from meaner care. 

Hereafter is the home of soul, 

The paradise of thought, 
And with its unsubdued control, 

Lord ! be our bosom fraught. 



Psalm xxx. 



t 1 Cor. xv. 31. 



As friend on friend, revered and wise, 

Leave wither'd hearts alone, 
Lift our low dreams beyond the skies 

Around Thine argent throne ! 

Weaker and weaker grows the spell 

Which binds the soul below, 
When more than burning numbers tell 

By grace begins to glow 

Deep in those hearts, which death has fill'd 

With placid grief profound ; 
Where every pang is lull'd and still'd 

By Him who gave the wound. 

Thus with the dead the living hold 

Communion grave and high ; 
Their bodies are but pulseless mould, 

But spirits claim the sky. 

Thy church, Christ ! is unconfined 

By what men hear, or see, 
Since all who own a saintly mind 

Are in eternity 

By hope and faith, — from whence they draw 
Breathings of praise and prayer ; 

While He, Whom martyr'd Stephen saw,* 
Becomes their Magnet, there. 



THE POETRY OF SPRING. 

" Lo the winter is past, the rain is over and gone ; the 
flowers appear on the earth; the time of the 
singing of birds is come." — Cant. ii. 11, 12. " Bless 
the Lord, my soul . . . He sendeth the springs 
into the valleys — watereth the hills from his 
chambers — causeth the grass to grow — appointeth 
the moon for seasons . . . O Lord, how manifold 
aie thy works ! in wisdom hast thou made them 
all : the earth is full of thy riches. " — Ps. civ. passim. 

Hake! breezy anthems from the new-born 

spring, 
Like hymning air-birds on exultant wing ; 
Wide o'er the fields a flushing radiance glows, 
And vernal gladness through each woodland 



A seeming consciousness inspires the earth 
As though the soil were blooming into mirth, 
And, like rich blood in some glad creature's 

veins, 
New tides of life are mantling through her 

plains. 



Acts vii. 56. 



Music and motion haunt each choral bough, 
Like living spirits fill'd with joyance now ; 
Here, lyric tones, there, wave-like murmurs 

rise, 
And there, the cadence of contented sighs. 

Swift o'er the pebbles haste the hill-born 

streams, 
And lisp and laugh, like infants in their 

dreams ; 
Or else, make liquid music as they run, 
In fairy stanzas warbled to the sun. 

The stainless magic of each new-born flower 
Mirrors the charm of Heaven's creative power ; 
Beauty comes forth, like melody from lyres 
Swept by some hand which Poesy inspires. 

Look where you may, expressive gleams of 

youth 
Dart through the conscience this celestial 

truth, — 
That Christ is working resurrection-life, 
Till earth. grows radiant and with fulness rife. 

The silken azure of yon ruffled sea, 
The wing'd emotions of each bird, and bee, 
Blent with a chorus of yon festal streams, — 
All sway the sense, and beautify our dreams. 

And when Morn reddens, until soft and soon, 
The golden brightness of unbreathing noon 
O'erveils the landscape with a slumb'rous 

light, 
Still shall creation yield intense delight. 

Let but the heart be spiritually clear, 
Let but our soul this God-made earth revere, 
Then will poetic eyes religion greet, 
From stars on high, to insects at our feet. 

For what is Nature, but a Book divine 
Where Godhead dictates each material line, 
Where each pure object proves almighty 

Thought 
Forth from its viewless depths to vision 

brought 1 

Alas ! for Souls, if men baptized can find 
Nothing in nature to accost the mind, 
Since all around them, did they read it well, 
Bears the high meaning of some holy spell. 

Sense cannot see them, but bright Angels may 
Direct the sunbeams which adorn the Day, 
Entone the breeze, and oft at vesper-hour, 
Close the bent eyelid of each baby flower. 



Cold Science worships philosophic Cause, 
And for its God reveres vicarious laws, 
Orphans creation of Jehovah's care, 
And longs to silence what her scenes declare ; 

But Thou ! by Whom all seasons reign and 

rule, 
Fount of the fresh, the fair, and beautiful ! 
For ever may Thine angel-spring impart 
This glorious symbol to each saintly heart, — 

As wintry Earth Her floral garb assumes, 

So will the dead, when summon'd from their 

tombs, 
Eise at Thy voice, in resurrection-dress, 
And beam with everlasting loveliness. 



POOR IN SPIRIT. 

FIRST BEATITUDE. 

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the 
kingdom of heaven." — Matt. v. 3. 

With awful gloom when Moses brought 

The law of fire and flame, 
Eternal Duty then was taught 

In dread Jehovah's name. 

But radiantly descendeth now 

Deep wisdom from above ; 
For mildness clothes His gracious brow 

Whose ev'ry line is love. 

It was not thus the Type of old 

Imperial Law declared, 
When round Him pealing thunders roll'd 

And red-wing'd lightnings glared. 

The people shudder'd, like a leaf, 

Amid their black'ning gloom ; 
And Conscience saw no just relief 

Beyond, or in, the tomb. 

But bright the contrast now appears, 

When the mild Lord of grace 
From you green Mount dispels all fears, 

By His benignant face. 

The breeze, soft lyrist of the spring, 

Was harping o'er the flowers ; 
And humming bees upon the wing 

Enjoy'd their golden hours ; 



118 THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 


A vernal radiance threw its gleam 
Of gladness o'er the hills ; 

While, rich as love-tones in a dream, 
The gushing of the rills. 


And was He not, of worlds the Lord, 

In meekness all divine, 
Who with each high and heavenly word 

A lowly grace did twine 1 


And like the season, so the Word 
Was mild as mercy's breath ; 

No curse was in His counsel heard, 
Nor doom of legal death. 


A passion for imperfect good, — 
Behold, what fosters pride ; 

While God Himself is thus withstood 
No idols are denied. 


That Christ, who came the lost to save, 

With blessing did begin ; 
And thus from guilt, and death, and grave 

Eedeem'd the heart within. 


But mortal, wouldst thou blessed be ! 

From finite good retire ; 
And in the depths of Deity 

Thy soaring thoughts inspire. 


Humility and meekness were 
The groundwork Jesu laid ; 

And He, whose life was living prayer, 
Their perfect types display'd. 


In humbleness of mind believe 
A true contentment reigns, — 

Desires which no compunction leave, 
And joys that bring no pains. 


All mental grace, all moral gift, 
Whate'er men seek, or find, 

Is blasted, — if it proudly lift 
Or bloat the conscious mind. 


Then turn thee, earth-fever'd Soul ! 

From broken cisterns fly ; 
For couldst thou drink their blissful whole 

They still would leave thee dry. 


Contingent, finite, from the dust, 
What Nothings are we all ! 

For in the tomb the proudest must 
A worm his brother call. 


The utmost in all creatures fails 

An inward lull to bring, 
Since, when our purest dream prevails, 

Unrest keeps murmuring. 


All pride becomes a fiendish spark 

Of hell, within the soul ; 
And He who dreads that region dark, 

Abhors its least control. 


Low as some weaned child to lie 
Before Emmanuel's feet, 

And in the guidance of His eye 
To find a safe retreat, 


The poor in spirit, blest are they 
Above the world who live ; 

Their wisdom is to watch and pray, 
And, like their Lord, forgive. 


Like Him to crucify the will, 
As merciful and meek, 

And each just orb of duty fill 
Whene'er we act, or speak, — 


Nor seek they for ambition's Avealth, 
Or sigh for world-applause ; 

But, calm in sickness as in health, 
To Heaven commit their cause. 


Be this, disciple of the Cross ! 

The glory of thine aim ; 
And though on earth thou reap the loss, 

In heaven perceive thy gain. 


True meekness is that master-grace 
Which saints and martyrs wore ; — 

Behold, who led proud Judah's race," 
How mild a mien He bore ! 


But, saith He not, that here below 

Beatitudes begin, 
For all whose hearts by meekness grow 

Above the self of sin 1 


We cannot back to God return 
From the base depths of sin, 

Until beneath the Cross we learn 
To form the Christ within.^ 


A kingdom of the mind is theirs 
While yet on earth they bide ; * 

And heaven seems dawning through the 
prayers 
God's Spirit hath supplied. 


Numb. xii. 3. f Gal. iv. 19. 


* Matt, v. 3. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



119 



Celestial Dove of grace ! descend, 

Thy gentleness impart ; 
Till Faith shall build the " Sinner's friend : 

A temple in her heart. 



THEY THAT MOURN. 

SECOND BEATITUDE. 

"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be 
comforted." — Matt. v. 4. 

Oh, paradox divine, as deep ! — 

The blest are those who wail and weep, 
And bear that burden which no hearts allay : 

With rose-buds though the World be 
crown'd 

While rubied wine-cups circle round, 
In fev'rish gloom her false dreams melt away. 

The Man of Sorrows, in Whose tear 
The Church can type her own career, 
The God-man, whose profound extremes com- 
bined 
Whate'er of glory and of gloom 
His awful Person could assume, — 
On Mourners stamp'd the name of blest man- 
kind. 

But not o'er all sad minds, which mourn 

Like orphans in a world forlorn, 
Have lips Almighty thus pronounced the 
"bless'd ; " 

For grief is oft a selfish chord, 

Whose earth-tones can no proof afford 
That God and grace have e'er the will imprest. 

The mourners who " about the streets " * 
Of thronging life a stranger meets, 

Full often are they but proud Sin in tears ; 
'Tis worldly sorrow working death 
Which now intones their anguish'd breath, 

And fetters them with darkness, and with 
fears. 

Spent Minds, like these, none dare believe 
Are purely blest, because they grieve, 
Or pine that earth no more their heaven 
supplies ; 
But blest are they who mourn within 
The rankling wound of venom'd sin, 
Waking, beyond all woe, their soul-heaved 
sighs. 

* Eccles. xii. 5; 



For, sin is that stupendous grief 
Which out of God finds no relief, — ■ 

A tainting curse which cleaves to flesh and 
soul; 
And so abhorr'd around The Throne, 
The very heavens * appear to groan 

And bow dejected at its dread control ! 

'Tis true, bland Nature's tear-drops flow 
To mark cold earth a churchyard grow, 

While tombs rise countless as the waves at 
sea; 
Sickness and sorrow, change and care, 
And pale-worn features ev'ry where 

Reveal the hollowness vain life must be. 

But Zion's mourners grieve and pine, 
To think that law and love divine 
O'er caitiff man can wield such transient 
sway, — 
How all the Trinity of grace 
One bosom-sin will oft displace, 
And give to passion's dream its boundless 
play ! 

Such weepers mourn before The Lamb, 

And cry, " Oh ! wretched that I am ! 
Who shall deliver me, and burst my chain 1 " 

Their hearts are crush'd, and inly rent 

To find what base alloy is blent 
With that "fine gold" where virtue feels no 
stain. 

For this they blush, and burden'd lie, 
In self-abhorrence shrink, and sigh ; 

And when they muse on Jesu's awful groans, 
And how the garden soil was wet 
And crimson'd with His bloody sweat, — 

Their hearts beat prayer, which Godhead hears 
alone ! 

'Tis here a grief sublime appears : 
And rays of glory light the tears 

Of Souls, which mourn for heaven's almighty 
wrong: 
Oh ! then descends the Paraclete 
And calms them with mild comfort meet, 

And turns their sadness to victorious song. 

Dejected Minds, who thus are blest 
By sealing grace, are more impress'd, 

And bland and meek as charity become : 
Reflective awe and deep'ning prayer 
The growing work of God declare, 

And bid them pant for heaven's unclouded 
Home. 



Jer. ii. 12, 13. 



120 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



So, when these days of darkness cease, 
And holy death shall bring release 

From sorrow's gloom, and sin's intense alloy, 
How will they glory in that God 
Who said, while earth's bleak wilds they 
trod, 

That they who sow in tears, shall reap in joy ! 



MEEKNESS. 

THIRD BEATITUDE. 



" Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the 
earth." — Matt. v. 5. 

Thy ways, Lord, are unlike ours, 
Thy Thoughts surpass our own ; * 

And angels, when they scan their powers, 
Fall wing-veil'd- round the Throne. 

Eternity Thine eyes peruse, 

Omniscient is Thy mind ; 
And whatsoe'er Thy wisdom choose 

Is perfect in its kind. 

But we, by pride and passion stain'd, 

Our good no longer know, 
And when we dream the goal is gain'd, 

Have reach'd intenser woe. 

Ay, Good and Evil, Pain and Bliss 
In vain blind heathens thought 

To image in a world like this 

Those models which they sought. 

Our Centre true they could not see 
In aught the creatures bring ; 

But Christ, who show'd us Deity, 
Unveils that holy Thing. 

But yet a paradox this wears 

To men who walk by sense, 
Which deep humility declares 

The heart's sublime defence. 

Eesistance seems a noble gift 

To reason's haughty view ; 
And passions that proud self uplift 

Re-echo it as true. 

But He whose will was crucified 

Throughout His sad career ; 
Whom earth abhorr'd, and man denied 

One sympathetic tear, 



* Isa. lv. 



By bearing outrage, wrong, and hate, 
This heaven-born lesson taught, — 

That souls are not divinely great 
Except with meekness fraught. 

Submission tender, mild, and deep, 

Not sullen, stern, or sad, 
But gentle as when Angels weep 

While they o'erwatch the bad, 

Such the chaste virtue Christ commends, 

Believer ! as divine ; 
And if thy heart its Master bends, 

That lovely grace is thine. 

And who with such a just appeal 

To injured souls could cry, 
" Like Me must true disciples feel 

If doom'd to live or die 1 " 

In Christ the Lamb and Lion met, 
Their graces were combined ; 

And blest are those who follow yet 
The path He left behind. 

Whether before the Council placed, 

Or girt with savage yell, 
Or else, by fiendish mock disgraced 

Whose accent came from hell ; 

Or, nail'd upon the wrenching Cross 

In one incarnate pang, 
While foes beneath Him rage and toss, 

And impious gibings rang, — * 

However tried, 'tis patience all ! 

From Him no wrath-tones roll ; 
To God ascends each dying call 

Which rent His yielded soul.f 

And who can keep a Christlike heart, 

Except his moral tone, 
When call'd to bear life's bitter part, 

Recall the Saviour's own ? 

Yet deem not that in stoic frost 
Warm feelings must be chill'd ; 

Or that impassion'd minds are lost 
When thus by patience still'd. 

Perturb'd emotions, strong and keen, 

When pure Religion's cause 
Demands a Hero for her scene, 

Infringe no hallow'd laws : 



Matt, xxvii. 



t Luke xxiii. 46. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



121 



But, guard thee well ! lest temper stain 

And poison glorious zeal, 
Till selfish anger's secret reign 

Proves all the god we feel. 

Meek charity, that master-grace 

The peerless type of heaven, 
Oh, let it from thy creed displace 

"What cannot say, "forgiven ! " 

Nor ever let the sun go down 

Upon our inward ire ; 
They cannot wear a Saviour's crown 

Whom love doth not inspire. 

Pure Lord of lowliness, and love ! 

Thus make Thy model dear 
To all who live for thrones above, 

By bearing crosses here. 

Thy meekness hath its own reward, 

Calm blessings line its path ; 
Without, it keeps celestial guard, 

Within, true peace it hath ! 

The proud are poor, 'mid all the gold 

Ambition's pride obtains ; 
The meek are rich, though none behold 

The beauty of their gains. 

No acres may to them belong, 

No scenes of garish pleasure ; 
But yet they chant a mental song 

O'er Truth's divinest treasure. 

Then, Lord of Gentleness ! be Thou 

For ever at our side ; 
And when we mark Thy wounded brow, 

Abhorr'd be human pride ! 

We are not Thine, unless we bear 

Thy yoke upon our souls, 
And welcome in each cross and care 

The Hand which All controls. 

Disciples true the Christ reflect, 

And must His shadows be ; 
And none but craven souls reject 

The watchword, — " Follow Me ! " 

Yes, " follow Thee ; " Lord, grant the will, 

And Love at once agrees 
Their heaven to taste, whose hearts fulfil 

What Thy calm word decrees. 

In life and death such spirits burn 

To hear Thy Yoice divine, 
And glorify each grace they learn 

By using it as Thine. 



RIGHTEOUSNESS. 



FOURTH BEATITUDE. 



: Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after 
righteousness, for they shall be filled. " — Matt. v. 6. 

The hand of Him who framed the earth 

Hath fill'd it with harmonious grace, 
That men, who boast immortal birth, 

In each created thing may trace 
How wondrously celestial Art, 

From all without which meets the eye, 
Appeals to our most inward heart, 

And proves two worlds in harmony. 

The world we see, and what we are, 

Illustrates that accordance due 
Which reigns from insect up to star, 

And hallows all we feel, or do, — 
If thus our hearts delight to prove 

How faculties their objects find, 
And render Life a hymn of love 

To Him who hath both worlds combined. 

But still there is a craving force 

In appetites to sense allied, 
Which nature in its noblest course 

Hath never to the brim supplied ; 
Though charm'd and fed, they are not fill'd, 

But fever'd oft with discontent; 
The cry for "more ! " no joy hath still'd, — 

Unrest is with fruition blent. 

Though sumless orbs of beauty roll 

In burning magic through the sky, 
When mortal gaze commands the whole, 

For brighter longs the asking eye ! 
And when we hear the tones which make 

The sweetest heaven that sound can bring, 
Melodious thirst they do not slake 

For some diviner murmuring. 

But while both eye and ear demand 

What no imperfect Sense enjoys, 
Spirits who under grace expand 

A bliss partake which never cloys, — 
The bliss of hung'ring more and more 

That " righteousness " may still dispense 
To sainted hearts an added store 

Of purer calm, and innocence : 

Behold ! a hunger, and a thirst 

Which God Himself will soothe and 
slake, — 

Ambition by no fever cursed, 

A hope no blighting sorrows break ; 



For all those winged dreams that rise 
And flutter round a World divine, 

When heaven unveils its hidden prize, 
Will find far more than dreams combine. 

Perennial glories there surpass 

All which seraphic Minds desire, 
Whom angels with themselves may class, 

With fervid hearts for God on fire ; 
Of finite good who only drinks, 

Such water will be found in vain ; 
A deeper want than passion thinks, 

Will soon enkindle thirst again.* 

The man who lives by sensual dross, 

May banquet on some hollow bliss, 
But yet this truth his mind will cross, — 

I was not made for food like this ! 
Hunger and thirst, they make the all 

Which carnal wisdom can create, 
Whate'er encrowning words may call 

The glories which enwreathe the great. 

From joy to joy the jaded Sense 

Pursues each worn and wearied path ; 
Though big may be this world's pretence, 

The mind eternal hunger hath ; 
Within, what flaming thirst there burns 

Which all polluting draughts excite, 
As passion and supply by turns 

Fever the day, and fret the night ! 

But Grace forms those, to whom is given 

A glorious passion fix'd on God, 
Who breathe on earth the air of heaven, 

And tread the ground Emmanuel trod ; 
Their creed and conduct are combined 

In unity of peace and power, 
And mirror forth a saintly mind 

When darkness clouds the drearest hour. 

They must be tranquil, who are made 

By God, the guardian of the blest, 
Of neither Hell nor Earth afraid, 

While panting for elysian rest : 
Their hunger is a holy thing, 

Their bosom-thirst a painful bliss ; 
And lauding Seraphs shake their wing 

Of rapture o'er unrest like this ! 

What is it ? —but to nobly pine 

More Christlike in true love to be, 
Or body forth the will divine, 

And heaven in all things ever see : 
Till rectitude a nature grow, 

And holiness the spirit's breath, 
And faith alike in weal or woe 

Adorn our life, and vanquish death. 



John iv. 13. 



But if indeed the hunger'd mind 

And thirsting heart for Jesu long, 
Then will they not meet nurture find 

To nurse and make religion strong 1 
Incarnate God ! such mystic food 

Thine own ordaining words supplied, 
Which in Thy Body and Thy Blood 

A Banquet for the soul provide.* 

Thy sacred Flesh, oh ! let us eat, 

And drink the awful Wine-blood there, 
Where faith Thy bleeding Form can greet 

'Mid swells of sacrificial prayer : 
The blasting spells of unbelief 

Must sure those famish'd Hearts infect, 
Who feel no pang of boundless grief 

When they such angel-food neglect. 

Soul of our souls ! almighty Grace, 

A sacramental life impart, 
And by some inward power erase 

Whatever dulls the deaden'd heart : 
For holiness a hunger give, 

And yearnings of intenser love 
That we on Christ may learn to live, 

Like daily Manna from above. 

In heaven we need no sacrament ; 

Nor signs nor symbols there are found, 
When glory with its full content 

Shall each elected Saint have crown'd ; 
Adorn'd in robes of radiant white 

They neither thirst, nor hunger more, 
But bask in beams of pure delight 

With all their toils and trials o'er. 

Around the Throne in rich array 

Perfect and sinless are they now, 
And in God's temple night and day 

Before the shrine of Glory bow ; 
The Lamb Himself their food supplies, 

And on His fulness they can feed, 
Who follow Him with tearless eyes 

Where paths to living fountains lead.f 



BE MERCIFUL. 



FIFTH BEATITUDE. 



"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain 
mercy."— Matt. v. 7. 

When God to man His awful Image gave 

In pure creation's primal bliss, 
The Wisdom, Who hereafter came to save 

A sinful world so vile as this, 



John vi. 54. 



t See Rev. xiv. 1. <fec. &c. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



123 



The brightest feature of the Godhead drew 

By deep impression on his soul, 
And bade compassion most divinely true 
Reign o'er his breast with unsubdued control. 

Our mix'd emotions may be good, or vile, 
They govern by ambiguous laws ; 

But mercy is of nobler cast and style, 
And rooted in no selfish cause ; — 

How godlike, let Emmanuel's life declare ! 
Whose heart with such compassion beat, 

That His pure soul to each sad tone and 
prayer 

On earth became an echoing mercy-seat. 

Let stoic Schools from other creeds erect 

An iron system, cold and dead, 
That would from God-created souls reject 

Emotions out of pity bred ; 
Men are half-monsters, if no heart be left 

To throb with pathos, and to feel 
Like Jesus, when He saw a home bereft, 
And down His cheek compassion's tear did 
steal. 

Thus mercy forms the Saviour's darling grace, 
And in Him took a shape divine ; 

In word and deed, behold its beaming trace 
Throughout th' Incarnate Myst'ry shine ! 

His heart replied to each pale Woe that wept, 
Or echo'd back man's deeper sigh ; 

And by the grave, no icy grandeur kept 

The tear of Manhood from His sacred eye. 

The haughty coldness of inhuman creeds 
May scorn Compassion shedding tears, 

And blandly pouring over Sorrow's needs 
Those genial tones which soften fears ; 

And Science may to selfishness ascribe 

What soft-eyed Pity for the wretched feels ; 

But, heaven-born Yirtue bears the heathen gibe, 

Nor checks the tear which from compassion 
steals. 

Of Men the wisest, bravest, and the best, 

The lofty-hearted, firm, and free, 
On whose proud name an empire's glories rest, 

Who guide the land and guard our sea, — 
No leaden calm of unimpassion'd mind 

Their boast has been, or proved them brave ; 
But all pure links, connecting kind with kind, 
They deem'd them holy, as beyond the grave ! 

Men are not wise because they cannot weep, 
Nor basely soft because they sigh ; 

For there are fountains in the heart that sleep 
Which moisten oft the sternest eye ; 



The sainted heroes, canonised by time, 

And martyr'd hosts, who burn'd or bled,— 
The wide earth doth not deem them less 

sublime 
Because they soothed the sad, or mourn'd the 

dead ! 

The perfect God, though passionless as pure, 
Hath symbolised His awful Name 

By deep emotions, which the heart allure, 
And bend the will before His claim : 

He speaks not only in the whirlwind's tone, 
But with the calm of cooling eve : * 

And oft holds back the thunders of His 
Throne, 

That dreadless Minds may love Him, and 
believe. 

But Thou, blest Archetype of love divine ! 

In whom the Trinity express 
Whate'er by union God and man combine 

Of moral grace, and loveliness, 
Thy Soul was tender as thy Flesh was true, 

And throbb'd with thrills of deepest power ; 
Unmoved in Godhead, yet a living hue 
Of warm emotion tinged Thy farewell-hour, f 

And art Thou now, embodied Lord of love ! 

In such deep calm of bliss enthroned 
That to the Priesthood of Thy grace above, 

Though deep the sigh by anguish groan' d, — 
It cannot ripple into feeling there 

Thy heart of tenderness, and truth 1 
Oh, is it echoless to high-breathed prayer, 
Utter'd by sin and woe, from age, or youth 1 

That creed reject ! 'tis infidel and wrong; 

The Church adores a Priest in heaven 
To Whom compassions most intense belong, 

By which He feels for man forgiven ; 
And He is touch'd with sympathies that thrill 

Through the rich glories round His Throne ; 
Since all those splendours leave Messiah still 
The weeper's refuge, and the widow's own.J 

Fountain of mercy ! whose melodious word 
Peals in the soul like pity's voice, 

Be each chaste heart by such compassion 
stirr'd 

As makes Thy love its peerless choice ; 
For if with mercy for their fallen clay 
Men are not melted, nor commoved, 

How will they shrink from that awarding Day 

When barren creeds by Christ are unapproved ! 



Gen. iii. 8. t Matt, xxvii 46. 

t Heb. iv. 15; Isa. liv. 5. 



Souls cannot love, unless like Him they feel 
For human sorrows, hopes, and fears ; 

And learn to soften with benignant zeal 
The bitter gush of orphan tears : 

For God is Love ; compassions wreathe His 
name ; 
And children of pure Grace are we 

When, like His echoes, we become the same, 

And Love on earth reflects her Deity. 



PURE IN HEART. 



SIXTH BEATITUDE. 



Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall 
God."— Matt. v. 8. 

How blessed are the pure in heart ! 

And none are blest beside ; 
For nought of heaven can grace impart 

If pureness be denied. 

Can sightless eyeballs see the Sun, 
Though Earth lie bathed in beams, 

And o'er each hill he shines upon 
A ray of rapture gleams 1 

No more can tainted spirits gaze 
On glories round the Throne : 

Mere darkness would become That blaze 
Pure hearts can bear alone. 

The Moon cannot her image glass 
On restless waves which rise, 

For when the storm-winds o'er them pass, 
Her broken semblance dies ; 

And so, where passion's lurid fires 

The love of truth erase, 
No sight of God the soul inspires, 

But all grows blind and base. 

By heavenly likeness Hearts discern 

The secrets most divine ; * 
Just as we live, so much we leam 

Of Thee, God ! and Thine. 

Those inward eyes of purity 

By which the mind beholds 
Ideal truths Sin cannot see, 

That God Himself unfolds, — 

Unless we have them, vain is all 

The science stored within ; 
Our creed the world may holy call, 

But such proud wealth is sin. 



Ps. xxv. 14. 



And here, behold that peerless Law 
Proving the Gospel's worth, 

Beyond what sage or poet saw, 
When most he soar'd from earth : 

That law is purity intense, 

A chastity divine, 
A sacred glow of innocence, 

W T hich keeps the heart a shrine, — 

A shrine of holiness and power 
Whence praise and prayer ascend, 

To seek what soothes the sternest hour 
Which can the Christian bend. 

Then, weigh thy heart ! disciple, keep 
That ceaseless pulse of life ; 

Which even through innocuous sleep 
Can throb with sin, and strife. 

Mysterious, ever-active spring 
Of central thought, and will ! 

To which time, sense, and motion bring 
Perpetual good, or ill. 

By thee we live, and love, and hate, 

The inward Man art thou ; 
Thy nature dooms our final state, 

And that is forming now ! 

Oh ! watch we then, with jealous eyes, 
That world where God alone * 

Searches the secret thoughts which rise 
Like shades before His Throne. 

As local space the body holds, 

So God the mind contains ; 
And who can dare what He enfolds 

To mar with sinful stains 1 

He dwells in us, and we in Him, 

The Temple of all souls ! 
And pure as prostrate seraphim 

Be all which He controls. 

For if the ground by Moses trod 

With sanctity was fill'd, 
When erst the flaming bush of God 

An o'erawed patriarch still' d, 

Sublimer far than thought can trace 

Is He, the all-divine, 
Who is in Christ our dwelling-place + 

And Soul-embracing Shrine. 



Jer. xvii. 10. 



f Ps. xc. i ; Acts xvii. 28. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



125 



Eternal Spring of purity !j 
Descend, propitious Dove ; 

From heart-corruption make us free, 
By turning law to love. 

The blessed are the pure, indeed, 
And wretched, the defiled ; 

In whose dark bosom dwell and breed 
Lone passions, fierce and wild. 

By likeness only, souls can see 
The glories Heaven contains ; 

But minds which nurse impurity 
Would feel them worse than pains. 

For purity is heaven below, 

And sin the hell of man, 
And all eternity will show, 

Will be, — what time began.* 



PEACEMAKERS. 

SEVENTH BEATITUDE. 



are the peacemakers, for they shall be called 
the children of God. "— Matt. v. 9. 

When first rebellion in the Will began 
And faith in God to faith in Self was changed, 

Wild discord woke within the soul of man, 
And headlong impulse o'er his being ranged. 

For peace expires where purity is lost, 
And purity by love to God begins ; 
Who calls him " Father ! " — let him count the 
cost 
And pluck the right eye from his bosom- 
sins.f 

And who, with such a God-beseeming grace, 
Could weave heaven's garland round the 
tranquil mind, 
As Christ, who purchased for our forfeit-race 
The peace divine which lulls heart-torn 
mankind 1 

Lord of our lineage, and of saving calm, 
When first from veil'd eternity He came, 

A natal anthem o'er night's dewy balm 

Sang the rich notes of His melodious name ; 

And they breath'd, " Peace on earth ! to man 
Goodwill ! " 

And, ere He soar'd to His primeval splendour, 
" Peace " was the word that hung soft music still 

Round farewell doctrine, so benignly tender. J 



Eev. xxii. 11; l"Cor. xv. 53. t Matt. v. 28 

J John xx. 19. 



The first of blessings, like the last, is found 
Thus by our Lord, as deepest and divine ; 

And ne'er may calm and confidence abound 
Till faith and feeling round this truth com- 
bine. 

Where low'ring envy, wrath, or secret pride, 
Ambition, avarice, and revenge are nursed, 

Here can no halcyon from the heavens abide, 
But all is chaos, with convulsion cursed. 

Base passions are the serpents of our soul, 
Which bite, and sting to bitterness the heart, 

And where they wield their unsubdued control, 
Angels and grace from that foul den depart. 

But when these hearts atoning Blood makes 

white, 

Soft o'er our spirit broods the mystic Dove ; 

Like the hush'd band who watch'd their sheep 

by night, 

A " peace on earth," replies to peace above. 

Then like our Lord, magnanimous and meek, 
Move where we may, our end is still the 
same; 

Firm to our vow, in all we do or speak 
We dare embody our baptismal name. 

No longer as the Lord of Hosts, and War, 
Doth God the glories of His will unfold ; 

But radiant as the lull of evening star 

As Lord of Peace His pard'ning smile 
behold.* 

And saints on earth resemble Him in heaven, 
Who help to circulate the calm of love, 

And by imparting what to each is given 
Prove their high lineage from the Lord above. 

Makers of Peace ! your task divine complete, 
Two sever'd hearts in unity restore ; 

And bid mild harmonies of friendship meet 
To rule in homes where they have reign'd 
before. 

For ah ! how mournful, when two friends 
depart 

Wider and wider into distance stern, 
While each one holds the arrow at his heart, 

And, but for pride, would lovingly return. 

And more than beauteous is a god-like word 
Breathing soft balm o'er that tempestuous 
hour, 

When some vile Satan of the soul hath stirr'd, 
Or maddens nature with demoniac power. 



* Isa. xlvii. 4; Exod. xv. 3; 



iii. 16. 



126 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



To stand between like mediating Grace 
And make two alienated minds agree, 

Sublimes our being, and reveals the trace 
Of true adoption into Deity. 

And, blest are they who private love promote 
In bow'rs domestic, where meek Virtue 
dwells ; 

While feelings motherly their aim devote 
To people home with tranquillizing spells. 

And not unblest are those, who nobly guard 
The lofty sacredness of public Weal ; 

Theirs the rich peace that brings its own reward, 
When Empires at the throne of Godhead 
kneel. 

And He, in whom all unities reside, 

Celestial Fount from whence communions 
flow, 

Husband of Souls, who took His chosen Bride 
And call'd it by the name of Church, below, — 

How can we love Him, if we dare to rend 
By the rude harshness of sectarian will 

That Mystic Body, where all members blend 
And by their harmony due office fill 1 

How can we love Him, if our " Church " we 
choose 

As pride, or reason, and presumption sway ] — 
Defend us, Grace ! from Babylonian views, 

And teach us, not to argue, but obey. 

Be ours submission, Mary-like and meek, 
Who love the path anointed martyrs trod ; 

Learning to crucify what most we seek 
When Self would image a sectarian God. 

So shall we have that sabbath peace of mind, 
A wealth beyond the golden worlds to buy, — 

A boundless heart which beats for all mankind, 
As though it throbb'd beneath the Saviour's 
eye. 

True source of harmony, and sacred peace, 
Spirit Divine ! without Thee all is vain ; 

Descend, and with Thy lulling power release 
The souls which suffer from a selfish chain. 

A loving will that leaps at duty's call 
Do Thou bestow, whate'er the trial be, 

Bearing the cross which heaven provides for all 
Whose faith, Lord, exults to follow Thee. 

TJnfathom'd peace ! my Saviour's final prayer, 
Deep in pure Godhead doth thy basis lie ; 

Reign like a boundless glory everywhere, 
And guard us while we live, and when we die. 



THE REVILED. 

EIGHTH BEATITUDE. 

" Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteous- 
ness' sake . . . when men shall revile you . . . 
and shall say all manner of evil against you 
falsely for my sake: great is your reward in 
heaven." — Matt. v. 10 — 12. 

" My years are in the yellow leaf, 

Though few their number found," — 
But, God is greater than thy grief 
And knows the deepest wound ; 
Be this thy balm, in some distemper'd mood 
When sad Thoughts sing their dirge in mental 
solitude. 

This world becomes a barren scene 

To eyes of sunny Youth, 
When vices have victorious been, 
And falsehood vanquish'd truth, 
Where good men weep, and Virtue droops in 
shade, 
And minds of most heroic mould are blighted 
and betray'd. 

Thus to pale martyrs of the Cross, 

Distracted earth appears 
An orphan'd realm, where pain and loss 
Demand perpetual tears ; 
And were it all that God for man decreed, 
Who would not in despair for widow'd Nature 
bleed] 

But soon will dawn a radiant clime 

Where sin nor sorrows reign, 
Beyond the clouds of changing time 
To shadow, or to stain ; 
A bright eternity of balm and bliss 
Where pangless hearts forget a life so false as 
this. 

And let the full-toned anthem rise 

In swells of grateful joy, 
That Faith beholds with prescient eyes 
What time nor tears destroy, — 
A perfect life, compensative of all 
Impetuous thoughts presume unworthy heaven 
to call. 

It was not thus ere christian light 

Arose on heathen gloom, 
For then the soul immersed in night 
Found life a living tomb ; 
Confusion reign'd o'er providence denied, 
And when of death it thought, the craven bosom 
sigh'd. 



But now, a beam celestial plays 

From out the Page divine ; 
And round the gloom of grief-worn days 
What dawning glories shine ! 
O'er ruin'd hopes descending to the grave 
The banners of the Cross, sublimely do they 



And thus what Sense injustice deems, 

That saints can suffer wrong, — 
No more a fearful problem seems 
To souls by faith made strong ; 
For o'er them, hark ! the " blessed " mildly 
breathed 
From Him who round His head the crown of 
anguish wreathed. 

Yea, " blessed " are the souls which bear 

For Christ, and His pure laws, 
The moral pang and mental wear 
Which friend, or foe can cause ; 
Since all we suffer, if the will be sound, 
Hereafter in the Heavens shall to our bliss 
redound. 

And thus when God incarnate taught 

Upon the Mount enthroned, 
That they should be to glory brought 
Whom scorning earth disown' d, 
And so enjoy, by His great mercy given, 
A crown which shall outshine what seraphs 
wear in heaven, 

A vision then before Him rose 
Of all His Church would be, 
As doom'd to battle with her woes, 
Till death and darkness flee ; 
And not one heart that since has broke, or 
sigh'd, 
A soothing balm for which He did not then 
provide. 

Hosannah ! cry celestial Hearts 

Whom persecution brands, 
And bear unmoved infernal darts 
When huii'd by godless hands ; 
'Tis thus the Soldiers of the truth are 
train'd, — 
Those Heroes of the Lord, who heaven's own 
laurels gain'd. 

By love, and patient suffering led, 

More Christlike men become ; 
And meekly while the path we tread 
Which leads our spirit home, 
Our graces brighten while they vanquish woe, 
And saintly virtue springs from soils where 
trials grow. 



And, do we not corruption feel 

Our purest dreams assail, 
While wounds which grace alone can heal 
Make harrow'd conscience pale ? 
But these are cleansed by consecrated fire, 
As persecuted saints more soaringly aspire. 

When clothed with age, or clad with youth, 

Whate'er life's era be, 
Men glorify the force of truth 
Who God in anguish see ; 
And prove what strength His promises impart 
Who, high upon His Throne, can hear the 
fainting heart. 

In all things should the Church reflect 

Her regal Lord divine ; 
And ne'er with sin, or change, or sect, 
Her vestal charms * combine : 
To suffer, is the privilege of love, 
In which the saints outsoar what angels do above. 

Then wonder not, if sighs or tears, 

Or contumelious shame, 
Inweave the web of perill'd years, 
Nor God's deep wisdom blame ; 
But rather, in earth's malediction see 
A shadow of the Cross endured, Lord, by Thee. 

Those peerless graces hearts require 

To fit the Saints for heaven, 
Are burnish'd by that sacred fire 
To martyr'd anguish given ; 
Love, faith, and valour, are the three which 
make 
The stature of the Soul her full perfection take. 

And, thus conform'd to Thee and Thine, 

Seraphic Minds ascend, 
Till with Thine image, Lord, they shine . 
And with Thy glories blend ; f 
So proud a bliss heroic saints procure 
Who with undaunted hearts their giant pangs 
endure. 



SILENCE OF THE SOUL. 

" Joseph could not refrain himself . . . Cause every 
man to go out from me. And there stood no man 
with him, while Joseph made himself known unto 
his brethren." — Gen. xlv. 1. 

The depths of ocean rest unseen 
However loud the storm-blasts ride, 

Though where some whirlwind's rage hath been 
Foam whitens o'er the flashing tide : 



>: 2 Cor. xi. 2. 



t 2 Tim. ii. 12. 



128 THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 


For underneath in waveless trance 


Hush'd are high feelings, when their course 


The spirit of stern Water sleeps, 


Springs from the soul's pure fountain-head ; 


And thunderbolt and lightning-glance 


Though language cannot speak their force, 


Disturb not its unechoing deeps. 


Yet, far beyond what lips have said, 




Down the deep spirit's veil'd recess 


But not like this, majestic Souls 


They nurse their harrow'd nature true ; 


The tempest of the heart betray, 


And those mankind for stoics guess 


Whom wisdom chastens, or controls 


Bear hidden wounds, which none can view ! 


By principles of regal sway : 




Unlike the sea, their surface lies 


The storm-voice of some open grief 


Becalm'd without ; all pale and proud, 


Too often proves a shallow heart ; 


Where not a ripple meets the eyes 


And there are pangs from earth's relief 


Of those who make the vulgar crowd. 


Which proud and pure stand all apart ; 




Like the stern patriarch's, when he felt 


And thus the heaven-born Spartan bears 


Fond yearnings of the brother rise, — 


With mien and manner undisturb'd 


The voiceless heart they inly melt, 


Whatever doom his God declares : — 


And shun the gaze of common eyes. 


He by divine restraint hath curb'd 




Those passion-bursts, which wildly break 


So dwells there in each virgin mind 


From mere excitement's maddening hour, 


Some bashful Grace, that will not bare 


When stormy pangs the bosom shake 


Its beauty unto coarse mankind, 


And palsy Reason's noble power. 


But comes to God in secret prayer : 




The tumult of religious talk, 


Who that has heard the gush of woe 


lmpassion'd tones of Self unveil'd, 


From some wild mourner by the grave, 


With all which crowds life's vulgar walk, — 


And mark'd the scalding tear-drop's flow 


Heaven has not for her children hail'd. 


A sunken cheek of sorrow lave, 




Or thrill'd beneath those harrowing sighs 


Thus Nature hides her " secret things ; " 


Which burst from out a breaking heart, 


Her wonder-works, — what eye can see 


And felt not, with o'erflooding eyes, 


The plan whereby Perfection brings 


What giant pangs death-scenes impart ? 


Their essence out of Deity 1 




All matter, motion, growth, and life 


But grief there is far more sublime, 


Are myst'ries here, which man defy, 


Enacted in this world of gloom, 


And work with deeper wisdom rife, 


Which haunts us through memorial time 


Than Science reads below the sky. 


With shadow deeper than the tomb ; — 




'Tis when we hear an earth-clod fall 


And He of hearts the saving Light, 


"Upon the coffin's lid of death 


Our living Sun, within Whose rays 


With clay-cold accents, which appal 


A soul can bear the blackest night 


And half suspend our choking breath, 


That deepens round misfortune's days, 




Alone He was ; unseen, unheard, 


With stealthy eye we dare to scan 


In vigil, fast, and awful fears ; 


The face of some bereaved one there. — 


Few pangs He breathed through mortal word, 


And lo ! he seems a tearless man, 


But spake them by His blood-shed tears ! 


Whose pang no outward signs ( declare] 




No shudders through his bosom heave, 


At midnight, on calm mountains cold 


His features with no anguish move ; 


Awed angels might have heard Him pray ; 


And worldlings guess he does not grieve, 


But not disciples could behold 


And think him all too stern to love ! 


What suff'ring in His silence lay ! 




And He who seeks a sacred heart, 


But, look again ! and thou wilt see 


In solitude must learn to feel ; 


That iron Soul which sheds no tear, 


Nor to the blushless world impart 


A mass of buried agony 


Those deeper thoughts the wise conceal. 


Though none to outward sense appear : 




His very calm is woe congeal'd, 


In lofty silence, sad and meek 


A pulseless depth of chill despair ; 


Thy cross confront, and bear it well ; 


And what no stormful pang reveal' d, 


And if thy soul an echo seek, 


Felt like a frozen tempest there. 


To Christ the hidden anguish tell : 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



129 



In thy lone chamber kneel, and pray- 
Where none but God, and thou art nigh ; 

And He who said, — " Our Father say," * 
Shall echo back thy deepest sigh. 



SENTIMENT OF FLOWERS. 

"As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth." 

Ps. ciii. 15. 

The Lord, who once celestial radiance threw 
Round the gay lilies in their regal dress, 

Hath long receded from the church's view, 
And Earth seems flow'ring in her loneliness : 

But still the Saviour's cry, " Behold ! " remains 

Deep in the ear, and haunts the spring-toned 

breeze, 

Where pilgrim Thought along secluded plains 

Roams by the flowers, beneath romantic 

trees. 

Seems it, as though a consecration hung 

On the rich bloom of each innocuous flower, 
And grace beyond what minstrel Lyres have 
sung, 
Since Christ arrayed them with a teaching 
power. 

And they are beautiful as infant-eyes, 

Sparkling, or pale, when pensive, blue, or 
mild ; 

Now, softly vocal, while the air-tone sighs, 
And then, in breezy motion dancing wild. 

And, like fair visions haunting Memory's 
dream, 

So to the serious mind may flowers impart 
In pale seclusion by some lisping stream, 

A graceful moral to the feeling heart. 

For oft like infants nursed on nature's breast 
The dawning buds come forth in sun and 
dew, 

Rosy as Childhood in rich beauty drest, 
When life enchants it with a fairy hue : 

And beaming Girlhood, in its beauteous grace, 
Seems like a new-blown flower in bloom 
to be, 
While fancy muses on that vernal face, 

And thinks, how soon that spring of heart 
will flee ! 



Luke xi. 2. 



And have not sentiment and soul-breathed song 
From flowers a classic inspiration caught 1 — 

Their spells of beauty to the bard belong, 
And grace his lines with many a lovely 
thought. 

In hoar'd cathedrals, solemn, huge, and grand, 
Where tombs have tongues, and eloquently 
preach, 
Who has not felt the winged mind expand 
Soaring to realms beyond mere earth to 
reach ? 

There has Devotion traced those marble flowers 
Which still to fancy wear a stony bloom 

That triumphs o'er decay's funereal powers, 
On hero's cenotaph, and martyr's tomb. 

And since all matter should to mind attest 
Deep truths, significant of sacred worth, 

Are not the lilies, by their Maker drest, 

Types of the pure, unstain'd by sordid earth 1 

Emblems of those, the gentle and the good, 
Plants of the Spirit, who delight to grow, 

And in the hush of thinking solitude 

Nurse the meek grace His will and word 
bestow ? 

There is an air of chastity and calm 

Breathed from the pureness of a vestal 
flower, 
Soft as a breath from Eden's bloom and balm 
That shames coarse passion in its rudest 
hour. 

And when on couch of languishment there lies 
Some pale-worn victim of disease and pain, 

Oft can a flower relume the sunken eyes, 
As though they gazed on garden-walks again. 

Or, when the boy by Circumstance is led 
From the green hamlet where young life 
began, 

And 'mid the large loud city round him spread, 
For fields and groves, views artificial man, 

If some chance-flow'ret near his path should lie, 
How does it thrill association's law, 

Making the heart for home and country sigh, 
And tread the landscape rosy Childhood saw ! 

So have I mark'd, amid some fever'd court 
Crowded with dens where degradations hide, 

Where passions vile with poverty resort, 
And orphan'd babes have hunger'd, wept, 
and died, 



130 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Some lonely window, with a sickly flower 
Pining as pale, still struggling to endure, 

And thrill'd to think how Nature's lovely power 
Could thus the heart of wretchedness allure ! 

Contemn not this : for in bleak haunts of woe 
Undying thoughts of sylvan life remain ; 

And many a poor man, while his tear-drops flow, 
Hails a sad violet through a broken pane. 

We bless Thee, then, Thou Lord of flowers and 
trees ! 
Bought by Whose Blood, the whole creation 
lives ; 
Glowing with health, or martyr'd by disease, 
Hail, to each beauty Thine atonement gives ! 

And when affection seeks the solemn grave 
To sprinkle flowers upon the guarded, mould, 

Where in chill darkness sleep the perish'd brave 
Whose memories beautify the days of old, 

Thou ! the Resurrection and the Life, 
Thy viewless presence grant at this deep hour, 

And to sad mourners, with dejection rife, 
Reverse the emblem of that votive flower. 

" Behold the lilies ! " — Lord, we would obey ; 
But still they wither, while their charms 
delight ; 
And in the lustre of their rich array 

Lurks the cold shadow of a coming 
blight : 

But thou, believer ! not, like flowers, wilt fall 
Ne'er from the dust in blooming grace to 
rise ; 
But when for thee, Earth's citing trump shall 
call, 
Eternal spring shall fascinate thine eyes. 

Celestial beauty, undecaying bloom 

Clothes the pure flesh with more than lilies 
wear ; 
And thou, transplanted from the wintry tomb, 
Wilt bud in heaven, and flower with glory 
there. 



RECONCILIATION. 



First be reconciled to thy brother, and then come 
and offer thy gift."— Matt. v. 24. 

Pure glory of forgiving Love ! 
Whose archetype exists above 
In God the reconciled ; 



By nine degrees * of soaring worth 
May our wing'd souls ascend from earth 
To Thee, the undefiled. 

Bootless are sacramental Forms, 
If in our hearts the hectic storms 

Of sullen anger dwell ; 
Angels in mien, but Cains in mind, 
Men dare to dream their God too blind 

To see their bosom-hell ! 

No mortal hate with love divine 
Can ever in one soul combine, — 

Deceit must both deprave ; 
For love is that seraphic glow 
Which cannot chill before a foe, 

But tracks him to the grave. 

Proud thoughts create a mental war 
Nor let us see the truth we are, 

But hide from Self our sin ; 
Aloud men cry o'er wrongs the}' feel, 
But all the wrongs they do, conceal 

Like pharisees within. 

Could we ourselves as clearly scan 
As we unshroud our brother man, 

How humbly might we walk ! 
And never in the maddest hour 
When vile self-worship wields its power, 

Of our meek virtues talk. 

Let Conscience learn, the sharpest word 
Our ulcerated pride has heard 

Is tender, more than true ; 
Since all that envious eyes can see, 
Is pure to what Divinity 

In man's vain heart can view. 

Thy temper soothe, thou ireful one ! 
Nor ever may the west'ring sun 

Go down upon thy wrath ; 
Thy brother seek, each fault confess, 
And with sad tones of mild distress 

Win all the love he hath. 

If by cold word, or thought, or deed 
Thy heart has caused his own to bleed, 

Promptly that ill repair ; 
Nor dream that thus to condescend, 
Will one dark hue of meanness blend 

With aught thou feelest there. 



* In a strain of beautiful inspiration, Chrysostom, 
when commenting on Matt. v. 44, says, ~E7r>t<; o/rov; 
a,v£(3'/) fioid/xob;, z,. t. X. "Do you observe the scale he 
has ascended, and how he has placed us upon the 
pinnacle of virtue? &c. &c. The Ninth to God for 
Him. Do you mark the summit of philosophy?" — 
Chrysost. Horn. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



131 



But if in soul, a sullen thought 
With scowling pride of anger fraught 

Toward friend or foe remain, 
Presume not, where Christ's altar stands 
To offer with polluted hands * 

"What Heaven must so disdain. 

First to a brother give thy heart ; 
Let bitterness of soul depart, 

And then, that meal partake 
Where Love Incarnate bleeds and dies 
In His memorial sacrifice, 

Presented for thy sake. 

Fathom thy deeps of sinful mind, 
Keen to thyself, to others blind, — 

Be this thy noble plan ! 
Beneath enamell'd smiles and ways 
Let Conscience dart her searching rays, 

And thou wilt pity man. 

Self-ignorance makes the spirit proud, 
And o'er clear error casts a cloud 

Of flatt'ry's genial power ; 
But Self-illumed by heaven's own ray 
Can melt that painted mist away, 

And humble ev'ry hour. 

Vain hypocrites, and worse than vile 
If passions dark our soul defile 

And fiendish thoughts are nursed, 
While outwardly in church and creed 
We call ourselves a " holy seed," 

By God we are accursed ! 

Heaven's lineage must heaven's likeness wear, 
And not alone by praise and prayer 

Authentic worship prove ; 
When Faith beholds her God of grace, 
The brightest Feature she can trace 

Is that which glows with love. 

Then, grant us, Lord, a heart like Thine 
As deep in mercy, as divine, 

Celestial, mild, and true ; 
And learn we all, the more we live, 
The godlike must bike God forgive t 

All daring Wrong can do. 

Creation seems instinct with love, 
A parable of His above, 

Father, and Friend of all ; 
And not a rain-drop Earth renews 
And not a sunbeam lights her hues 

Which does not grace recall.^ 



* Ps. 



Matt. v. 44, 45. 



t Matt. v. 48. 



O'er just and unjust, what a shower 
Of raining mercies falls each hour, 

Bought by atoning Blood ! 
From Whose vast merit all that is, 
Derives each energizing bliss 

Which makes our common good. 

Two Bibles thus our hearts may teach 
A pure sublime of man to reach, 

In love for friend and foe, 
Since Nature, like the Gospel, pours 
O'er " good and evil " all her stores, 

That each may Godhead know. 



ANGELIC MINISTRY. 

"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to 
minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation ? " 
— Heb. i. 14. "He shall give his angels charge 
over thee, to keep thee in all thy -ways." — Ps. xci. 
11. "The angel of the Lord encampeth round 
about them that fear him, and delivereth them." 
— Ps. xxxiv. 7. 

Sat, why do sceptic hearts decline 
In nature more than earth to view ? 

We cannot trace the word divine, 
But angel-forms attend us through : 

Salvation's heirs they watch and keep 

Both when they wake, and while they sleep. 

And how could perill'd infants rove 

Light as elastic breezes play, 
Secure as if in heaven above 

They tripp'd along some crystal way, 
Unless beloved by angel-powers * 
Who hover round their fleeting hours ? 

All Nature feels a lovely awe 

Environing the aidless child ; 
And fancy dreams her iron law 

Before it grows relax'd and mild ; 
E'en the stern brute a babe will spare ; 
And why 1 — some angel watches there. 

When shepherds on the midnight-plain 
Of Judah kept their flocks at night, 

Who hymn'd that heaven-reecho'd strain 
At which applauding Worlds grow bright, 

But angels, whose ethereal tongue 

The glorious Incarnation sung] 

And when the Fiend of darkness tried 
To wrestle down that perfect will, 

By which the Prince of Peace defied 
His threefold power of lying ill, 



Matt, xviii. 10. 



k2 



132 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Behold ! yon Seraph leaves his throne 
To soothe Him when the fiend had flown. 

But, turn to dread Gethsemane ; 

That garden pall'd with spectral gloom 
Where, bow'd with wordless agony 

Messiah bled, before his doom, 
That bloody sweat, — that crimson dew 
Which strain'd His tortured spirit through ! 

E'en then, from yon bright Host above 

A sympathetic angel came, 
And o'er him warbled tones of love 

Which dropt like balm upon His frame ; • 
For, dread to think ! — imputed sin 
Convulsed His finite soul within. 

But when before the radiant morn 

The Lord of Resurrection rose, 
Winding the grave-clothes Death had worn, 

As though just risen from repose, 
Two angels watch'd, as guardians meet, 
Where lay His awful head and feet. 

And like a sunburst from the south 

On wings of archangelic sheen, 
To roll from that sepulchral mouth 

The rocky stone where Christ had been, — 
Two Creatures of celestial might 
Came speeding down from worlds of light. 

So when at length Emmanuel soar'd 
And left His loved disciples' view, 

While their ascending glance adored 

The Lord, who back to heaven withdrew, 

What bounding hopes within them burn 

When angels say, " He shall return ! " 



INFANT FELLOWSHIP WITH GOD. 

' ' Hid from the wise and prudent . . . revealed unto 
babes." — Matt. xi. 25. 

Mysterious infant ! on thy fairy brow 

A far-off glory seems reflected now, 

A pensive, mild, and melancholy ray 

Like the last hue of heaven's most lovely day; 

Thou living harebell ! 'mong the human flowers 
Which bud and blossom in domestic bowers, 
The liquid azure of thy placid eye 
Gleams like the softness of a vernal sky : 

Feeble to sense and sight indeed thou art, 
But oh ! within thee dwells a mighty Heart, 
Capacious of eternity, and God, 
E'en now, before the travell'd earth is trod. 



Fragile the organs that connect thy soul 
With those blent world-scenes, which our own 

control ; 
But let not creedless Science this declare, — 
That God and angels are unvision'd there. 

Souls in pure essence are, like grace, un- 
known ; 
For all we hear is but the outward tone, 
A broken echo of a voice within 
Muffled by earth, and jarr'd by jangling sin : 

But if The Spirit must a soul renew 

Ere glory open on its blissful view, 

Then must the babe unbreathed communion 

hold 
And have with Heaven some intercourse untold. 

Sinless in fact, untempted babes depart 

To where, Christ, ensphered in bliss Thou 

art ; 
And ere time's language to their lips is known, 
They learn The Cross before salvation's throne. 

And who remembers not some deep-eyed child, 
Unearthly, pale, and exquisitely mild, 
Purer than chisell'd alabaster shines 
Where sculptured poesy hath traced its lines 1 

But 'tis not beauty, delicate and bright, 
Nor limbs elastic as incarnate light, 
Nor that seraphic grace of brow and cheek 
More eloquent of mind, than words can speak : 

'Tis something finer than all beauty far, 
Tender as dreams beneath a twilight-star ; 
A heaven-like stamp of saintliness which glows 
O'er each calm feature in its chaste repose. 

And who denies, prophetic babes may see 
Secrets and Shapes which throng eternity, 
Visions of glory, such as elder man 
Has never imaged in the course he ran 1 

A wordless infant in some mystic hour 
May have The Spirit in His deeper power, 
Converse with angels, and in God behold 
Truths which heroic Saints have never told. 

The tearful radiance of a baby's eye, 
The pleading music of its pensive sigh, 
The looks that seem so spiritually deep 
Turn'd on beholders, till they almost weep, 

May be the symbols of a faded heaven 

To infants in angelic slumber given, 

Which leaves them, when they face the world 

again, 
In dim remembrance and in dawning pain. 



And none can tell, but hov'ring babes above 
To babes on earth may whisper tones of love, 
Melodious fragments of cherubic song 
On Glory's breeze for ever borne along. 

And, childless mother ! let a thought like this 
Becalm thy bosom with sustaining bliss, — 
When thy pale infant heaved the parting sigh 
Some Angel bore it to the peopled sky. 

Bright from the waters of baptismal life, 
Stain'd by no sin, nor touch'd by earth-born 

strife, 
Straight to its God thy sinless babe hath flown 
And join'd the myriads which enwreathe His 

Throne. 



THE SINGLE EYE. 



' ' If thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full 
of light."— Matt. xi. 22. 

Though ruin'd, deathless man is noble still, 
In whom fair lines and lineaments remain 

Of all he was, — ere sin by lawless will 
Cast on the glorious Soul a guilty stain ; 

And not with harsh irreverence should we dare 

One trace despise, which Heaven has treasured 
there. 

As round a gloomy shrine, in grand decay 
Where crumbling arch and ruin'd pillar fall, 

Eemnants of beauty yet the pile array 
And the dead sculpture into life recall, 

When sacred fancy with religious eye 

Dreams in the ages of a World gone by, — 

So, 'mid the sinful waste of man perverse 
Faint hues and harmonies of Eden dwell, 

Not all remanded by the righteous curse 
Which on the forfeit-state of Adam fell : 

Eound the sad ruin of his fallen soul 

Shadows divine of vanish" d Glory roll. 

But if by earth-fed passion, lust, or pride, 
Greedy of gain, or gorged with self-esteem, 

Majestic reason is just power denied, 

The central life becomes a ghastly dream, 

Where all our faculties and functions blend 

In dread confusion, which can never end. 

For then, Incarnate Wisdom so declares, 
That which by nature should our light 
become, 
And starlike, lead us through the night of 
cares 
Which deepens round us till we reach our 
home, 



Itself is darkness ! and the beam that glows 
Is that which Falsehood to blind feeling shows : 

How great the " darkness," not e'en Christ 
hath said ! 
As though such midnight of the mind sur- 
pass'd 
Whate'er rebellion of the heart or head 

By finite language can be call'd, or class'd : — 
" Darkness " that e'en from Him a wonder 

drew, 
To Whom no sight in earth, or hell, was new ! 

Single the Eye, when jealous conscience guards 
Its vestal chastity by prayer and truth, 

And not to Eeason, but to Grace awards 
Those inward laws which hallow age and 
youth, — 

Those godlike principles by which men live, 

And the dread Soul to its own Author give. 

Eesist we, then, the sorceries of sin ; 

The lust of income and the love of power 
Cloud the clear Eye, whose vision acts within 

And ought to rule and rectify each hour : 
So will our reason, with no jaundiced gaze, 
Interpret duty through a blinding haze. 

Eeligious principle and moral code 

Diseased by passion, most perversely act ; 

And Vice, recoiling from heaven's narrow road, 
Dares its own decalogue of Self enact : 

Our way is hell-ward, though we heed it not, 

Sinai renounced, and Calvary forgot. 

Oh ! better far be reasonless and mad, 
Than thus transform the rectifying Guide 

Which God ordain' d to govern good and bad, 
And legislate on virtue's lovely side ; 

For, when distorted, conscience proves a curse 

Whose cruel wisdom makes condition worse. 

As though the needle in its compass were 
Eeversely guiding o'er a sea of gloom 

The storm-heaved ship, while lurid tempests 
glare, 
And ocean blackens like a billowy tomb ;— 

Her wreck is fated though she proudly rides 

In foaming triumph o'er the furious tides ! 

Nor dream that when by damning vice 
depraved, 

The central light of reas'ning conscience fails 
To warn the victim of desires enslaved, 

Corrective Wisdom o'er such doom prevails : — 
An Archimedes in the world of mind 
Who fix'd his lever and hath raised mankind, 



134 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



If not with him the single eye and pure 

For sacred guardianship of soul remain, — 
His teachings prove but spell-words to allure 
The hearts which hear them, into vice and 
pain: 
The rays of Genius, when to darkness turn'd, 
What fiendish laurels have they found, and 
earn'd ! 

Spirit of wisdom ! pure and perfect Light, 
Come from Thy region of celestial grace, 

Through the bad gloom of unbelieving night 
Dart the mild beams of Thy majestic face : 

By loving Thee, saints learn to grow divine, 

And as they live, resemble Thee, and Thine. 

That single Eye, which God and glory views, 
Whose seeing power by holiness is keen, 

And doth o'er all things Christ supremely 
choose, — 
Be this our wisdom in life's perill'd scene ; 

So shall we vanquish, by enduring, ill, 

And find it heaven to do our Father's will. 



MY FIRST-BORN. 



" The Lord spake, Sanctify unto me all the first-bom ; 
it is mine." — Exod. xiii. 2. 

[C. H. E. M. BORN MAY 4TH, 1848.] 

My first-born ! when I heard thy faint low 
cry, 
Home to the heart was echoing nature 
stirr'd 
With more than man can tell by tear, or sigh, 
Or Fondness image through a shaping word ; 
For Life is deeper than our language far, 
And dimly mirrors but the half we are. 

The fountains in the inward deep of soul 
Seem'd broken up with preternat'ral start, 

And onward gush'd with sweetest uncontrol 
The new-born raptures of a parent's heart : 

Each chord of feeling trembled like a tcne 

Which haunts the harpstring, when the hand is 
flown. 

How shall I doat upon thy dawning smile 
When conscious reason first begins to play ! 

And watch the beauty of each dimpling wile 
Clothing thy cheek with what the lip would 
say, 

Were but the gladness of thy spirit heard 

In the lisp'd cadence of some little word. 



Holy is childhood ! through that lovely age 
Incarnate Mercy did not shun to live, 

And thereby circled life's commencing stage 
With halo pure as innocence could give, — 

A charm which consecrates an infant now, 

When the first Sacrament bedews its brow. 

Nor doubt, the infant Christ at mother's knee 

The priceless volume of celestial Love 
Conn'd day by day, — that parents hence might 
see 
How lisping babes ascend to truth above ; 
Nurtur'd for heaven as their young spirits 

grow, 
By wisdom strengthen'd in this world of woe. 

Nor let some Cain-like reason coldly ask 
How with the mind of some unspeaking 
child 
Regenerate Love can ply its living task, 

And to the heart teach lessons undefiled 1 — 
Baptismal grace exceeds what eyes discern, 
And more than Science dreams, a babe may 
learn. 

Think how Emmanuel, when man's world He 

walk'd, 
Stoop'd to those little ones, who round Him 

came; 
And when of more than angels knew He 

talk'd, 
Anthem'd with high-toned joy God's mystic 

name,* 
Because what hoary Sages oft refuse, 
That for some nursling God's free-will doth 

choose. 

So with a sacredness from heaven decreed 
My first-born ! by the Church environ'd 
round, 
May the blest Spirit help thy dawning need 
From hallow'd stores, which in His breast 
abound, 
Who e'en in glory can remember still 
How on sad earth He felt each infant thrill. 

Lamb of the flock ! within thy Saviour's fold 
Calm may'st thou roam, by living pastures 
green 
'Mid waters bright, — with footstep never bold, 
Follow The Shepherd through life's destined 
scene ; 
Thou wilt not want, if He become thy guide. 
With rod of love and staff of grace supplied. 



* Luke x. 21 . 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



135 



Coil'd in the secret of His purpose vast 

Firstling of Hope ! thine unread future lies, 

But should thy doom for ripening years be cast 
And thou be spared to light enamour'd eyes, 

How will maternal Fondness round thee twine, 

And my heart gladden when it dreams of 
thine ! 

To aid thy lip Christ's glorious name to speak, 
And hear thy sweet mouth lisp its little 
prayer ; 

To watch emotions mirror'd on thy cheek 
When first religion is reflected there, 

While with lock'd hands of reverential love 

Thou kneel'st to ask a blessing from above, — 

By soft degrees to view thee conscious grow 
Of God and nature, mind, and scene, and 
man, 

Gently to chide each fault, and calm each woe 
As only echoing hearts of parents can, — 

Delights like these will anxious toil repay, 

And sun my spirit with perpetual ray. 

And should my darling add to loveliness 
A frame responsive to those fine appeals, 

Which earth's dumb eloquence doth aye 
impress 
On each who nature's living poem feels, 

With sacred rapture shall I watch thee try 

To read God's epic, in the glorious sky ! 

But oh, of joys the brightest, purest, best 
Will that be found, — when first thy budding 
mind 

Words of redeeming grace and truth arrest 
And glorify thy love for human kind ; 

Or when thy broken accents would explain 

What Childhood feels for God's incarnate pain.* 

But these are dreams : — and voiceless omens 
creep 
Eound my chill'd Spirit, when it looks on 
thee, 
Making the moist eye almost bend and weep 

O'er the veil'd depths of hush'd futurity ; 
For soft dejection in thine infant-gaze, 
Like dim prediction, seems to tell thy days. 

God shield thee, darling ! — like a dew drop now, 
In radiant freshness on the tree of Life 

Trembles thy being ; but with prescient brow 
I darkly ponder, lest disease and strife 

Crush thy soft nature, now so fair and frail, 

And bid thee into death at once exhale. 



Mysterious God ! should this deep trial come 
And thou, my first-born, find the infant's 

grave, 
Long ere thy sire, shouldst thou be summon'd 

home 
And heaven remand the treasure that it 

gave, 
Oh ! teach me, Lord, this awful prayer to 

say,— 
" Blest be His name, who gives, and takes 

away ! " 



JUDGE NOT. 



* "I learn to believe in God the Son, who hath 
redeemed me." — Catechism of Church of England. 



"Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what 
judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with 
what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to 
you again." — Matt. vii. 1. 

Eye of the Lord ! in whose omniscient ray 

Our motives play, 
Like motes in sunbeams, each distinctly bare, 

Can sinners dare 
Rash judgment o'er that secret heart to strain, 

Where Thou dost reign 

Alone, — from Whom no buried thoughts are 
hid? 

Men are forbid 
To scan a brother with censorious eye ; 

Or sternly cry, 
" Let me the mote from out thy vision draw," 

As though they saw 

With holy clearness of unclouded view 

The pure and true : 
While in their eye-glance dwells one sinful beam 

Men little deem, 
How all who virtue love, will strive to be 

From sin set free. 

A flagging will, a feeble mind 

To Glory dead and Wisdom blind ; 

A neutral cowardice of heart 

That shrinks from taking noble part, 

When Christ, and Church and Creed demand 

The prowess true of heart and hand, — 

Lord ! not for these Thy words assign 

The guerdon Faith believes divine, 

When Thou dost bid each duteous mind 

Abstain from judging mortal kind. 

The truth must e'er the falsehood fight, 
While wrong pursues the hated right ; 
And they are craven to the Cross 
Who quail for dread of earthly loss ; 
Or else, because the coward Will 
Recoils from rude oppressive ill, 



136 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Refrain from branding sin and crime ; 
And so caress the vassal time 
That vice and virtue, false and true 
Become the heart's chameleon hue ! 

Avaunt ! such antinomian Ease, 
Whose gospel is self-will to please. 
But, come ye Inspirations given 
Fresh from the heart of Christ in heaven ! 
Mild Charity, and modest Thought, 
And Meekness with Devotion fraught ; 
With radiant Candour, rich in love, 
And motherly, as born above, 
Which, mindful of Redemption's plan, 
Embraces universal man. 

The perfect Judge is God alone ; 
And he usurps His legal Throne 
Who rashly dares to pierce and scan 
Those spirit-fibres of the man. — 
Motives ! which are of acts the soul, 
And subject to Divine Control : 
By man unprobed, in all their change 
They move within His mental range, 
By Whom is mark'd the embryo sin, 
Ere yet 'tis born the soul within. 

But e'en when action, motive, thought 
Are into clear exposure brought, 
And all which meets our human gaze 
Harrows the soul with stern amaze, 
Man must not wield the judge's rod, 
Or make himself the bar of God. 
Love in that light, oh ! let there be 
By which our hearts a brother see ; 
Since, blind and partial are we, when 
Hurt feelings try our fellow-men. 

Be merciful ! for sinners all 

Are they, who Christ their glory call ; 

Such Minds can weep where others frown, 

To see how soon we wander down 

Those sad descents of worldly sin 

Which tempt without, and try within. — 

The holy are the humble, too ; 

Rather in silence will they rue 

The faults and failings brethren show. 

Nor be the first a stone to throw. 

Their sin we view ; but not the strife 
Or writhings of that inward-life 
Where passion, conscience, and desire 
In some convulsive mood conspire : 
Nor can we measure with just mind 
How circumstance with choice combined ; 
Or mad temptation, swift and wild/ 
Tore like a fiend the heart defiled ; 



Or, how resistance unto prayer 
Fought with the Crime which conquer'd 
there. 

God ! before Whose perfect eye 

Are cloud-stains on the crystal sky,* 

Were we but judged by those degrees 

By which malign Suspicion sees 

A brother in his conduct fail, — 

E'en martyrs would the Judgment wail. 

Rather, through love's kind error, be 

Victim of fond credulity, 

Than like some cold and cutting blast 

W T hich near the frozen Sea hath past, 

Breathe o'er thy brother words that wring 

The soul with unvoiced suffering. 

Come then, celestial Archetype for all, 

To Thee we call ; 
And ere the bolt of Censure can descend 

On foe, or friend, 
Oh, introvert the spirit's eye, to scan 

Our inward man. 

For thus, what boundless error should we see 

In us to be ! 
The arm reversed would then no censure throw 

On friend, or foe ; 
But, as dark evils which deserve a stone, 

Would brand our own. 



AWFULNESS OF SPEECH. 

By thy words shalt thou be justified." — Matt. xii. 37. 

We ought to dread what Speech can do, 

And mortal words have done, 
As vain or vile, or false or true, 

Since Language first begun : 

For speech the soul can so empower, 

For fiends', or angels' work, 
That Death, or Life, each dawning hour, 

Within some tone may lurk.*h 

A speechless thought innocuous seems 

To all except the Mind, 
Through whose vague depths it acts, or dreams 

For self, or for mankind ; 

But when abroad, by speech, or press, 
Our Thoughts their course begin, 

Conception cannot dare to guess 
What conquest they may win. 



Job xv. 15. 



1 Prov. xviii. 21. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



137 



Through regions, empires, heart and home, 

A trackless Thing it hies, 
And through eternity will roam, — 

For Influence never dies. 

To counsel, flatter, charm, or cheer, 

How potent human speech ! 
To summon smiles, or mould a tear, 

To pray , rebuke, or preach, — 

Thus life and death within the spell 

Of living words reside, 
And blest are they, who wield them well, 

Rememb'ring Him who " sighed ! " 

And why ] Because the Saviour knew 

That since our primal Fall 
No tongues are to their glory true, 

Except on God they call. 

Eye, Ear, and Speech, each organ may 

A ban or blessing prove, 
According as we learn to lay 

Their service out in love. 



Thus did Emmanuel sigh to know, 
That when Compassion gave 

To dumbness power the mind to show, 
From sin it would not save, 



But might hereafter frequent tempt 
His tongue to many a crime, 

That, but for speech, had proved exempt 
In silence half sublime. 



He mark'd the victim, mute and sad 
Who thus before Him stood, 

And cried " Be open," not " Be glad, 
Though speech itself were good. 

And so with us : 'twere better far 

As dumb and deaf to be, 
Unless in spoken life we are 

From worded vileness free. 



And never may we speak, or write 
A word which others know, 

Unless 'twill bear His searching light, 
From whom all speech doth flow. 

Let that deep sigh the God-man drew, 
Around us swell and heave, 

And when we utter words untrue 
That sigh will make us grieve. 



LET US PEAY. 

"If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts 
unto your children, how much more shall your 
Father which is in heaven give good things to 
them that ask him?" — Matt. vii. 11. 

Ail that of Eden now remains 

Lives in the lovely page of God, 
Where o'er green earth a beauty reigns 
As when by Christ at evening trod ; * 
Oh ! were it not for this pure story, 
Our hearts might scarce conceive the glory 
Which still that paradise of words arrays 
With all those hues of heaven, which spell- 
bound Adam's gaze. 

The weed, the thistle, and the thorn, 

And stooping Labour's moisten'd brow, 
Are types and tokens men are born 

Under the primal ruin now ; 
The kingly mind of innocence 
Seems crush'd by sin's omnipotence ; 
And riper passions round our virtues prey, 
And with envenom'd tooth begnaw their 
strength away. 

But still beneath man's ruin lives 

One feeling, which survived the Fall, — 
That which parental fondness gives 

To those who hear their children call : 
Men are not fiends, but still reply 
Like echoes, to each filial cry 
A son puts forth in some beseeching hour, 
When lisping Childhood yearns for parent's 
guardian power. 

Divine emotion ! deep as pure ; 

Without thee, Scripture breathes a tone 
Which could not alien hearts allure 
To bend before the Mercy-throne : 
But when " Our Father ! " thence is heard, 
Dead feelings in their tomb are stirr'd ; 
And like the ladder joining earth and skies,+ 
They form attractive steps, by which to heaven 
we rise. 

And thus hath Christ affections used 

When pleading oft with prayerless mind, 
And shown that, though by sin abused, 
There is a law that wields mankind, 
By which parental natures prove 
The throbbings of eternal Love, 
When Hunger seeks them with dejected 
cry,— 
" Food for thy famish'd child ! or he must die." 



Gen. hi. 8. 



t Gen. xxviii. 12. 



138 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



And, Lord, if thus the sin-worn heart 

So much of paradise retain, 
Why dare we doubt in heaven Thou art 
Responsive to each prayer-breathed 
strain 1 
Did Faith but ask, and knock, and seek, 
What giants would become the weak ! 
And Conscience realise Thy love as true 
As when its death-gasp groan'd, " Forgive 
them what they do." 

Could men but feel, how constant prayer 

Sustains the most heroic Mind, 
Their life would be one holy care 

A Father-God in heaven to find ; 
Not as a Judge, with iron brow, 
Before Him would they bend and vow ; 
But from the deeps of man's parental heart 
Gather some loving gleams of what, God ! 
Thou art. 

Saviour of souls ! our Truth and Way, 

Bread for the famish'd hearts which pine, 
Instruct us like Thyself to pray 

"Father! Thy will be done, not mine." — 
Tender has been the tearful thought 
A babe-cry to some mother brought ; * 
But far more tender is The Heart above 
Whose echoing depths repeat the name of holy 
"Love." + 



DIYINE FAITHFULNESS. 

The mountains shall depart, and the hills be re- 
moved; but my kindness shall not depart from 
thee." — Isa. liv. 10. 

The mountains shall from earth depart, 

The hills may be removed, 
But thou of God elected art 

And as a " bride " beloved ; 
Our God as soon might cease to be, 
As break His covenant with thee. 

Election flows from no high worth 

In fallen souls foreseen ; 
For where is good on this bad earth 

Which free grace hath not been ] 
Did God demand prevenient love, 
Heaven would not shrine one soul above. 

Thou barren Heart ! which hast not borne 

The hopes that make thee sing, J 
Oh, dream not thou art left forlorn 
In widow'd suffering : 



Isa. xlix. 15. 



t 1 John iii. 16. 



1 Isa. liv. 1. 



For like a wife in youth forsaken, 
Back to thy Lord shalt thou be taken. 

Though toss'd on life's tempestuous sea 

Affliction's waves run high, 
For one small moment Heaven from thee 

Averts its loving eye, — 
Yet, soon will mercy's overflow 
Around thine anguish brightly glow. 

No crisis can our God subdue, 
No change His will surprise ; 

Close to His ancient counsel true 
His grace for ever lies ; 

The " Lord of Hosts " reveals His name 

In love eternal, and the same. 

He does not find a lovely thing 

And love what He discerns ; 
But His pure love becomes the spring 

Of what in martyrs burns 
Of holy passion, zeal, and prayer 
By God's own Spirit kindled there. 

Then, courage ! torn and troubled Mind, 

The Glorious One appears ; 
Nor let Dejection leave thee blind 

With her impassion'd tears : 
Soon shall thy blest Redeemer come 
And guide thee safe to Glory's home. 

No weapon'd hand its deadly wound 

Shall in thy spirit make ; 
Nor all the raging tongues around 

That bond of goodness break 
Which God in Christ for thee doth hold, 
And His deep heart of grace enfold. 

With sapphires thy foundations fair * 

Shall soon by Him be laid ; 
Nor shall oppressive Wrong be there, 

As though thou wert betray'd : + 
Terrors themselves shall learn to fear 
A kingly saint to Godhead dear. 

The Spirit's love, a love divine 
Though earth and heaven decay, 

Is true, Lord ! to Thee and Thine 
Though worlds dissolve away ; 

Had Souls true faith, they could not dread 

The deepest midnight round them spread. 

A dying world for dying men 
For saints hath Heaven decreed, 

And wisely plans the where, and when, 
Each burden' d heart must bleed ; 



* Isa. liv. n. 



t Isa. xliv. 11. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



139 



But, Love this truth can understand, — 
Each blow is from a Father's hand. 

And thus, if fortune, home, and friend, 

And social bliss, no more 
Around us their rich magic blend 

As they were wont of yore, — 
Reflected on our falling tears 
The iris of God's love appears. 

Timeless and changeless is the plan 

Before all worlds begun, 
From whence that mercy reacheth man 

Incarnate Merit won : — 
Though toss'd, and by the tempest shaken, 
Believer, thou art unforsaken ! 



REYERE THE DEAD. 

"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord." 

Rev. xiv. 13. 

Pitt the dead ! — nay, rather mourn for those 
Who battle on through Life's harsh scene of 
care, 
In whose grieved breast the thorn of trial 
grows, 
While in the crowd all echoless they are : 
Bearing some poison'd shaft within the heart 
They feel, bad World ! the hollowness thou art. 

Pity the dead ! — no, rather weep for them 
Who on vex'd earth must suffer, toil, and sin, 

And pray, their passion's burning tide to stem 
And keep close watch o'er waywardness 
within ; 

Who hour by hour repentance must renew, 

And mourn how little for their Lord they do. 

But oh ! the dead, the justified and saved, 
Children of glory, wrapt in Jesu's arms, 
The darkness of the sepulchre they braved 
And there are shielded safe from Earth's 
alarms ; 
Pure in the brightness of ethereal bliss, 
They would not change it for a scene like 
this! 

The spirits of the Just, made perfect now, 
Have each in heaven their beatific calm ; 
Serenity arrays each kingly Brow, 
c And through each Heart distils celestial 
balm : 
Their hope as cloudless as the peace divine, — 
Seraphic visions round them reign, and shine. 



And He is there ! the kingdom's Light and 
Lord, 
Who out of time and toil has call'd them 
home, 
And now fulfils each wise and glorious word 
True faith believed, when doom'd on earth 
to roam, — 
E'en Christ, who beautifies the Spirit-throngs, 
'Mid their deep worship of adoring songs. 

But, ah ! fond Nature, in thy bosom yearn 

Feelings which oft our passive faith o'erflow ; 
And with such flame intense affections burn 
That time, nor truth, can quench their secret 
glow ; 
Down the deep heart some unvoiced thoughts 

remain, 
And bid us sigh to see our Dead again. 

" My beautiful, my bright, my darling child ! 

Her smile was eloquent with soul to me ;" 
Thus the wan mother in her anguish wild 

Echoes the regions of eternity, 
When round the heart-strings thrills the seem- 
ing breath 
Of some loved daughter, tomb'd in early death. 

" And thou, my dead, my unforgotten boy ! 
Prop of our home, and pillar of our race, 
Genius was thine, and brow of princely joy, 
And more than beauty clothed thy classic 
face ; 
How did I dote, and for thy future build 
Schemes which parental hearts alone have 
fill'd."— 

So grieves a sire, when Love's ideal hours 
Roll their sad cadence o'er his dreaming 
brain, 

When the dead Past resumes a living power 
And with such resurrection smiles again, 

That hand in hand his child he seems to hold, 

And hear the Yoice that lull'd him so of old. 

And thou, lone sister ! who pale watch didst 
keep 
Night after night, around some fairy child, 
Marking each dimple which in rosy sleep 
Sunn'd the pure face, as though an angel 
smiled, 
When Death withdrew it to th' unseen abode, 
Thy heart to madness almost overflow'd. 

But, peace ! fond mourners : calm your souls 
to rest, 
The Dead you weep are still alive to Him, 
Lord of those mansions, where the bright and 
blest 
Are pure and peaceful as the seraphim ; 



140 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



No sin infects, nor sorrow clouds that scene 
Where the saved dead since Adam's death have 
been. 

Here, while we travel through the dust of time 

Dark imperfections oft the soul defile ; 
Whate'er the circumstance, or change, or clime, 

Creation's noblest is but vain and vile : 
What are our woods and fields, our mountains, 

glens, and streams, 
To God's bright landscape, which in glory 
beams? 

Then, hush thy moan, Affection ! curb thy will ; 

Think of the dead as to perfection brought, 
In heart all holy, as the conscience still 

Feels the rich calm the " Blood of Sprink- 
ling " wrought : — 
No cloud to tinge the colour of their days, 
They harp the anthem of redemption's praise. 

Dead though their forms in dust sepulchral lie, 
Ecstatic faith the spirit loves to view, 

And longs to vision with prophetic eye 

What awful raptures must pervade it through, 

As more and more eternity unfolds 

Secrets of Glory, vast as heaven beholds. 



POWER OF THE REDEEMER'S EYE. 

" The Lord looked . . . and Peter went out and wept 
bitterly ! "—Lulce xxii. 61, 62. 

Not poet's lyre, nor painter's line 
Could e'er express that look of Thine, 
Saviour of men ! on craven Peter cast : — 
Eternity was in Thy gaze, 
And through dark conscience darted rays 
Which lighten'd into truth his present, and 
his past. 

Deep eloquence was there, 
Beyond the lightning-glare 
Red with the fierceness of the flaming storm ; 
Nor might loud hurricanes which sweep 
In thund'ring air-tones o'er the deep 
Till the rent ocean heaves like- agonizing forms, 

So terribly the soul appal 
As that one gaze in Pilate's hall 
Shook to his moral root a recreant man ! 
Apostate as he there denied 
That Lord, to Whom his worship cried, 
" Though all desert Thee, Christ ! my spirit 



Dungeon, nor death, nor chains, 
Nor all which persecution gains, 
Should tempt him from The Truth to fly ; 
Though all betray'd Him, he would stand 
Faithful among a faithless band, 
And boldly for His Lord exult to bleed, or die ! 

Resolve then reign'd in ardent power ; 
And feeling hued that full-toned hour 
With the rich colour hearts delight to show, 
In some rapt mood when men appear 
Sublimed above unhallow'd fear, 
And with celestial warmth reflect an angel's 
glow. 

In such high noon of seraph-zeal, 
Our breasts an inspiration feel 
Lifting us far beyond each low-born aim ; 
Wing'd thoughts surmount the walls of 

time, 
And waft us to that world sublime 
Where Heaven's clear arches ring with Christ's 
resounded name. 

But He, to Whom all hearts lie bared, 
In that flush'd moment then declared 
How thrice, e'er yet the wakeful bird would 
crow, 
The saint who seem'd so nobly fired 
As if by heaven's own warmth inspired, 
Vanquished by shameful dread, — would all his 
vows forego ! 

And more or less than Man were he 
Unmoved who in this hour could see 
A brave Apostle from His banner fly : 
Assaulted by Satanic power 
And sifted in that searching hour, 
Thrice did his caitiff mouth the Lord of Love 
deny ! 

If mortal pain could mar the rest 
Which broods within an angel's breast, 
Sure might St. Peter's crime have drawn his 
tear, — 
Who swore with ireful oath untrue 
He ne'er the blest Redeemer knew, 
And sacrificed his vow upon the shrine of 
fear. 

But, while a third denial hung 
With impious accent on his tongue, 
Behold ! the crowing of the cock began ; 
And back with its reverted gaze 
Bedimm'd with more than tearful haze, 
Look'd the calm Eye of Christ on that apostate 
man ! 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 141 


He " look'd," — oh, what a look was there 


There while he weeps a bitter shower 


Of pity, love, rebuke, and prayer ! 


Of anguish in this rueful hour, 


Angelic, human, and divine the spell 


Lord of our spirits ! may his teardrops fall 


Wielded by Christ in that dread gaze 


In healthful virtue o'er each heart, 


Which then on Peter poured its rays, 


That little dreams how Satan's art 


Till down his weeping heart before it writhed, 


To more than Peter's crime may soon betray 


and fell ! 


us all. 


'Twas but a glance, and yet it cleaved 


Yea, doth not our baptismal vow 


The veil asunder, which had weaved 


Bend o'er us like a burden now, 


A hiding darkness round that trait'rous 


And crush pale conscience into sacred tears 1 


heart : 


For, leagued with flesh, and fiend, and 


It open'd each vile gulf within 


world, 


Where lurk the powers of latent sin, 


Oh, have we not to nothing hurl'd 


And made him from himself to shudder back, 


The awful promise made, — that God should 


and start. 


have our years ? 


By day, by night, where'er he went, 


For gold, or pride, or pomp, and pleasure 


As o'er his head the firmament, 


As though they form'd divinest treasure, 


Thus o'er his heart with holiness and light 


How basely have we barter'd mind and 


That piercing glance of Jesu cast 


wiU! 


Celestial power, where'er he pass'd, 


Betraying our predestined cross, 


And overarch'd his soul with meaning, and 


That we should count our life a loss, 


with might. 


Except for Christ we lived, self-crucified and 
still. 


'Twas with him, when he watch'd or wept, 


Or fasted, toil'd, or woke, or slept ; 


Sole Healer of the wounded heart ! 


Hunger'd and roofless, wearied, rack'd and 


Who now ensphered in glory art, 


worn, — 


When Peter-like, our prostrate vows we 


By shore, or sea, abroad, at home, 


break, 


Where'er his pilgrim zeal could roam, 


Let no red lightnings of Thy wrath 


Here was the guiding Star, that watch'd him, 


Flash their dread fury o'er our path, 


though forlorn. 


Nor regal thunder-tones Thy terrors o'er us 




wake, — 


In prison, and o'er chains, it threw 




A glory which that angel knew, 


But turn Thee with subduing eye, 


Who saw his features radiant in repose, 


And from Thy bliss beyond the sky 


When calm as cradled infant's breath 


Look, as Thou didst on Thine apostle's fears : 


He slept upon the brink of death,* 


So melt us into anguish true, 


In some fond dream of Christ, forgetful of his 


Till Penitence our treason rue 


woes. 


And bathe Thy mercy-seat with love's remorse- 




ful tears. 


And will not fond Devotion say, 




That when his form inverted lay 
In bleeding anguish on the cross oppress'd, 






That still the gaze from Jesu's eye 




Beam'd on his soul, till life's last sigh 


THE GATES OF LIFE. 


Wafted the spirit home to its loved Saviour's 




breast ] 


"Wide is the gate and broad is the way that leadeth 




to destruction . . . strait is the gate and narrow is 




the way that leadeth unto life." — Matt. vii. 13, 14. 


But in this page of man may we, 




As in some truthful mirror see 


Grief, more than revelation tells, 


Reflected warnings, which may well o'erawe 


Shaded The Lord of Glory's heart, 


The boldest, who believe they stand 


Where slept within its aching cells 


Like rocks of faith, in self-command, 


Deep woes no earth-breathed words 


As did Saint Peter once, before his heart he 


impart ; 


saw. 


Pure is the Bible, and a perfect book, — 

But Christ had depths where Language could 




* Acts xii. 6. 


not look ! 



142 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



All echoless by worded sign 

Some buried pangs there must have been ; 
And saint, nor angel can divine 

What pass'd behind that mental screen 
Where in dread myst'ry, voiceless, lone, and 

deep, 
Pale thoughts of Christ did o'er man's future 
weep. 

Tongue cannot speak, nor soul conceive 

The gloom which blacken'd o'er His mind, 
When thoughts prophetic bade him grieve 
O'er sinful wrecks of sad mankind ; 
Sorrow like this might soften hearts of stone, 
But, ah ! how infinite His pangs unknown ! 

For each lost soul the bloody sweat 

And crimson tide of anguish flow'd, 
And in His righteous spirit met 
All penal claims to justice owed, 
For sins beyond what mortal numbers count, — 
So vast the myriads of their vile amount ! 

But more He felt, who bled for man, 

When from His cross uprear'd on earth 
His Prescience saw that sacred plan 
By angels deem'd of priceless worth, 
Attract but " few," for whom His Mercy died, 
To bear the cross, and love the Crucified. 

Of all dark burdens which oppress 

And crush warm spirits into woe, 
Ingratitude from those we bless 

Outweighs the direst hearts can know ; 
Fiends may abhor, but never can betray 
The Souls which trust, and for them toil and 
pray. 

But how did uncreated Love 
A sacrifice divine achieve ! 
When God emerged from light above, 
Around His awful head to weave 
A thorny crown, this forfeit- world to save, 
And roll'd thick darkness from the hideous 
grave. 

Yet, when the unborn Ages rose 

Before Him, in His parting breath, 
And He beheld what creedless foes 
Would still deny His priestly death, 
A deeper sadness must have pierced His heart, 
Than all which sacrificial pangs impart. 

Two paths He saw, two gates appear' d, 

Contracted one, the other wide ; 
Along the last, unfelt, unfear'd, 

What myriads rush'd, for whom He died ! — 
Broad as their wills, and wild as Passion's law 
The way of ruin which for them He saw. 



But o'er that strict and narrow way 
So wisely hemm'd by holy Truth, 
He mark'd a sainted number stray, 
Faithful as few, to age from youth : 
Such are the souls, who count this World no loss 
When they have nail'd it to th' atoning cross. 

So is it now, to saints who read 

The moral scenes of tempted man, 
By that pure light blest angels need * 
Before they learn the mystic plan, 
Whereby the wisdom of God's secret Will 
Winds its clear way through vice, and virtue still, 

Ambition's fretting pride of thought, 
The Hero's falsely-worshipp'd fame, 
With all that mock Renown hath wrought 
To gild the nothing of a name, — 
Are baseless dreams, unsanctified and vile, 
A nd only blast the victims they beguile. 

Learning, and Art, and lofty Mind, 

Unless beneath the Cross they grow, 
Prove but mere forms of Self refined, 
Whose " broad way " leads to final woe ; 
Sin changes not, howe'er by spells array'd, 
And out of Christ, what are we, but betray'd 1 

" Broad is the way," — oh, crushing thought ! 
Which must have made Emmanuel sigh, 
To see the Soul His anguish bought 
- But live to sin, and love to die, — 
Enter the " wide gate " with a maniac glee, 
And quench bad mirth in glooms of agony ! 

" Narrow the path," — but, yet it leads 
To Life's consummate goal of bliss ; 
And though their self-denial bleeds, 
Children of light will enter this ; 
Though few in number, round their heavenward 

ways 
Hover the glorious Dead of elder days. 

O'er such high path decreed by God, 
Led by The Spirit, let me roam ; 
For where my Saviour's feet have trod 
Bright footprints point me to His home, — 
That City clothed with more than crystal rays, 
Her gates salvation, and whose walls are praise. 

Patriarch and prophet, priest and saint, 

Denial's road to heaven preferr'd ; 
And when their sunken hearts grew faint, 
They listen'd for that living Word 
Which warbled round them in the deepest 

night, 
" My yoke is easy, and my burden light ! " 



* Eph. iii. 10. 



SPIRITUAL DECLINE. 

" Oh that I were as in months past, as in the days 
when God preserved me ; when his candle shined 
upon my head . . . when the secret of God was 
upon my tabernacle." — Job xxix. ii. 2 — 4. 

" Oh ! that with me, as in the months of yore, 
My heart were basking in the smile of God, 

When all I saw the sweet impression bore 
His eye o'erwatch'd me through the way I 
trod. 

" Then did the candle of Jehovah beam 
With loving radiance o'er my rising hours, 

And life roll'd onward like a happy stream 
Which carols music to the list'ning flowers. 

" Bright with the dews of pure devotion, lay 
My spirit open to each breath from heaven ; 

And all who saw me, in their hearts might 
say,— 
Dead paradise re-blooms in sin forgiven ! 

" Precious was Christ ! beyond angelic speech 
In might or melody to e'er reveal ; 

Nor could the songs of sainted rapture reach 
All His incarnate glories made me feel. 

" Dear was the temple, and the hour of prayer, 
And dear the spirit of that ritual Whole 

When all my faculties were hallow'd there, 
And heaven seem'd dawning on my inmost 
soul. 

" And when the emblems of embodied Love 
Bleeding for man, to my awed sense were 
brought, 
Like Stephen, view'd I in the world above 
The Christ, by whom a sacrament is 
wrought." — 

Thus moans in secret many a voiceless heart 
Heavy with gloom, and harrow'd by dis- 
tress ; 

Dull, cold, or dead, as grace and gift depart 
And leave the sad One to his loneliness. 

Yet, dark believer ! may such woeful strain 
Issue from shades of cowardice and sin; 

And what thou dreamest a majestic pain, 
May prove the sign of hollo wness within ! 

There is a trinity in mortal time 

By past, by present, and by future made ; 

And, Conscience wields a potency sublime 
When each before her stands, in truth 
array'd. 



Then must we feel how time's divisions mould 
One character, in which our fate will rest ; 

Eternity in seed we thus behold 

As heaven, or hell, now ripens in the 
breast ! 

Oh, then, not idly, with a weak lament 

Sigh o'er some privilege, which breathes no 
more; 
Religion scorns a laggard discontent 

That feebly sickens in pale dreams of 
yore. 

Not grace from thee, but thou from God hast 
gone, 
By cold illapse declining day by day ; 
Or from the paths which lead true virtue on 
Turn'd into tracks which tempt the soul 
away. 

Cold in thy prayer, in praise reluctant grown, 
Seldom at church, the Eucharist forgot, 

Thy creed, self-will, no master but thine 
own, — 
Behold ! the secret which explains thy lot. 

Obedience is religion's breath of life ; 

Constant and pure denials must we bear ; 
Each day should be with crucifixion rife, 

Each hour be hallowed with the soul of 
prayer. 

Saints learn by loving, and by love they live ; 
Who walk with God, must from themselves 
depart ; 
And Peace descends not from her Prince 
above, 
Except for God faith purify the heart. 

Mourners in Zion oft are minds which fail 
To hold their Master's cross supreme in 
view; 
Or let some lust o'er discipline prevail 

That renders them to church, and creed 
untrue. 

Thus, like a secret rust the world begins 
Eating its way, until our hearts corrode ; 

Pleasure and profit veil their inward sins, 
And wide as passion seems the " narrow " 
road. 

From virgin youthfulness the Soul declines 
When from both God and grace it dares to 
roam, 

And can no longer through the Word Divine 
Shelter the heart, in true affection's home. 



144 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



" Oh ! that with me as in pure moments past 
My God were present/'- -vain such cry, 
indeed, 

Unless Repentance thy worn spirit cast 
Low at the mercy-seat to lie, and bleed. 

Leave sigh and sentiment for Duty's cross, 
Haste thee to works of sacrifice and prayer ; 

Count a gain'd world to be a gloomy loss 
And prize hereafter as thy holy care : 

So may the smile of Godhead back return 
Effulging o'er thee, as in days of old ; 

Dead in thyself, to live in Jesu learn, 

And round His throne God's covenant * 
behold. 

Earth, sense, and time will more and more 
recede, 
Conscience be cleansed, and childlike prayer 
arise ; 
Eternity will grow thy grandest need, 

God be thy goal, and heaven thy genial 
prize. 



GUIDING TENDERNESS OF GOD. 

"I will instruct thee ... I will guide thee with 
rnine eye." — Ps. xxxii. 8. 

By gentleness, God, 

Thou wouldst Thy children lead 
O'er perill'd ways, by martyrs trod, 
Or through life's verdant mead : 
Not the stern rod of discipline to wield 
Does Thy pure Grace, apart from sin, 
incline ; 
But when reluctant hearts refuse to yield 
Some iron law instructs the spirit that is 
Thine. 

Yet were we like a child 
Loving, and pliant too, 
Thy perfect guidance pure as mild 

Would guard Life's opening view ; 
E'en as a glance by some fond parent turn'd 

On her frail little one, who waits to see 
Those looks where young affection's lore is 
learn'd, — 
So would one gleam of grace attract our souls 
to Thee. 

Oh, for a watchful heart ! 
A waiting mind of prayer, 
To view Thee, gracious as Thou art, 
" Our Father ! " everywhere. 



Rev. iv. 3; v. 



Orphan'd in soul, nor friendless, should we 
seem, 
Did but the mind a sacred vigil keep ; 
For ever would Thy guardian eye-glance 
beam, — 
Star of our troubled life, both when we smile, 
or weep ! 

Unless we watch that " Eye," 
Thy Will we cannot read ; 
For, softer than a vernal sky 
It dawns on human need 
In gleam and glance, no prayerless hearts 
discern, 
And Love's unwatchful gaze may oft 
forego : — 
Only by looking upward, can we learn 
Wisdom divinely bland, to chasten weal and 



Bend, pride of Reason ! bend, 
Become a little child ; 
And heaven to thee will condescend 
In wisdom undefiled ; 
Oft where the haughty Scribes of learning 
fail 
God to discern in truth's unerring page, 
Infants of grace by simple love prevail, 
Wing'd by the Spirit's power to heights beyond 
their age. 

Then grant us, gracious Lord ! 
In Thy blest page to see 
The faintest beam a heaven-bright word 
Imparts from truth, and Thee; 
Mild as the radiance of celestial love, 

So will each promise, threat, and precept 
dart 
Glances of truth, — as if God's eye above 
Were gazing through them, to inspire the heart. 



POETRY OF CLOUDS AND SKIES. 

"Number the clouds in wisdom." — Job. xxxviii. 37. 
"God rideth in his excellency on the sky." — 
Deut. xxxiii. 26. "The firmament showeth his 
handy-work." — Ps. xix. 1. 

A speaking magic in poetic skies 
Affects the soul, and fascinates the eyes ; 
Look where we may, some cloud-born grace we 

find 
To shade the mirror of responsive mind. 

And why did God thus beauteously array 
Calm noon, chaste eve, and re-commencing day, 
But that our echoing minds should inly feel 
How heaven and poetry to man appeal 1 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



145 



Lord of the woods, and wares, and living air ! 
All lead to Thee when purified by prayer ; 
Connecting thus with beauty, colour, grace, 
The dying mercy which redeem'd our race. 

Let but Thy merit through creation shine, 
And what was common, now becomes divine ; 
The beautiful on earth, the bright above, 
Are open sacraments which preach Thy love. 

How rich the consecrated dome of heaven, 
"When to sqme priest at Nature's shrine is given 
The power, in all ethereal forms to see 
Symbols and signs of present Deity ! 

The skies have meanings ; and emotion seems 
Oft to array them with impassion'd gleams, — 
Colours intense, as if a conscious hue 
Blush'd o'er its birth, and brighten'd at our 
view. 

Painters and poets from the skies have brought 
Fancies and feelings, to inspire their thought : 
Beauty is there ; and sentiment can rise 
To noble pathos in the naked skies. 

Home of the seasons ! and the haunt of 

storms, 
Now fierce with gloom, now fair with opal 

forms, 
Dark in thy strength, or smiling in thy play, 
I love thy magic, and revere its sway. 

But most I hail thee, golden, calm, and deep, 
When isles of radiance on thy bosom sleep ; 
Or robe-like clouds in rich confusion lie, 
As though veil'd angels floated up the sky 

Garb'd in the vesture of thy woven sheen, 
And left an outline where their veils had been : — 
So exquisitely touch'd the tinted air, 
Seraphic creatures might be mansion'd there. 

And who can tell, since first the heavens have 

spann'd 
Their arching glories over sea and land, 
"What vast impressions from yon varied skies 
Have soothed man's spirit, while it charm'd 

his eyes? 

When to the captive, through his dungeon-bar 
Gleams of blue heaven come glancing from 

afar, 
Through fields of childhood Fancy seems to 

roam 
And wind the pathway freedom wound at 

home. 



And think how Sickness, when the pulse 

renews 
Its beat of vigour, hails yon skyey views, 
While with new gush of health each glance of 

love 
Seems to be answer' d, when it looks above. 

There memory, too, and meditation find 
Symbolic hues to mirror forth the mind ; 
Sky and the soul like sympathies can meet, 
Till what our hearts express, the clouds 
repeat. 

And when, pure Lord of loneliness and woe ! 
We dream Thy pilgrimage of pain below, 
Faith may conceive, full oft Thine harass'd eye 
Drank the deep quiet of congenial sky. 

And as ascending to Thy throne of light 

A cloud receiv'd Thee from the spell-bound 

sight 
Of those sad watchers, who beheld Thee soar 
Back to the bliss where Thou wert throned 

before, 

So when our hearts the sweep of heaven 

survey 
And solemn fancies o'er its surface play, 
Let not religion this true thought disdain, — 
A cloud * shall waft Thee to our world again. 



TWILIGHT OF OUR BEING. 

"One day, known to the Lord, not day, nor night." — 
Zech. xiv. 7. "Jesus said, "What I do thou 
knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." 
— Johnsiii. 7. 

" Though what I do ye know not now 
Hereafter sainted hearts shall see," 
Saviour ! before that will we bow 
And learn our cross by loving Thee : 
Grant to our souls the grace on God to live, 
And clasp the counsel which Thy precepts 
give. 

Such partial light and shade become 

The vexed life our bosoms feel ; 
For, could we clearly view the home 

Which yonder shrines in heaven conceal, 
How should we turn with loathing sense away 
From those stern duties, which demand each 
day! 



Rev. 



146 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



All light would make our hearts presume, 

All darkness end in black despair ; 
But God has so arranged the gloom 
As best becomes the cross we bear : — 
An ampler vision might elate the mind, 
And deeper shadows would eclipse mankind. 

" We know in part," and part of this 
How weakly can the wisest know ! 
Our purest heavens of hallow'd bliss 
Are tinged with soiling earth below : 
Put into language, oft doth wisdom seem 
The broken semblance of a baseless dream. 

Such clouds and darkness round the path 

Of God to man encircled lie, 
That he who heavenly science hath 
This awful truth will scarce deny, — 
That earth seems moist with melancholy tears 
Dropt from the eyelids of some thousand Years. 

Yet sorrow is the penal bane 

Attemper'd to a world of sin ; 
For where our God hath ceased to reign 
Darkness and death must enter in ; 
And saintly eyes should learn to see by prayer 
Truths Avhich transcend what mortal lips 
declare. 



THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 

' ' Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is 
with thee: blessed art thou among women." — 
Luke i. 28. 

Ave Maria ! blest o'er women all 

Who e'er on earth embodiment have found, 

Maiden and mother, both in thee we call 
With peerless favour by Jehovah crown'd. 

Ave Maria ! virgin meek and mild, 

Unstain'd by passion's soul-polluting fires, 
Faith cannot view thee with thine awful 
Child, 
Nor thrill with more than sentiment in- 
spires. 

Ave Maria ! since thy sex began, 

Woman presents no type to rival thee; 

Nor can the feelings of a fallen man 
Echo thy thoughts of inward purity. 

Ave Maria ! o'er the Babe Divine 

Bending with awe, maternally entranced, 
How must have throbb'd that vestal heart of 
thine, 
On Jesu's forehead when thy fond eyes 
glanced ! 



Pure are the fountains of parental love 
Whose depths of bliss ineffable remain ; 

Not the deep ravishment of lyres above 

Could e'er attune it with too sweet a strain : 

But thou, o'ershadow'd with The Spirit's power, 
By heaven's bright herald hail'd supremely 
blest, 
What hallowing mystery clothed that sacred 
hour 
When hung the Child-God on thy virgin 
breast ! 

Boundless eternity and breathing time 
Blend in communion at thine awful bliss, 

And bid us wonder, in a trance sublime, 
That earth was hallow'd by a scene like this. 

The purest image saintly Thought can see 

Of maiden calm, with motherhood combined, 
Becomes too earth-born when compared with 
thee, 
Nursing The Babe whose Blood redeem'd 
mankind. 

Well may the poet's harp, and painter's hue, 
With all that Sculpture's marble-dreams 
express, 

Become ethereal, when they bring to view 
Outlines which hint thy solemn loveliness. 

Yet can chaste minds, beyond all visual show, 
By thought create what reverence demands, 

Ave Maria ! when our hearts o'erflow 
To see the God-Babe in thy vestal hands. 

Feeling and Faith, with poesy and prayer, 
Mingle their charms to make one beauteous 
spell, 

And what no melodies, nor hues declare, 
Our hush'd emotions unto Godhead tell. 



MAEIOLATRY. 

"Jesus saith unto her, "Woman! what have I to do 
with thee? Mine hour is not yet come." — John 
ii. 4. "I fell at his feet to worship him: and he 
said unto me, See thou do it not! I am thy 
fellow-servant : — worship God." — Rev. xix. 10. 

And yet, forbid it, reason, faith, and love, 
Both mortal powers, and Attributes divine, 

Ave Maria ! that as Queen above, 

The worship due to God should ere be thine. 



THE CHRISTIAN" LIFE. 



14' 



Honour'd and holy, blest indeed wert thou, — 
To be the mother of His mortal frame 

Before Whose face the universe shall bow 
While rapt eternity resounds His name ! 

The stain, that tempted Eve on woman brought, 
Ave Maria ! is by thee reversed, — 

Mother of Him whose dying merit wrought 
A ransom for the race by Sin accursed. 

So to the Church's heart be ever dear, 

Anointed Virgin ! 'mong all women blest ; 

High o'er thy sex, we none like thee revere 
Within whose womb incarnate God could 
rest. 



But ah ! we dare not, from the Lord of Lords 
Rob the due glory which to God pertains ; 

Nor crown a creature with adoring words, 
And echo " Queen of Heaven ! " with impious 
strains.* 



Not sinless wert thou, in the sight of Him 
From whose dread gaze the blushing heavens 
retire,+ 
While round His Throne the o'erawed seraphim 
Prostrate their crowns, and cast their 
quiv'ring lyre. 

They tell us, how all deeps of tender grace 
Fresh in thy heart abide for evermore ; 

And when the contrite seek thy pitying face, 
Those wells are open'd, and the faint 
restore ; 

But, blest Redeemer ! what is finite love 
Though most ideal in sublime excess, 

With that compared, which drew God from 
above 
To agonise for our dark guiltiness 1 — 



* Bishop Bull's sermon -will at once recur to the 
devout memory of every churchman, on the true 
e mi nence which the Virgin Mary ought to occupy in 
his esteem. Moreover, in "A Proposal," &c, drawn 
up by the non-jurors, Collier, Spinkes, and Campbell, 
for a union with the Orthodox Greek Church, the 
distinction between what is, and what is not, due, to 
the Blessed Virgin, is well put. "Though they call 
the mother of our Lord Blessed, and magnify the 
grace of God, which so highly exalted her, yet are 
they afraid of giving the glory of God to a creature, or 
to run into any extreme by blessing and magnifying 
her ; and do hence rather choose to bless and magnify 
God, for the high grace conferred upon her, and for 
the benefits which we receive by that means." — 
Lathbury's Nonjurors, pp. 315, 316. 
t Job xv. 15. 



Less than a raindrop to the boundless sea, 
The vastest love created souls can feel 

When rank'd by His, who clothed Divinity 
With flesh, and sufler'd all that man could 
feel! 

Ave Maria ! were thy vestal glow 

Of pity purer than blind error dreams, 

Yet unto Christ dost thou thy nature owe, 
And all thy goodness from His spirit 
streams. 

But when they dare this awful dream 
propound, — 

That e'en as mother o'er a son prevails, 
So at thy plea all grace and gifts abound 

And at thy prayer His goodness never fails ! 

They say the sunbeam can enrich the sun 
From whose bright essence its fair beauty 
flows ! — 

By such false creed from blinding fancy won, 
Which gives to Mary what to Christ she owes. 

Ye pious martyrs of a faith untrue, 

Who from the fount of God's unfathom'd 
heart 
Turn to broke cisterns, whence dark Ages drew 

Deluding errors that will not depart, 

Mercy and Grace in Christ embodied live ; 

Straight from His love let each repenting 
Soul 
Draw the true pardon He alone can give, 

Nor dream that woman can a God control ! 

That creed is sacrilege which dares deny 
The sympathies His bleeding Manhood 
learn'd, 
When Christ from glory came to weep and die, 
And back to heaven with human heart 
return'd. 

Away with doubt ! men want no Virgin's plea, 
No angel, saint, nor martyr's prayer to bring, 

To gain the mercy which endures in Thee 
Thou of all grace the unexhausted Spring ! 

Ave Maria ! maid and mother blest, 

High above woman soar'd thy peerless lot ; 

And with due rev'rence on thy name we rest, 
But shrink to credit what thy truth is not. 

And oh, in yonder beatific light 

Could thy deep calm be ruffled into care, 

As creature, thou might'st shudder at the sight 
Of sinners, prostrate at thy throne, in 
prayer ! 



l 2 



148 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Ave Maria ! this dread thought o'erpowers 
And awes the suppliant, who might worship 
thee, — 

That Jesus is thy* Saviour too, and ours, 
The same in time, as in eternity, f 



* Luke i. 46, 47. 

t On the Assumption and Immaculate Conception 

of the Virgin Mary. 

' ' Helas ! que pouvoit etre la terre pour elle ; pour 
elle, dis-je, qui avoit deja au ciel l'objet de toute sa 
teudresse? Qui est-ce qui eut 6t€ capable de la con- 
soler dans ce lieu d'exil, dans cette vallee de larmes ? 
. . . Elle n'avoit plus rien en ce monde. JCsus 1'avoit 
quittee. Ce n'etoient point les dangers dont elle Ctoit 
environnee, ni les persecutions qui soufiroit deja 
l'Eglisse naissante, qui la degoutoient de la vie; ce 
n'e"toit point la gloire et le triomphe qui lui Ctoient 
preparers au ciel, qui lui faisoient desirer la mort: 
e'e'toit uniquement Je"sus-Christ, dont elle ne pouvoit 
sans douleur se voir separee. Toute sa vie n'e'toit, 
selon les termes de Saint Augustin, qu'un desir per- 
pe"tuel, qu'un long geroissement. " — Fenelon's Works, 
vol. ii. p. 390, Paris Edition, 1835. 

As the object of the "Christian Life" is not to 
provoke controversial discussion, but rather, under 
the divine blessing, to deepen and purify spiritual 
tendencies within, through the sympathies and the sen- 
timents, — the Author of these Lyrics does not intro- 
duce dogmatic theology and dubious subjects into 
them. Meanwhile, as the Roman Church has lately 
endeavoured to canonise a new article of faith, 
touching what is termed "the Immaculate Con- 
ception;" and since the truth or' falsehood of this 
dogma cannot hold a neutral position in the realm of 
Christian doctrine, a Churchman will not object to 
some transient remarks on this subject, in the form 
of a note. 

The Anglican doctrine, then, on the place of rever- 
ence which the Blessed Virgin ought to occupy in 
the Church, is apparent from the services appointed 
to commemorate what is due to the Mother of 
Emmanuel. Moreover, an English Churchman of the 
true Catholic type, will at once recall the admirable 
sermon of Bishop Bull, in relation to the Virgin Mary. 
But when, from the English Church, we revert to the 
doctrine, ritual, and practical worship of the Romish 
Church, — fearful indeed is the distance between her 
and ourselves! To illustrate this, the reader who 
has travelled into Belgium, Italy, Piedmont, and 
Savoy, needs not to be reminded that the worship of 
the Virgin has almost absorbed, among the people, the 
adoration exclusively due to her Divine Son, and so 
completely subordinated Architecture, Painting, Music, 
and Poetry, that Mariolatry is the dreadful atmosphere 
in which the great mass of the people are reared and 
educated from their very earliest years. Omitting, 
however, a mere geographical view of this subject, 
and, assuming it for granted, that no real Catholic, as 
distinguished from a Romanist, requires to be told 
neither reason nor revelation sustains the Roman 
Communion in her doctrines concerning the Virgin, 
let us look at the subject in a more direct point of 
view. 

The Romish doctrine on the Virgin Mary must, of 
course, be drawn and described from her own authentic 
representations. Now, among the most solemn utter- 
ances of her practical faith, we may assuredly refer to 



OUR TRUE CENTRE. 

"Return unto me, for I have redeemed thee." 

Isa. xliv. 22. 

" And ye shall find rest for your souls." 

Jtr. vi. 10. 

Our centre true is God alone, 

In whom man's aching breast 
Beneath the shadow of His Throne 
Can find a perfect rest ; 
For less than God enjoy'd, would leave within 

us still 
A fev'rish want of soul, the Finite cannot fill. 



her ritual service ; and if we do so, in relation to the 
subject before us, we find she dedicates two Feasts 
unto the honour of the Virgin, in neither of which can 
the Anglican Church, as truly Catholic, take a part. 
One of these festivals is entitled "The Feast of the 
Immaculate Conception," and the other (celebrated 
annually on the 15th of August,) "The Feast of the 
Assumption." Of the latter, Alban Butler (vol. viii. 
p. 173,) says, — "The Assumption of the Virgin Mary 
is the greatest of all the Festivals which the Church 
celebrates in her honour. It is the consummation of 
all the other great mysteries by which her life was 
rendered most wonderful." And, if we proceed 
further to examine the Ritual of the Assumption, 
among other miraculous assertions, we find it again 
and again stated, either in spirit or in words, "To- 
day, Maiy the Virgin ascended the heavens." "Re- 
joice because she is reigning with Christ for ever. "... 
"Mary the Virgin is taken up into heaven, to the 
ethereal chamber in which the King of Kings sits 
upon his starry throne. The Holy Mother of God has 
been exalted above the choir of Angels to the heavenly 
realms." And to prevent the possibility of our mis- 
taking such language, as simply implying her 
' ' Assumption " in a mystical, or abstract sense, her 
corporeal, local, and literal ascension unto celestial 
glories is positively asserted in one of the " Lessons " 
for the day, in the following manner, — "She returned 
not to earth, but is seated in the heavenly tabernacles. 
How could earth devour, how could those below 
receive ? How could corruption invade that Body in 
which life was received ? For it, a direct, plain, and 
easy path to heaven was prepared ! " Such is Romish 
doctrine according to one of its most solemn 
standards ; but if we proceed to inquire, on what 
basis this religious Festival of the Virgin's Assumption 
rests, we shall be led to this irresistible conclusion, — 
The so-called "Assumption" is a pure fiction, an 
ecclesiastical fancy, a mere religious creation of a 
superstitious Church, who, by adopting unwarrantable 
ceremonies and fearful practices, has deified Creature- 
ship, and been seduced into the awful crime of open 
and palpable idolatry. "Were this the appropriate 
place for historical discussion, the fearful unreality of 
this "Assumption," and the utter want of Catholic 
tradition to sustain its truth, might easily be 
exposed. Meanwhile let it suffice just to remind the 
reader of two or three undeniable facts. First, then, 
neither Scripture, nor apostolical tradition, tells us 
one word as to the date, scene, time, or circumstances 
of the Virgin's de^th. Secondly, the reference in the 
"Chronicon" of Eusebms (a.d. 315), which is sup- 
posed to state that in the year of our Lord 48, " the 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



149 



Yet ruin'd years must haply roll 

In anguish, gloom, or woe 
Along the worn and wearied soul, 
Before the heart can know 
What broken cisterns prove the hollow joys 

we love, 
While hearts forsake The Fount of living bliss 
above. 



mother of Jesus was taken up into heaven, as some 
write that it had been revealed unto them," is ad- 
mitted by Romish historians themselves to be 
spurious. The seven manusoripts, for instance, of 
Eusebius's " Chronicon," in the Vatican, do not 
contain this passage. The edition of Eusebius, 
printed in Milan in 1S18, does not exhibit it ; nor is it 
to be found in a most careful edition of the same 
author, published by the monks in the Armenian 
convent, near Venice. Nor, if we refer to Gregory of 
Tours, do we find this doctrine of the Virgin's 
"Assumption" supported by aught which claims 
the dignity of Catholic tradition. Gregory died in 
595 a.d. ; and we will quote the words of his own 
Benedictine editor, which are appended to the 
following monstrous fable, delivered by the Bishop of 
Tours: — "At length, the course of this life having 
been fulfilled by the blessed Mary, when she was now 
called from the world, all the Apostles were gathered 
together from every region to her house ; and when 
they heard that she was to be taken from the world, 
they watched with her together. The Lord Jesus 
then came with his angels, and receiving her soul, 
delivered it to Michael the archangel, and withdrew ! ! 
At the dawn, the apostles took up her body, with the 
couch, and placed it in a tomb, and guarded it, 
waiting for the arrival of the Lord. And behold, 
again the Lord stood by them, and the holy corpse, 
taken up in a cloud, He ordered to be carried away 
into Paradise ! ! " &c. &c. On this preposterous 
fiction the Benedictine thus comments: — "What 
Gregory here relates concerning the death of the 
Blessed Virgin, and its circumstances, beyond a doubt 
he drew from that book of the Pseudo-Melito, con- 
cerning the removal of the Blessed Virgin, which is 
classed by Pope Gelasius among the apocryphal 
books, and published in the " Bibliotheca Patrum." 
Now, that she died at Ephesus, is the opinion of 
learned men ; but no one, before Gregory of Tours, is 
found to have asserted, in express words, the resur- 
rection of the Blessed Mary, and the Assumption of 
her body and her soul into heaven. Nevertheless, 
this opinion, not long after, prevailed in Gaul, so 
that it was even introduced into the Liturgy. Yet, 
the Roman Sacramentary of Gregory contained 
nothing of the kind. " After such historical proof as 
this, it is almost amusing to hear the eloquent, but 
credulous Bourdaloue, in one of his sermons, "sur 
L'Assomption, " coolly venturing the following 
statement : "II est certain, que Marie, entre tous les 
elus, a recu une grace supereminente, en vertu de 
quelle elle peut interceder pour nous aupres de Dieu, 
et, par une consequence ne"cessaire, il est certain que 
nous pouvent saintement et utilement, recourir a elle, 
et implorer dans nos besoins le secours de sa protec- 
tion. Cette verite", qui nous est plus que suffisamment 
revelee de Dieu, et dont toute la tradition est un 
authentique temoignage [!!] se trouve d'ailleurs si 
conforme a tous les principes du bon sens, et de la 
raison, que cela seul suffiroit pour confendre l'obsti- 



This world is wound with fatal spells 

Attracting youthful Sense ; 
And each gay scene some falsehood tells 
To mar life's innocence : 
Nothing but grace divine can disenchant the 

Earth 
And bid the soul aspire for what becomes its 
birth. 



nation de l'heresie, qui la rejette, et qui la combat." — 
(Sermons "Sur les Mysteres." Tome Second: 
A Liege, 1724.) 

With reference to "The Immaculate Conception," 
our remarks, for the present, must be exceedingly 
limited. Without, then, pausing to develop the 
many fearful consequences this impious dogma 
involves, in relation to those peculiarities which 
distinguish the Redeemer from all other beings, as 
Incarnated Deity, — let us be permitted to refer unto 
one heretical fallacy which appears to underlie all 
Romish statements on this subject; and it seems to 
be in this fact, — that the advocates for the Immaculate 
Conception virtually attribute unto the corporeal 
substance of the Virgin a species of meritorious 
activity in the awful and ineffable mystery of the 
Incarnation. Now, if we diligently ponder over the 
terms of the Angelic Annunciation (Luke ii. 31), it 
will be found that in the mere act of conception, the 
Virgin Mary is contemplated simply as passively 
influenced by the conceiving omnipotence of the 
Divine Spirit. "The power of the Highest shall 
overshadow thee ; therefore, also, that holy thing 
which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of 
God. " In these sublime words it is undeniable that 
the statement of the Incarnation proceeds downward 
from the creative agency of the Holy Ghost, and does 
not, in any degree, lift up the Virgin Mary into a com- 
mon or coequal agency with the Almighty Conceiver. 
Indeed, the more we contemplate such a dogma, the 
more repulsive it appears both to human reverence 
and to Catholic verity. Nor does the Nicene Symbol, 
as adopted by the Second CEcumenical Synod at Con- 
stantinople, neglect to shadow forth the distinction 
between a creatural organ and an Uncreated Effluent, 
when the Western Church uses it, with this marked 
alteration from that of the East, as thus: "was in- 
carnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary," and 
not "was incarnate by the Holy Ghost am) the Virgin 
Mary." 

Independent, however, of this most significative 
testimony, we can refer to the language of a writer 
pre-eminently revered by the Romish Communion as 
orthodox and Catholic, — we allude to St. Bernard of 
Clairvieux. In his 174th Epist. (Paris Ed., 1839, 8vo. 
Vol. i., p. 389), after speaking of the Virgin in these 
dangerous terms : "Prsedica reverendam Angelis, 
desideratam gentibus, Patriarchis, Prophetisque prse- 
cognitam, electam ex omnibus, praelatam omnibus. 
Magnifica gratise inventricem, " etc, he nevertheless 
thus argues : "Casterum quatenus originale peccatum 
haec ipsa sanctificatio valuerit, sive pro ipsa, sive pro 
ilia propheta, vel si quis alius simili prseventus gratia} 
fuerit, — non temere dixerim. " Again : — " Propter ean- 
dem causam etiam utrique parenti ejus festos honores 
asserat deferendos '? Se de avis et proavisidipsum posset 
pro simih causa, quilibet flagitare et sic tenderetur in 
infinitum, " &c. &c. Towards the end of this remark- 
able epistle, the illustrious abbot writes thus, "Ubi 
erit praerogativa Matris Domini, qua singulariter 



150 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



A fascinating mist o'erveils 

Bewilder' d time, and space, 
When passion's demon-power prevails, 
And lures a sensual race 
To dream polluted earth a paradise can be, 
And mould imagined heavens apart from 
Deity. 

The bloom of hope, the bliss of health, 

The bounding thoughts of joy, 
"With all that springs from tyrant wealth, 
What myriads they decoy ! 
Till glory, truth, and grace, and bliss by promise 

given, 
From souls recede away, and let this world 
seem heaven ! 

But worst of all base spells that blind 

The conscience with deceit, 
Is that which makes our God mankind, 
And bows us at their feet, 
Awaiting till they crown by some awarded 

praise, 
The nothing Fashion gilds with her inglorious 
rays. 

Alas ! for those who madly think 

Immortal Nature can 
From lips of transient homage drink 
What truly freshens man, 
While deep within the soul a thirsting sense 

abides 
For something nobler far than fame's uncertain 
tides. 

Since what is fame, but second-life 

In other spirits led 1 
A feeling with this impulse rife, — 
That our creations spread 
Ideal worlds of thought, through which we love 

to roam, 
And find in kindled hearts a false, but fancied 
home ? 

But thou, believer, think on this, — 

God is our only rest ; 
And he who worships finite bliss 

Will live and die unblest : 



creditur exultare et munere prolis, et integritate 
carnis, si tantuindem dederis et matrii psius ? Non est 
hoc Virgineni honorare, sed honori detrahere." Upon 
the whole, we affirm the daring charge which Fehelon 
has brought against the Anglican Churches in one of 
his sermons for Epiphany, is applicable unto Eome, 
and not unto ourselves : ' ' Eompant le sacre lien de 
runite", qui peut seul retenir les esprits, s'est livree a, 
toutes les visions de son coeur." — Tome Deuxieme. 
Paris. 1835. 



The infinitely good man's true proportion 

makes, 
And every gift but Christ the trusting heart 

forsakes. 

'Tis true, the subject World is ours ;* 

But only when we wave 
Heaven's banner o'er its hostile powers, 
And for the Truth are brave ; 
Thus panoplied by grace, and girt by secret 

prayer, 
We face embattled Fiends, and fight them 
everywhere. 

But never be this creed forgot, 

That men are exiles here ; 
And they who seek a heavenly lot 
Must love a heav'nly sphere ; 
And oft in soaring dreams of purity ascend 
To yon celestial Home, where saints and 
martyrs tend. 

The Spirit's love breathes now, or never, 

When souls for God are train'd 
Till mortal vice and evil sever 

From bosoms, where they reign'd : 
For by this truth intense all mighty Hearts 

must live, — 
Eternity will rue what time doth not forgive. 

Hail, vast Relief of souls who love, 

Lord of regenerate hearts ! 
Faith can discern in Thee above 
A glory which imparts 
Far more than angel-life, to all who seek for 

rest 
And their hereafter lay, like John,+ upon 
Thy breast. 

As roll the waters to the wind 

A moment lifted high, 
So, swelling passion heaves the mind 
Upward to meet the sky ; 
But when the storm declines and waters cease 

to roar, 
The folded waves lie down as level as the 
shore : 

So is it with delirious joy 

Where mad excitements reign, 
Or, blind emotions man decoy 
Some glitt'ring lie to gain ; 
Raised and enrapt awhile, his heaven seems 

half begun, 
But when the dream resolves, unrest alone 
is won. 



1 Cor. iii. 21, 22. 



t John xiii. 23. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



151 



MOTHER'S GRIEF. 

"Weeping for her children because they are not." — 
Jer. xxxi. 15. 

The placid azure of thy pensive eyes 
Oh childless mother ! like dejected skies, 
With such dim tearfulness is overspread, 
It softly tells thou dreamest of the dead. 

Bereaved thou art of that unfathom'd bliss, 
A first-born infant ; and a pang like this 
Home to the centre hath thy spirit stirr'd, 
Too deep for sighs, too sacred for a word. 

Cold the wan beauty of thy sunken cheek ; 
And tones of pathos, when I hear thee speak, 
Ring like a knell which haunts sad Memory's 

ear, 
And melts warm feeling into woman's tear. 

Alone I view thee o'er the Bible bend, 
Till solitude becomes thy sainted friend ; 
While, rapt in stillness, oft the dreaming soul 
Wings its lone flight to where no earth-clouds 
roll. 

But wilt thou, mother, in this trance of gloom 
Hover and dream around thine infant's tomb 1 
Dark Fancy ! dars't thou lift the coffin-lid, 
And view in anguish what the grave hath hid ? 

Those dawning gleams of consciousness and 

grace, 
The chisell'd beauty, and the cherub-face, 
How oft doth speculation these recall, 
And tell thee thy sweet babe possess'd them 

all! 

And when some cry of infancy is heard, 
Like sleeping water by wild music stirr'd, 
Thy heart-strings vibrate to each plaintive tone 
As if that weeper were indeed thine own. 

But, lady, there is balm and blessing left, 
And healing words for hearts like thine bereft; 
No childless orphan can the Church become, 
Though Christ hath vanished to His viewless 
home ! 

Yet shall the Comforter on thee descend, 
And heaven-breathed solace with thy spirit 

blend ; 
The Lord surrounds thee, when thou seest Him 

not, 
And God must change, ere grief can be forgot. 



Be Grace thy refuge : calmer thoughts will 

rise 
And rays from heaven illume thine inward 

eyes; 
Till in their brightness loss becomes a gain, 
While God is thank'd for this mysterious pain. 

And now, bethink thee, to thy babe in heaven 
How much of glory hath Redemption given ! 
Worn by no race, at once it reach'd the goal, 
Sinless on earth, and now — a perfect Soul. 

Think, what a dignity to thee belongs 
Thus to have deepen'd the angelic songs, 
Thus to enrich with thy departed Gem 
The lustre of Emmanuel's diadem ! 

And feel'st thou not, when God and glory 

seem 
To awe thy Spirit with a solemn dream, 
An Infant makes the skies familiar be, 
And helps to humanise the heavens for thee 1 

Nor let harsh murmurs o'er thy doom arise 
As though God wrong'd the Saint His wisdom 

tries ; 
Sorrow befits a world where Jesu bled, 
And dust was borrow'd to receive Him dead.* 

In Christ, bereaved one ! for profoundest grief 
Dwells the pure source of all divine relief; 
To minds which echo thee, most dear thou 

art, 
But oh ! far dearer to thy Saviour's heart. 

That living Flow'ret which thy God hath 

given 
His love transplanted to a bower in heaven ; . 
There, shall each grace to perfect beauty rise, 
And bud with glory when it breathes the 

skies. 



DIVINE SECRETS. 

" Secret things belong unto God." — Deut. xxix. 29. 

Above, below, mysterious all 

The moral facts our souls would scan ; 
And when some pageant lifts the pall 
Which covers vast Creation's plan, 
A thinking Titan with his godless mind 
To shudd'ring Angels seems a monster blind. 



John xix. 41, 42. 



152 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



When David read man's glorious frame 

Ecstatic awe o'erpower'd his view ; 
And, hymning forth Jehovah's name, 
He trembled into words, how true ! — 
" How fearful am I, when by Love survey'd, 
Moulded by heaven, and wonderfully made." * 

Awake, what mysteries we enclose, 

And when we dream, more wondrous far ! 
'Tween life and death our limbs repose, 
And none can tell the truth we are ; 
Time and eternity then blend and meet, 
As they will mingle at the judgment-seat. 

But when from earth to Heaven we turn, 

Pure faith is taught this truth to know, — 
Proud wisdom must itself unlearn 
By lisping childlike prayer below ; 
Content in darkness to adore His ways 
With Whom 'tis glory to conceal their rays.f 

All Eye, all Ear, all Presence, Power, 

In contact with creation's whole, 
Closing the eyelids of each little flower, 
Or bidding worlds around Thee roll, — 
Essential Deity, Thou dread Unknown, 
Angels would shudder to unveil Thy Throne ! 

And yet, deep mystery proves the light 

From whence our reas'ning darkness gains 
A lustre, which restores the sight 

When blinded by some mental pains : 
God is a Fact, from whose unfathom'd All 
Eternity will not remove the pall. 

And as our God alone discerns 

Himself in Essence, truth, and will, 
So faith from revelation learns 
To bow before a mystery still ; 
For God Incarnate is an awful shade 
Within whose depths the Church has mused, 
and pray'd. 

And what Thou doest, Lord, in life, 
Is dark indeed to those who roam 
Anguish' d, and worn by wasting strife, 
Creedless in heart, without a home ; — 
Each grave that opens, and the friend who dies 
Some pang of mystery to the soul supplies. 

Why virtue droops, and Vice unveils 
A blushless front of gain and glee, 
Involves a problem which prevails 
O'er sceptic Minds, who cannot see 
That mortal life our education is, 
And builds up final woe, or future bliss. 



Ps. cxxxix. 14. 



t Prov. xxv. 2. 



THE TWO BOOKS. 

•'You here have an order for prayer, and for tho 
reading of Holy Scripture, much agreeable to the 
mind and purpose of the old Fathers ; nothing is 
ordained to be read but the very pure Word of 
God, the Holy Scriptures, or that which is agree- 
able to the same." — Preface to the Book of Common 
Prayer. 

Two Books we have, all other books above, 
Which breathe the wonders of Incarnate love ; 
Each to Jehovah points the living Way, 
And both inspire us to repent, and pray. 

Perfect as peerless, pure and most divine, 
Where God in language moves through every 

line, 
Where each calm word enrobes celestial Grace 
And man and Deity meet face to face, 

Is that Shechinah of almighty speech 

Where dwells The Spirit, time and souls to 

teach, 
Beneath whatever name 'tis known, or heard, 
Scripture, or Bible, or the Sacred Word. 

With this, comparison must be profane : 
Yet, laud we not in too heroic strain 
Britannia's liturgy, for matchless power 
To guide the conscience through its perill'd 
hour. 

Calm deep and solemn, chaste, and most sublime, 
Breathing eternity, yet full of time, 
Pure as seraphic lips in heaven desire, 
And fervid as the souls of saints on fire 

With rapture, — is the Litany we love : 
Sickness and sorrow both its blessing prove ; 
And oft have mourners in the heart's despair 
Found a deep refuge for dejection, there. 

A healing softness, and a holy balm 
That book pervade, like inspiration's calm,— 
Subdued intensity and sacred rest, 
Which never fail the lonely and distrest. 

For, oh, we need not morbid passion's force, 
Nor hurried feeling, in its reinless course, 
Nor problems dark, for reasoning pride to 

scan ; 
But what we need is, — mercy-tones for man. 

The sun-bright Angel, who adores and sings, 
Covers his brow with reverential wings ; 
And perfect Saints, who most their God adore, 
Sink low in feeling, ere by faith they soar. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



153 



The past breathes here the poetry of time, 
And thrills the present with a tone sublime, 
Till buried ages of the Church's youth 
Eise, and re-charm the world with ancient 
truth. 

Thou glorious masterpiece of olden Prayer ! 
Deeper thy wisdom than cold words declare ; 
Ever opposing some recurrent sin 
States act without, or Churches feel within. 

ISTot light men want, but love, — exceeding all 
An Age of idols dares devotion call ; 
A childlike frame of purity and peace, 
Where Christ in conscience works divine release. 

And who the archives of thy past can see, 
Nor recognise the eye of God o'er thee, 
Presiding there with providential gaze 
To fit thy teaching for these fallen days 1 

Creedless and proud, high-cultured, full of 

self, 
Greedy of gain, and worshippers of pelf, — 
Our wealth grows pagan as the world gets 

old, 
And none seem heroes, but the bad and bold ! 

Then, bless we God for prayers where men are 

taught 
Low at the Truth to bow rebellious thought ; 
Each lawless working of the will to chain, 
And yield to God the bosom's throne again. 

Eepentance, bitter, stern, profound, and true, 
Obedient hearts, which yearn to dare and do, 
Whate'er the doctrines of the Cross command, — 
God send the Church, for this apostate land ! 

Rather as servants, than as sons we bow 
Down at the shrine of awful Godhead now ; 
Though heirs of grace, in Christ our own we 

claim, — 
How have we barter'd our baptismal name ! 

Hence sad humility and fear become 

The sinful Race who leave their Father's 

home ; 
Cries of dejection, more than chants of joy, 
Returning prodigals may best employ. 

Nor be forgot, that England's Prayer Book 

gives 
Pure, full, and plain, The Word by which she 

lives ! 
Not dungeon'd in some dead and alien tone, 
But where the peasant-boy perceives his own. 



There, lisping Childhood, when it longs to learn 
Truths for which prophets bled, and martyrs 

burn, 
In such pure liturgy of grace may find 
All which can feed the heart, and form the 

mind. 

For common prayer, if catholic and true, 
Must not be tinged with individual hue, 
But be proportioned to the soul of Man, 
In deep accordance with redemption's plan. 

Lord of the Church ! of sacrament and rite, 
In this may all adoring hearts delight, — 
" How apostolic is the root of all 
Our Church maternal would devotion call ! " 

The heart of Ages still within them lives, 
Takes from the past, and to the present gives 
That hoary spell which hallows thought and 

word, 
And wakens feeling in its finest chord, 

Since, not from Rome, but ancient Gaul we 

bring 
The choral hymns our Altars chant and sing ; 
And many a word devotion dwells upon, 
Hung on thy lips, thou loved and lone 

St. John ! * 

Source of the Church ! true Paraclete for all, 
Long may such prayers on Christ for mercy 

call; 
No deeper grace can Thy pure wisdom give, — 
Than what our lips repeat, our hearts may live. 



BAPTISM. 



'Born 



" The washing of regeneration." — Tit. iii. 5. 
of water and of the Spirit." — John iii. 5. 

Thou little trembler, robed in white, 
Nursling of Heaven ! sweet neophyte 

Before the font arriving, 
The birth-dawn of thy spirit-life 
With holy fulness be it rife, 

While hearts for thee are striving 
With God in prayer ; that soon thy shielded 

charms 
May rest secure in Christ's baptismal arms. 

A silence breathed from God above, 
A halcyon of celestial love 



* See Palmer's 
proof of this. 



'Origines Liturgicae, " for historical 



154 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Now broods with blest control, 
Under the Throne of Him who came 
In form as weak as thy young frame, — 
Thrilling the inmost soul 
Of all, whose unfilm'd eye of faith perceives 
More than mere water on the forehead leaves. 

Bright students of the ways of God ! 
Who, since Incarnate Mercy trod 

The forfeit earth of man, 
Bend your adoring eyes to learn 
Truths deeper than your thoughts discern,* 
Shrined in redemption's plan, — 
Ye viewless Seraphim ! this rite attend, 
And your calm watch with Christian worship 
blend. 

Thou innocent ! with man compared, 
Thee hath eternal Truth declared 

A child of wrath and sin ; 
But here, adopted, seal'd, and sign'd 
By Him who hath redeem'd mankind, 
For thee will now begin 
That second Birth renewing grace imparts + 
Through this deep sacrament to infant hearts. 

Oh, if Emmanuel ne'er had said 

" Let children to Mine arms be led," 

Parents might shrink aghast 
A creature into life to bring, 
Whose soul the curse of God might wring 
When time and earth are past ! — 
But for the promise of baptismal grace, 
What sight so fearful as an infant's face ? 

All that a birth of Flesh can give 
What is it, — but a doom to live, 

A heritage of woe, 
A destiny of guilt and death, 
A curse inhaled at every breath 
Life breathes from sin below 1 
By grace uncharm'd, destruction seems to lower 
On the sad babe, ere Time can count an hour. 

But at the Font where Jesu stands 
With greeting heart and gracious hands, 

Eeady to clasp the child, 
Pale infant ! there, a breath from heaven 
May to thy dawning soul be given 

Through Him, the Saviour mild, 



* l Pet. i. 12. 

f " Seeing now that this child is regenerate and 
grafted into the Body of Christ's Church." — Baptismal 
Service. 

" Seeing now that this child is regenerate .... it 
hath pleased Thee to regenerate this infant with Thy 
Holy Spirit, to receive him for Thine own child by 
adoption, and to incorporate him into Thy Holy 
Church." — Baptismal Service of Church of England. 



Who, while He thunders from His regal Throne, 
Loves the sweet age on earth He call'd His 
Own. 

The Root of sacramental grace 
Is the new Adam of our race, 

The Man Divine who bled ; 
Hence cometh our celestial birth, 
Beyond the parentage of earth, 
From our generic Head, — 
The Lord from heaven, whose vital Spirit gives 
All force by which the mystic Body * lives. 

More than our first-born parents knew 
Before they proved to God untrue, 

Works that celestial gift ; 
Angels, who on their trial stood, 
Exceed not this majestic good 
Which may thy soul uplift : 
A child of God ! — can seraphim aspire 
To aught sublimer in their sinless choir ] 

From thee the curse is roll'd away ; 
Thy soul's new birth begins to-day ; 

A cov'nant right to all 
Immunities and blessings high, 
The heart of Jesus can supply 
To those who heed His call : 
Now to the stillness of thy soul is given, 
Like breezeless water, to reflect a heaven. 

A City and a Crown are thine 
If thou be true to grace divine, 

Bearing thy destined Cross ; 
Lo ! on thy forehead lies the seal 
Where symbol both and sign reveal 
That Life must gain by loss : t 
Firm to thy vow, beneath God's banner fight, 
And keep thy panoply of graces bright. 

Christ guard thee now, thou little one ! 
His glory be thy shield and sun 
Whate'er thy lot may be ; 
Incorp'rate with the Church thou art, 
To thee may life and love impart 
The truth which maketh free ; 
New prospects ope, new principles and powers 
Rise into play, and rule thine unborn hours. 

And, if in secret darkness lie 

The seeds of heaven which none descry, 

Dormant and cold within, 
May God's reviving Breath awake, 
Till such dark bond of slumber break, 

And grace o'ermaster sin : — 



Col. i. 38. 



t Matt. x. 39. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



155 



That latent germ baptismal life bestows 
Doth oft in elder hearts its buried power 
disclose. 

How water, word, and grace combine 
To work creative spells divine, 

In vain let Reason ask ; 
Children are awful mysteries, 
Within whose depth no spirit sees 
But His, — who owns the task 
Of overcoming, through celestial birth, 
That born corruption, which is bred from earth. 

Hence ! reas'ning sceptic, harsh and cold ; 
For never will thine eyes behold 

Tokens which sense defy : 
Nature in secret works her plan, 
Her growth escapes the sight of man ; 
Then, hush thy heartless cry, — 
As if the weakness of the water could 
Deprive the soul of sacramental good. 

True wisdom loves the word " obey," 
And loving hearts but live to pray, 

Believing Christ as true ; 

Safe in His arms, thou mother mild, 

With hope baptismal place thy child, 

And doubt not * He will do 

A work mysterious for that infant soul, — 

Baptising nature with divine control. 

Henceforward, as a Priest and King, 
Thy babe becomes a sacred thing, 
An heir of grace and glory ; 
Mother ! to whom such charge is given, 
Now rear it for that throne in heaven 
Scripture unveils before thee ; 
So discipline the dawning mind and will, 
That each some priesthood unto God may fill. 

" Our Father !" now thy babe may cry, 
Whose Elder Brother rules the sky, — 

The Man Divine, who came 

By bleeding Merit to atone 

For all the guilt sad Earth must own, 

And give the child a name, 

New as the sacramental Birth, which then 

Through water and by Spirit dawns in men. 

Blest Privilege ! both deep and pure, 
Which might our trembling hearts assure 

That we are Christ's indeed : 
Our Robe baptismal,- — keep it white, 
And never wilt thou lose the right 

Which marks the heavenly Seed 



* " Doubt ye not therefore, but earnestly believe, 
that He will likewise favourably receive this present 
infant," &c. — Baptismal Service. 



Of all who, grafted into Christ by grace, 
Born in the Church, are God's adopted race. 

Oh, that on Man's expressive brow 
Baptismal pureness beaming now 

Maturer life might see ! — 
How should we bless that rite of heaven 
Where grace is felt, and sin forgiven 
By mercy, full as free ; 
And find God's Spirit ne'er that man forsook, 
Who kept in age, the vow his childhood took. 

But soil'd and stain'd by sin and crime, 
Corruption deepens with our time, 

And thus our hearts o'erlay 
That seed of Heaven, the Spirit granted 
When the new Birth was first implanted 
On our baptismal day : 
Yet not for this, let Souls profanely try 
From faith to hide what holy means supply. 

Rather, repent we ! till the soul 
Shall yield to that sublime control 

Which heals the broken-hearted, 
Who in atoning Blood begin 
To bathe the soul, and wash their sin; 
Mourning they e'er departed 
From that blest Lord, whose interceding love 
Reigns on the glory -throne He rules above. 



CATECHISM. 



Who gave you this name? My Godfathers and 
Godmothers in my Baptism." — The Catechism. 

If they who stand beside the source 

Of some famed river's mountain-flow, 
And ponder on its trackless course 
To meet the far-off waves below, 
Can feel a pensive influence born, — 
Then how, on each Sabbatic morn, 
The men of God must inly feel 
A musing depth of voiceless zeal, 

When at the fountain-head they stand 
Of youthful Life's untraced career, 
As round them groups an order'd band 
Of earnest children, shy and dear, — 
Encircled thus, to hear and speak, 
With glist'ning eye, and glowing cheek, 
Those Truths baptismal, pure and high, 
Which link our being with the sky. 

" Go, feed My Lambs," The Saviour cried 
To Peter's large and loving heart ; 

And ever have those words supplied 

What cannot from the Church depart, — 



A pastoral right to form and feed 
God's nurslings, by His grace decreed 
To taste the food of heaven, and live 
By all His word and wisdom give. 

What, though the catechiser teach 
Unfathom'd truths, which far outsoar 

All raptured saints and seraphs reach 
When most their minds a God adore, 

Love brings a light that truth explains 

Beyond what science ere attains, 

As Heaven by intuitions mild 

Gleams on the conscience of a child. 

If faltering tongues of bashful youth 

The careful Priest by welcome bland 
Attune to some almighty truth, 

Beyond a child to understand, 
Is not the most gigantic Soul 
Which awes the world by deep control, 
A mental babe with lisping mind, 
Compared with angels in its kind 1 

The Gospel o'er the cradle bends, 

And gently leads each growing child, 
Nor at the Font its mission ends, 

But follows it with accent mild ; 
And so, by her maternal voice 
The Church directs the infant choice, 
And loves to dream on each white brow 
The mystic Cross is mirror'd now. 

God shield each lamb, and little one ! 

For soon the world before it lies ; 
And cold were he who looked upon 

Those cherub lips, and chasten'd eyes, 
Nor felt his heart-pulse throb with prayer 
That all the Sponsors did declare, 
When first the white-robed babe was given 
To Jesu's arms for life and heaven, 

Hereafter each in faith may keep. — 

Alas, the infant-grace departs ; 
Enough to make mild angels weep 

Already stains some youthful hearts ! 
Wilder'd by many a temper wild 
Wilful and vain becomes the child, 
Till robes baptismal wear no more 
The whiteness at the Font they wore. 

Yet, Shepherd of Thy blood-priced fold ! 

Since Thou didst stand at mother's knee, 
And as a spotless Babe behold 

The virgin brow, which bent o'er Thee, — 
Thy spirit hung on each high word 
An echoing conscience loved and heard, 
While patriarch, saint, and prophet brought 
Lessons to rear Thy human thought.* 



Luke ii. 52. 



Lover divine of children dear ! 

In Whose fond arms an infant lay, 
E'en now the Church believes Thee near 

To hear their budding accents pray; 
And oh ! if child-born mem'ries still 
Thy depths of sacred Manhood fill, 
Look from Thy Mercy-Throne on high, 
Hear children lisp, and mothers sigh. 

Nor let the stern and sceptic Mind 
'Tween Christ and childhood take its stand, 

And, reas'ning here with falsehood blind, 
Presume to hold His secret Hand 

Who works by love's mysterious law 

A grace cold reason never saw ; 

And by His Spirit, present now, 

Recalls the child's baptismal vow 

Back to the soul, perchance with fear ; — 

And opes the spring of thought within, 
Until religion's vestal tear 

Is dropt o'er some remember'd sin : 
New hopes awake, and conscience burns 
With hallow'd blush, as more it learns, 
Who at the font His welcome gave, 
Still longs in heaven the child to save. 

Lord of simplicity and truth ! 

A scene like this the oldest need, 
To summon back regretted youth 

And bid them with compunction bleed : 
A babe-like spirit, born of love, — 
What purer gift can Grace above 
Grant to the Saint, who lives below, 
More childlike for the heavens to grow '? 



CONFIRMATION. 



"Do ye here, in the presence of God, and of this 
congregation, renew the solemn promise and vow 
that was made in your name at baptism, ratifying 
and confirming the same?" — Order of Confirmation. 

Lord of the blissful worlds above, 
Incarnate Light, celestial Love ! 
Send from Thy prayer-moved mercy-seat 
The grace of grace, Thy Paraclete. — 
A touching sight for solemn tears, 
Like prophecies of future years, 

Under the aisles of hoary fane 

Is now enacted : Faith, and Prayer, 

O'er each young conscience come and reign, 
And, with The Spirit, bless them there ! 

Round the rail'd altar humbly kneeling, 
On each bow'd form, o'erfraught with feeling, 
Anointed Hands will soon be laid ; 
And righteous prayers be duly pray'd ; 



Nor doubt we that a Gift divine 
Shall with the mitred priest's combine. — 
An ancient Rite, replete with glory, 
By meek apostles used and loved, 
Church of the Lord ! is now before thee, 
By martyrs blest, and saints approved. 

But oh, ere yet that sealing grace 

God's death-pang won to bless our race, 

In answer to this prayer descend, 

" Arise, Lord ! this child defend, 

Daily increase that store divine 

Of love and light which make him Thine," — 

Member of Christ ! thou child of God ! 
Thy central heart examine now ; 

The narrow way if thou hast trod 
Enquire, and ratify thy vow. 

To you baptismal life was given 
By virtue of its Source in heaven ; 
And vow'd ye were, for Christ and Cross 
To count the world as painted dross : 
The burden now 'tis yours to bear ! 
And can ye unto Christ declare 

That awful vow your spirits bore, 

When ye, as helpless babes were brought, 

Baptised, and made for evermore 

God's own to be, in will and thought 1 

Thou, of thy feeble Self afraid ! 
Trembling with truth, a pensive maid, 
Through thy fringed lid the tearful gaze 
The secret of thy soul betrays ; 
And through that veil of virgin white 
Soft tremors reach thy mother's sight. 

Pale candidate ! though pure and young, 
Thy heart is trepid unto tears, 

And with a saintly horror wrung, 
Lest sin betray thine unborn years. 

" Your promise, can ye here renew?" 
That deep reply, " Lord, we do ! " 
Oh, is it not an awful word 
By God and list'ning Angels heard ? 
Heaven echoes back the binding vow, 
And Fiends abash'd, before it bow ; 

And writhe in darkness, thus to see 
A virgin heart which grace inspires, 

So consecrate to Deity 

Its faith, its feeling, and its fires. 

Yet, at the altar kneel in prayer ; 
Tremble, but hope, for Christ is there ! 
He will not fail this burden'd hour 
To strengthen thee with loving power ; 
And when confirming hands are spread 
In faith upon thine awe-bow'd head, 



Thrill'd into speechless thought, whilst thou 

Wilt feel Eternity draw nigh, 
The heart of Him who hears thy vow 

In heaven responds to every sigh. 

He knows thee, loves thee, reads thy soul, 
Can circle thee with blest control ; 
And in return for thy vow'd heart 
Himself by gift and grace impart. 
But, ah, mistake not ; hectic zeal 
Is but the flush warm fancies feel : 

Of these beware, impassion'd Youth ! 
Nor heed what thrill'd emotions say ; 

They only love, who live the truth, 
And walk in peace the perfect way. 

Poetic thrills may soon depart, 
And barren oft, some burning heart ; 
Emotions in themselves are nought 
Except to Christian action brought ; 
Nor is one glorious promise given 
To souls which only sigh for heaven. 

High feelings to the sense appear 

A creed the world may beauteous call, 

But Christ hath made this doctrine clear, — 
One daily cross transcends them all ! 



MARRIAGE. 



' ' An honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of 
man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical 
union that is betwixt Christ and his Church. " — 
Form of Solemnisation of Matrimony. 

Although the birthday of this God-made 
earth 

Seraphic harpers rose to sing, 
Whose choral ecstasies proclaim'd its worth 

And caused Heaven's crystal arch to ring, 
All was imperfect, till a Priest was there 
Creation's mouth to be, and mind, and prayer. 

Vain seem'd the splendour which no eye could 
see, 
The melody that none could hear ; 
But when God utter' d, " Let Mine Image be," 

Creation thrill'd, as Man drew near : 
And what was meaningless, and mute, and 

dead, 
Warm'd into life, and glow'd beneath his 
tread. 

As man for earth, so Woman was required 
The crowning grace of man to form ; 

Alone, not even Adam was inspired 
To feel creation's godlike charm : 



158 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



And thus, faith hears this fiat from The 

Throne, 
" It is not good for man to be alone." 

So ere the fall, a Priest almighty brought 

A bridal Eve to Adam's heart ; 
A living Echo to the love he sought, 

A help-meet never to depart, 
A true companion for the soul to be, 
Fresh from her God, in faultless purity. 

Marriage is holy. May no heathen-fire 
Around the Christian altar flame ; 

Impassion'd souls let saintliness inspire 
And hallow hymeneal claim : 

Belials in sense are minds by flesh o'erruled, 

And love is vice, unless by virtue school'd. 

How hush'd and holy is yon bridal scene 
Before God's altar ! — view'd by one 

Who e'er in faith to Cana's home hath been, 
That marriage-group to gaze upon, 

Where the pale water blush'd itself to wine, 

Moved by a miracle of grace divine. 

Stainless in vesture, as the lilies white, 
With flower-buds in her wreathed hair, 

Fearful and trepid, with o'erawed delight 
Lo, the young bride is kneeling there, 

Her dropping lids in mild dejection bent, 

And young heart with, a holy conflict rent. 

In that pure breast what garner'd feelings play 

Like pulses with mysterious beat ! 
To think sweet Girlhood now hath wing'd away 

And Love must quit a calm retreat, 
Sacred to thought, by friends and forms no 

more, 
And truths, which made the reeling heart run 
o'er ! 

It is not, that a voiceless dread awakes 
Suspicion, lest her choice be wrong ; 

No blighting vision o'er the future breaks 
To which both guilt and grave belong : 

Yet, sadness looms around her like a spell, 

As oft in marriage-chime there seems a knell ! 

Our life is mystery ; and the brightest joy 
That flushes round a feeling heart, 

Seems coldly shaded by some dim alloy 
Doom'd never from man's world to part : 

True mirth with mournfulness is oft allied, 

As living babes suggest the babes who died. 

And she, yon bridal Star of beauty now, 
Oh, marvel not, as there she kneels, 

That ere the wife can dawn upon her brow 
Back to bright girlhood fancy steals ; 



Dead joys revive in tombs to fancy dear, 
Melt through the heart, and mingle with a 
tear. 

Last eve, at halcyon twilight's dreamful hour 

When none but God the soul could see, 
She pray'd and ponder'd in her girlish bower, 
And sigh'd, young Past ! her thoughts o'er 
thee ; 
Flower, fruit, and pathways, all instinct with 

truth, 
Seem'd to accost her like the spells of youth. 

She mused on what her spousal Life might fold 

Within its undevelop'd scene ; 
On wings of love recall'd the times of old, 

And wept o'er all bright hearts had been ; 
And scarce perceived the pensive moonlight 

throw 
Its calm cold lustre on the lake below. 

But, maiden ! ere thy sacred ring be worn, 

Beyond a mother's purest gift 
The Church hath up to Heaven's high portals 
borne 
A prayer, which shall thy soul uplift 
To heights of bliss, serene as brides attain, 
Whose wedded hearts are thrones where Christ 
will reign. 

Souls are espoused by every hallow'd claim, 

If wedlock far diviner prove 
Than mere clay -throbs, which boast the com- 
mon name 
Of what Flesh means by mortal " love : " — 
Christ and the Church * are shadow'd out by 

this, 
And cast heaven's radiance round an earthly 
bliss. 



VISITATION OF THE SICK. 

Bear our heavenly Father's correction ; there should 
be no greater comfort to Christian persons, than 
to be made like unto Christ, by suffering patiently 
adversities, troubles, and sicknesses." — Order for 
Visitation of the Sick. 

Sermons in sickness heaven can preach, 
When pangs and penalties may teach 

What custom rarely sees, — 
That health is mercy next to grace, 
And should inspire a sinful race 

The God of health to please. 



Eph. v. 31, 32. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



159 



Strange ! if our hearts be so accursed 
That nothing, save a gift reversed, 

Can make men prize their good : 
Blessings look dim which seem to stay, 
But brighten, when they wing away 

From souls who Christ withstood. 

So is it with the fields of youth, 
The shrines of tenderness and truth 

And all fresh Boyhood proved, — 
When we survey the scene no more, 
Or dream to life the dead of yore 

"Whom once we fondly loved, 

Oft does the inward blush arise 

To think, how calmly we could prize 

Eedundant mercies, then ! 
We marvel, why our love was cold, 
And boyishly our past behold 

Now we are wither'd men ! 

Parental bowers of peace and home, 
And lanes our truant steps did roam, 

Make landscapes in our soul ; 
While votive tear-drops Truth can shed 
O'er imaged graves, where sleep the Dead 

Whose eyes our hearts control. 

Thus longs atoning love in vain 

The past should o'er the present reign, 

That what was once, might be; 
But youth, and all young hours possess' d, 
In thine abysmal darkness rest 

Thou pall'd eternity ! 

And thus, in sickness when we lie 
With languid pulse, and fever'd eye, 

Pining, and pale, and lone ; 
While throes of secret anguish burn, — 
Love through each throb would have us learn 

The truths we ought to own. 

Eemember'd blessings round us throng 
We valued not, when health bloom'd strong, 

Which challenge holy tears ; 
And if chance-gleams of skyey blue 
Some half-unblinded window through 

Confront our pallid fears, — 

How does the distant landscape seem 
Apparell'd by poetic dream ! 

Till fancy yearns for fields, 
Brooklet and forest, bank and wood, 
And each green shrine where solitude 

Religious silence yields. 

But what transcends the all of this, — 
On the sad couch of pain we miss 

Christ's hallow'd courts of grace ; 



Where Litanies divinely call 
From blending souls, which prostrate fall, 
For God's uplifted Face. 

Not seldom hath the sainted chime 
Of sabbath-bells become sublime, 

Yet mild, and melancholy, 
When pensive Languor, far away 
Has heard their ebbing dream-tones play, 

In sickness, sad and lowly. 

Like Zion's harping saint it cries* 
" To thee, oh Lord ! my spirit flies, 

And fain before the Shrine 
My kneeling heart wonld humbly pour 
The chanted praise I hymn'd before, 

In courts of grace divine." 

But, sacred Mother, bring release ; 

Come, lift the latch, and with soft " Peace ! " t 

Enter the sick man's room ; 
O'er that pale brow Thy cross did seal 
Shed the soft dews of balm that heal, 

And light each haunted gloom. 

Far better thus with Thee to hie 
And hear a saintly mourner sigh, 

Than run where feastings reign ; 
Wisdom, beyond the schools to reach, 
Thy heaven-breathed words of solace preach 

To Hearts subdued by pain. 

Counsels divine, in tone serene, 
Yaried with grave rebukes between, 

Thine Office now imparts ; 
And there beside yon dying bed 
The Body and the Blood are spread, 

Which feed our famish'd hearts. 

Lord Jesus ! Thou art present there 
Entempled J in each awful prayer ; 

The room our altar is ; 
Angel and saint we realise, 
And vision with prophetic eyes 

Scenes of seraphic bliss. 

Go, man of pleasure, sensual Thing ! 
Whose life-boast is to laugh and sing ; 

Be ours the chamber lone 
Where prayer and musing sickness meet, 
And find before the Mercy-Seat, 

What health has never known. 



* Ps. lxxxiv. 2. 
t "The minister of the parish coming unto the sick 
person's house, shall say, ' Peace be to this house ! ' " 
— Order for Visitation of the Sick. 

% "Inhabitest." 



160 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Here may authentic priests, Lord, 
Thy grace dispense, and soothing word, 

Like almoners for heaven ; 
And teach oblivious hearts a lore 
Thy peerless martyrs taught of yore, 

When conscience heard, " forgiven." 

If health have joy, the sick partake 
This boon divine, — for Thy dear sake 

To suffer, not complain ; 
And, ere the sun of life go down, 
Beyond their cross to see the crown 

Of kings, with thee who reign.*' 



BURIAL OF THE DEAD. 

(village funeral.) 

" Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure 
and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal 
life, through our Lord Jesus Christ." — Order for 
the Burial of the Dead. 

The bells are tolling with a dreamy chime 
Which melts and mingles with the air around, 

Mourning for her who died in vernal prime, 
Queen of the village by her virtues crown'd. 

Last week she bounded, full of girlish life, 
Fleet o'er the turf, elastic as the breeze, 

Radiant as morn, with bloom and beauty rife, 
Fresh as the wave which gambols on the seas ; 

But Christ recall'd her for His home on high 
To harp in glory Cod's Incarnate love, 

Ere guilt had waken'd one remorseful sigh, 
Or earth untuned her for a heaven above. 



Oh ! gently lay her where the yew-trees wave 
Their verdant darkness o'er some grassy tomb, 

Where sunbeams learn the language of the grave, 
Tinging their brightness with a temper'd 
gloom. 

There shall the daisy rear its infant head, 
And fairy wild-flowers drink the dew of 
spring, 

While o'er the turf that greenly wraps the dead, 
Autumnal Winds their plaintive descant sing. 

'Tis the same spot her rosy girlhood sought 
Where fresh from school, with bright 
companions gay, 

In maiden fancy, free from troubling thought, 
She work'd her sampler, or retired to play. — 



2 Tim. ii. 12: Kev. i. 5, 6. 



Dear is the quiet village church to me, 

Saxon, and simple, touch'd with lender 
glooms ; 
Lifting its widow'd form so gracefully 

As though 'twere conscious of encircling 
tombs. 

Whatever shade expressive clouds can throw, 
Or hills wood-crested may around it cast, 

I love to view it in the vale below 

Connect the present with our storied past. 

Oft have I paused, when lull'd by pensive 
bliss, 

To hear the curfew mellow'd on the wind, 
Waft the farewell of Day to scene like this, 

Soft to the ear, as soothing to the mind. 

But far excelling all chaste morn bestows, 
The hush of twilight, or the harvest-moon, 

Or what mere landscape to the minstrel shows 
When silent thoughts their sanctity attune 

Is felt, — when village-funeral winds its train 
Slowly and sadly to some churchyard-gate, 

And our deep Service* tones its heaven-born 
strain, 
To scatter darkness from bereavement's fate. 

Hark ! from the woodland floats the forward 

breeze 

A low sweet dirge, yon village-maidens sing, 

Whose white robes glisten through the waving 

trees 

As on the dead to her last home they bring. 

Nay, sob not, mother ! for thy beauteous child, 
Though like a tendril from thy heart it 
grew ; 

Eternity she felt, ere Time defiled, 

Or made her soul untender and untrue. 

And thou, hoar'd grandsire ! with thy grief- 
worn face, 
Oft did the prattler on thy knee recline, 
And hold up features Fancy loved to trace, 
Which matrons told thee, in thy youth, were 
thine ; 

I see thee now, with tott'ring step advance, 
Wan are thy cheeks, and drops of aged woe 

Bedew thy visage, and bedim thy glance 
As onward to the grave the mourners go. 



* "The priest, meeting the corpse at the entrance 
of the church, shall say, ' I am the resurrection and 
the life. ' "—Order for the Burial of the Bead. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



161 



But One is present, whom no eye can see, 
Except by faith, and that is Christ the Lord ! 

And " Weep not," * childless mother, comes to 
thee, 
If thy heart open to His gracious word. 

Thou blessed Ritual ! throbs of Jesu's heart 
Still in thy tones of thrilling mercy live ; 

When yawns the tomb, most wonderful thou art, 
By echoing all God's inspirations give. 

The " Resurrection and the Life + " is near, 
By Spirit present, and in love as deep 

As when He touch'd the young man's open bier, 
And gently bid wild Anguish not to "weep." 

As o'er that grave the " dust to dust " awakes 
A dismal echo in the bleeding soul, 

How the damp earth-clod on the coffin breaks, 
Till the deep tides of inward anguish roll ! 

Yet o'er the tomb heaven's canopy unfolds, 
And hark ! these words of soothing magic 
sound, 

While Grief looks upward, and by faith beholds 
The Lord of life and resurrection crown'd, — 

" Blest are the dead, who in the Lord depart : 

Yea, saith the Spirit, for their pangs are o'er ; 

Serene as heaven Christ keeps the sainted 

Heart, 

Whose works are ended, and who weeps no 

more." 



CHURCHING OF WOMEN. 

"We give thee humble thanks, for that thou hast 
vouchsafed to deliver this woman thy servant, 
from the great pain and peril of childbirth." — 
English Prayer Book. 

In mother's love there hides a spell 

Maternal hearts alone can see ; 
Transcending all that tears may tell, 
Or man could be. 

Far down within the spirit's deep 

Her fountains of affection lie, 
Like currents which in darkness sweep, 
Nor face the sky. 

Tender abyss of peerless love ! 

To heaven's omniscient eye-glance known, 
The Woman-born, Who reigns above, 
Thy claims doth own. 



Luke vii. 13. 



t John xi. 25. 



A pillow'd Babe on mother's breast, 

Beneath Him throbb'd the Virgin's heart, 
And, Woman ! thou on Him canst rest, 
Whoe'er thou art. 

Oh ! magic force of nature, felt 

Far as the sun and sea extend ; 

Beneath whose law all beings melt, 

All spirits bend. 

The Indian mother, stern and strong, 

Cradles her infant on the tree, 
And wildly chants her loud wood-song 
For lullaby. 

And the stern negress, seeking food, 

Fastens the babe upon her back, 
To roam each rocky solitude 
Or lion's track. 

Nor scene, nor change, nor earth nor sky 

Enfeeble Love's maternal force ; 
Distance and time before it die, 
Whate'er their course. 

A passion this, so pure, so deep, 

That while bereaved fathers moan, 
Oft wordless mothers only weep 
In heart alone. 

But why did God such love create 

Unquenchably supreme, and pure 1 — 
Because from mothers Spirits date 
Their curse, or cure. 

Thus saints and martyrs, heroes, all 

Whom wond'ring Time delights to praise, 
In heaven itself may still recall 
Their infant-days, 

When learn'd they from maternal lips 

Lessons of holy love and prayer, 
No clouds hereafter could eclipse, 
Nor soul's despair. 

Then, pallid mother ! draw thee nigh, 

Perill'd by pangs, but saved in birth ; 
And gently lift thy downcast eye, 
To heaven from earth. 

The virgin whiteness of that veil 
Becomes thine inward purity, 
And hides upon thy forehead pale 
What angels see 

Of blissful worship, — deep and mild, 

Which mothers for their first-born pay, 
And Love, with conscience undefiled, 
Offers to-day. 



162 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Thou art the parent of a Soul, 

The mother of a deathless Mind ! 
And Christ to thee imparts control 
For this design'd. 

Self-discipline, and prayer-born love, 

And persevering wisdom calm 
Breathe, Holy Spirit ! from above 
With soothing balm ; 

That from Thine altar she may part 
In saintly mood, serene and high, 
And Avorship Christ with yearning heart, 
Until she die. 

Mothers are more than mines of wealth 

If God-devoted Souls they be ; 
And what makes Empires' moral health 
And purity 

They guard. For, when do Nations sink 

Into dark graves of sin and woe 1 — 

When Church and State no longer think 

What debt they owe 

To christian mothers ; unto whom 

Both God and nature have consign'd 
Existence, from whose dawning bloom 
They nurse mankind. 



COMMUTATION. 



" Is much to be wished ... to the intent that being 
admonished of the great indignation of God against 
sinners, ye may the rather be moved to earnest 
and true repentance. " — Pray&r Book. 

As Time grows old, the earth from heaven 
recedes 
More distant far ; 
No Conscience bleeds 
To feel the burnings of that inward scar, 
Which so discolours o'er with sin 
Th' apostate soul we bear within. 

A period was, when God and angels came 
So near to thought, 
The Church's name 
With the fine strength of holiness was fraught ; 
Her frown cast midnight where it fell, — 
Her blessing wove a guardian spell. 

But now, we boast an intellectual blaze 
That scatters all, 
Cold Reason says 
Before the majesty of Mind should fall ! 
Dazzled with light, but dark in love, 
Sin loathes the truth which looks above. 



Sensual and proud, a Belial age is ours 
Drunken with pride, 
And grasping powers 
By which the godless will is gratified ; 
Greedy of gold, athirst for pelf, 
And seeking heaven in worshipp'd Self. 

Thou fond admirer of a holy time 

When earth touch'd heaven ! 
And thrills sublime 
Were to heroic saints and martyrs given 
Of something purer than blind Sense 
Can to a coarse rude age dispense, — 

Marvel no more that Discipline lies dead ; 

Self-will reigns now ; 
Laurels, not ashes, crown the creedless head 
And wreathe man's brow : 
For sackcloth, singing-robes are worn, 
And none but saints now seem forlorn ! 

When God was fear'd, due fasting calm'd the 
blood ; 
With naked feet 
Then Penance stood 
Low at the porch, the pastoral Band to meet, 
Sackclothed by shame, with downcast eyes, 
Sprinkled with ashes, heaving sighs : 

Severely gracious, thus the Church's rod 
Wielded o'er sin 
The claim of God, 
And o'erawed penitents, to weep within, 
Driving- them forth with scalding tears 
To feel the pangs of righteous fears. 

So with mount Ebal's menace Zion's song 
Was well combined ; 
And true as strong 
The healing power with which it calm'd the 
mind: 
Indulgence then was not in vogue, 
Nor framed its pleasing decalogue ! 

But with Her holiness, the power departs 
A Church can wield 
O'er chasten'd hearts, 
Led by subduing love themselves to yield 
To mild Correction's lawful charm, 
W T hich keeps the soul from sinful harm. 

Too oft our " church " is self-election now — 
Our creed the will ; 
And few avow 
That Christ is throned in christian temples 
still, 
A Presence and a Glory there 
Receiving praise, and hearing prayer. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



163 



Awake ! awake ! thou Arm of God, awake ! 
Put on thy strength, 
Thy fear forsake 
Church of our fathers ! be Thyself at length ; 
Bride of The Lord, a Mother kind, 
Watchful, but not to error blind. 

Spirit divine ! in this her trial-hour 
Of sinful dread, 
Inbreathe a power 
That shall to glorious Duty lift her head 
Whose panoply is ardent prayer 
Which more and more each gift should bear. 

And we, as children of our Mother dear, 
In evil days 
Oh, let us fear ; 
And in our lentine gloom on Ebal gaze, 
And as the tenfold curses roll, 
Let each, God ! subdue the soul : 

For, art Thou not a sin-consuming Fire, 
Awful as pure 
In Thy dread ire 1 
Never may sense our godless mind allure, 
To think that hell alone can burn 
In fictions, which dark fancies learn. 

Mercy, Lord Christ ! most infinite Thou art : 
But judgment true 
Will cleave each Heart 
That will not dread Thee in some darker hue, 
Before Whom prostrate worlds must fall, 
And worship Him who sways them all. 

So, when the priestly Comminations roll 
In thunders deep, 
Till each awed Soul 
In the hush'd centre of pale conscience weep, 
Our sackcloth let repentance be, 
Remorse — the ashes God can see. 

So will lost Penance in such hour revive ; 
Sorrow for sin 
In prayer will strive ; 
Till, wash'd and whiten'd by the Lamb within, 
The heart-renew'd God's Word descries 
Piercing, and pure as angel-eyes. 

Back to the world, in penitence and prayer 
Then may we speed : 
If wounded there, — 
Then look we upward, while our spirits bleed ; 
For, on The Throne there beats a Heart 
In all true grief that takes its part.* 



Isa. lxiii. 



PRAYERS AT SEA. 

"Glorious Lord God! at whose command the winds 
blow and lift up the waves of the sea, and who 
stillest the rage thereof." — English Prayer Book. 

Fond mother, with thy wakeful ear, 

Hark, how the storm-blasts through the welkin 

roll ! 

Thunder alarms the breast of guilty Fear, 

And arrowy lightnings glance from pole to pole. 

Louder and louder sweeps the gale ! 
Fierce, full, and large, the hissing rain-drops fall; 

And midnight Terror, with emotion pale, 
Begins in secret on her God to call. 

Calm as a flower yon nursling lies, 
Rock'd into silence on thy cradling breast ; 

Yet doth thy bosom heave with unheard sighs 
Which move the spirit into sad unrest. 

But not for thy domestic bower, 
Or those who sleep within its guardian-shade, 

Art thou awake at this convulsive hour 
To hear the crash wild Elements have made. 

Yet rides thy heart the rolling deep, 
Toss'd on huge billows in tumultuous swell, 

And voiceless tremors through thy bosom creep 
For thy lone sea-boy, loved at home so well ! 

But lately, on thy breast he lay 
His head in fondness, parting for the sea, 

And would not brush the manly tear away 
Which flow'd from boyhood, and which fell on 
thee. 

And now, amid the shrouds aloft, 
Perchance he grapples with the creaking mast ; 
Yet can Remembrance hear a blessing soft, 
And feel thine arms maternal round him cast. 

Mother ! The Church confronts the waves ; 
Her litanies can lull their angry roar ; 

And He who watcheth o'er the ocean-graves* 
Can make the sea as tranquil as the shore. 

Christ on the waters, forms a Home 
For all who trust Him in the tempest wild, 
Far as the pilgrims of the deep can roam, 
Or billows lullaby a sea-born child. 

Safe is thy darling in this hour, 
Dearerto Heaven, thanmother's heart can know; 
Calmly entrust him to that sleepless Power, 
Deepen thy prayers, but let not doubts o'erflow. 



* See Rev. xx. 13. 



164 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Mirthful and bright, thy sea-boy ran 
Around thee once, though garden, grove, and 
field; 
But now, emerging into ripen'd man, 
Conscience and creed their sainted influence 
wield. 

Precious, yon Bible ! — 'twas thy boon ; 
And, mother, where thy parting tear-gush fell, 

Oft on the deck, beneath the sacred moon 
He reads the warnings thou hast scored so well. 

And that high book of hallow'd Prayer 
A treasured sister gave, with farewell-kiss, 

Oft will he clasp it on the ocean there, 
And hail the sabbath as a holy bliss. 

God of the winds, and waves, and seas ! 
Whom all the vassal Elements obey, 

Whether by palmy shores the placid breeze 
Soft as a seraph-wing, descends to play. 

Or tempests heave the mountain-surge, 
Flashing with foam beneath some lurid glare 
While the drench'd mariners the vessel urge, 
We thank Thee for our oceanic prayer ! 

Or, when the booming death-guns pour 
Peal after peal, redoubling as they roll, 
Or Victory shouts her patriotic roar 
Of loud huzzahs from seaman's gallant soul, 

Lord of the Deep ! by Thee inspired, 
Our Church for each some high-breathed prayer 
imparts ; 
That they whom Yalour hath for conquest 
fired, 
Should have the Prince of Peace to hush their 
hearts. 

Seldom can inland-worship prove 
Toned with such tenderness, divine as deep, 

Like God's own halcyon calming from above 
The wailing Hearts which o'er some lost one 
weep, 

As when beneath the tranced air 
While moonbeams like a shroud enrobe the 
wave, 
Soft fall the tones of that funereal Prayer 
When parts the billow for a seaman's grave. 

Tearful the watching comrades stand, 
For round a dead One how intense the spell ! — 
Brushing large tear-drops with a rough-worn 
hand, 
They look, but cannot speak, the word, 
" farewell." 



Peace to the Dead ! he waits his hour 
When the last trumpet shall untomb yon sea, 
And with such life-blast all the waves 
o'erpower, 
That risen dust shall soar to Deity. 



GUNPOWDER TREASON. 

" We adore the wisdom and justice of thy Providence, 
who so timely interposed in our extreme danger, 
and disappointed all the designs of our enemies." 
Prayerr Book. 

Two Wills alone may cause our world to move, 
Finite below, or Infinite above ; 
And all which reason and religion say 
Points to the question, — " which should lead 

the way?" 
Science the first, but Faith her God will call 
Alpha of each, and Omega of all. 

God is in history ! an almighty Soul, 

A secret Energy, divine Control, 

Will of all wills, yet leaving manhood free, 

Binding our time with His eternity : 

No chance can reign, till His dread promise 

dies, 
And orphan'd Earth for vanish'd mercy cries. 

God rules in history ! read by this deep plan 
Gone ages harmonise their truths for Man ; 
While he, unconscious of those secret laws 
Which link the second with a Primal Cause, 
Obeys each bias, acts his perfect will, 
And yet leaves God supreme in purpose still. 

So grant us, Lord, a providence to trace 
Directing all things for Thy chosen race ; 
Kingdoms and kings, the palace and the cot, 
Insect, or seraph, — none can be forgot ; 
For in the hollow of Thy hand repose 
Atoms, and worlds; o'er each Thy goodness 
flows. 

And well, on this day, doth our Church decree 
Anthems of love, which heave our hearts to 

Thee, 
Celestial Watcher ! Whose soul-reading eye 
Did from yon heavens the miscreant-plot descry, 
And, by that wisdom saints exult to own, 
Forewarn'd the Empire, and preserved a throne. 

Ripe was the plan ; each purpose deeply laid, 
And Treason gloated o'er a Church betray'd ; 
A helpless Victim, soon to be destroy'd 
Look'd Freedom then, to faction overjoy'd ; 
Sworn was the oath, the sacrament was taken, — 
But England was not by her God forsaken ! 



Praise to the Lord ! let choral harpers sound ; 
Praise to the Lord ! yet saints repeat around, 
The Angel of Whose presence then was nigh 
And bared foul Treason to the open sky, 
Blasted her guile, and by protective charms 
Shielded our Throne, and saved the Church 
from harms. 

And mix'd with praise, let some remorseful 

prayer 
The darksome burden of our guilt declare ; 
For what but mercies can outnumber sin 1 — 
Whiten our heajjs, atoning Blood ! within ; 
Till, hallow'd bycelestial truth, we raise 
That living hymn where Life becomes a praise. 



THE MARTYR-KING. 

"Blessed Lord, we magnify thy name for thine 
abundant grace, bestowed upon our martyred 
Sovereign." — Service for King Charles the Martyr. 

Oh, burning plague-spot on the brow of Time, 
The withering curse of regicidal crime !— 
Mock'd and betray'd by treason-bands 
And massacred by murd'rous hands, 
On this day soar'd to endless fame 
Ascending in Emmanuel's name 
True to his creed, above man's impious charter, 
Charles the revered, — the Church's royal 
martyr ! 

Who has not read, till heart and brain were fired 
With holy wrath against Self-will inspired, 
When Loyalty, inert and cold, 
Parley'd before the bad and bold ; 
When faction, treason, falsehood, all 
In one combined on heaven to call, 
Baptised religion into Murder's cause, 
And sanction'd regicide with sacred laws ! 

Alas ! for country, church, and crown, and creed, 
When martyr'd Principle must burn and bleed ; 
Or else, a regal Conscience die 
Into a mean and miscreant lie, 
Forswearing all the truths that shine 
With radiance drawn from truths Divine, 
Because Democracy would dare to sing 
Her psalm of blood o'er England's sainted king ! 

Oh ! Thou, from Whom both king and kingdom 

draw 
Their source, their wisdom, and undying law, 

Now let our Church's sighs and tears 

Soften the Empire into hallow'd fears ; 

For on her rests the curse of crime, 

A sacrilege which burden'd time 



And tinged our soil with that horrific stain, — 
The blood of Monarchs, when by God they reign ! 

Who sign'd his warrant with an impious glee 
Proved how satanic blinded souls can be : 
As christian, monarch, husband, friend, 
Can time to us a nobler send 1 
His failings rose from junctures bad 
Which might have turn'd an angel mad : 
Passion ran high ; and lust for lawless power 
Raged like a fiend in that chaotic hour. 

Ruler Divine ! Whom heaven-born souls obey, 
At least Thy Church on this remorseful day 

That murder'd Prince may well recall, 

Who prized her glories more than all ; 

For whom his royal spirit strove 

With anguish of exceeding love : 
True to her martyr-king, this day be kept, 
And weep for him, who oft for Her had wept. 

Nor be forgot, that Crimes historic teach 
Warnings profound which may the wisest reach. 
Dead Sins are living preachers now ; 
And weeping hearts of prayer avow 
That, God ! except Thy grace prevent, 
Men still are on some madness bent : 
Wisdom they want, and meekness more, to own 
The sceptred lordship of Thy boundless Throne. 



RESTORATION OF THE ROYAL 
FAMILY. 

" The Great Rebellion, and all the miseries and oppres- 
sions consequent thereupon." — Prayer Book. 

Friend of the friendless ! Thou art there 
When throbs a soul with silent prayer 

In hours of sadness holy ; 
And viewless Angels hover nigh 
With placid brow and pensive eye, 

To watch our melancholy. 

" Stand still ! and your salvation see," * — 
Duty and blessing both from Thee, 

Lord, here may faith discern ; 
Submission is that saving power 
Which glorifies Earth's darkest hour, 

Could Love the secret learn. 

The Cup that Jesus bow'd to drink, 
Though feeling start, and flesh may shrink, 

Disciple ! thou must drain ; 
A suff ring Head each member thrills ; 
We conquer, by enduring ills, 

And bleed before we reign ! 



Exod. xiv. 13. 



166 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Thus, when dead Ages we untomb 
And wander down their peopled gloom 

Beholding what hath been, — 
A patient mind and quiet heart 
Have ever filled the Hero's part 

In history's troubled scene. 

Submission, passive, deep, and pure, 
Alone has proved a matchless cure 

For all the Church has borne ; 
Her watchword was, " Stand still ! and see 
The unbared arm of Deity, 

Since thou art unforlorn." 

Thus when apostate Creeds began 
To blight the erring mind of man, 

How meekly bore his wrong 
That five-times banish'd Saint,* who kept 
The truth unstain'd, while ruin swept 

In Arian blasts along. 

Still breathes a theocratic air 

In church and creed, if God be there, 

As Faith will ne'er deny ; 
Unweapon'd, save by inward grace, 
Believers move with martyr-pace 

Beneath the fiercest sky. 

The worst of kings seems nobler far 
Than mad Rebellion's impious war, 

In havoc, blood, and fire ; 
The sin of witchcraft,+ — brand it well, 
Its birth-seed is the pride of hell, 

By which dark Fiends aspire ! 

A Nemesis for injured kings 

Or soon, or late, atonement brings, — 

Dead Empires this declare ; 
Some thunder-blast of whelming wrath 
Will burst upon that Nation's path, 

Who robs a kingdom's heirs. 

And ever, as this day returns 
Oh, Saviour-god ! our spirit learns 

Where safety true resides ; 
That not our merit, but Thine arm, 
Not foresight, but Thy prescient charm 

Our refuge still provides. 

In orphanhood the Church may roam, 
And crownless monarchs need a home 

To exiled anguish lent ; 
Base faction with Iscariot-breath 
May shout for dungeon, rack and death, — 

But Faith can be content. 



Content to watch, and weep, and wait, 
And bear the ban of iron Fate 

With uncomplaining heart ; 
Her patience is a holy strength 
Subduing crime with prayer at length, 

Which Christ and Grace impart. 

Sun of the Church ! Thou Saviour bright, 
A glory gilds the darkest night 

Affliction can endure, 
When Thy pure Spirit sheds a ray 
On saints who keep the narrow way, 

Like angel-paths secure. 



THE ACCESSION. 



"Our Sovereign Lady Queen Victoria as on this day 
set over us by thy grace and providence, to be our 
Queen." — Prayer Book. 

This world is like that Creature vast* 

The royal dreamer had to face ; 
Whose head from burnish'd gold was cast, 
But when you reach'd the talon'd base 
Vile metal there commenced its lower sway, 
And slowly crumbled into worthless clay. 

And who like monarchs this can know, 

At whose accession all things wear 
The richness of a regal glow, 

And triumphs of that festive glare 
A coronation and a crown present, 
With all the pomps of shouting Welcome 
blent? 

The spangles on the mourning-dress 

Worn for some princely head, which lies 
Cold in sepulchral nothingness, 

Are scarce removed from courtly eyes, — 
Ere happy mourners to another king 
Their venal chant of vaunted homage sing. 

Alas ! for Kings, if state and throne, 

If splendour and monarchal pride 

Were all that royal minds could own, 

Or crowns and fawning courts provide : 

A fate like this the soul would overpower, 

And harrow princes in their calmest hour. 

The kingdom of the mind exceeds 

Whatever realms and rank impart, 
And oft a monarch inly bleeds 

To find himself a friendless Heart, — 
In crowded loneliness to speak and smile, 
And be unechoed in his thoughts the while. 



St. Athanasius. 



t 1 Sam. xv. 



Dan. ii. 32, 38. 



And hollow dreams must oft surround 

The pageantries of royal state ; 
Deceits and dangers there abound 

While secret anguish gnaws the great : 
Peasants can weep, but Princes dare not show 
The aching centre of their voiceless woe ! 

Flatter'd by many, loved by few, 

Before them group and gather all 
Who seek to veil each covert-view, 

Their serpent tongues the "country" call ; 
Too oft fair loyalty is glozing speech 
Gilding the cause cold Self desires to reach. 

Hence, Thou for whom a realm is kept 

O'er which the sunbeams ne'er go down, 
Wider than that the eagles swept, 

When Rome became a huge renown, — 
The Church anoints thee with her unction 

now, 
And drops the crown upon Thy jewell'd brow. 

While thrones descend, and empires shake 

'Mid loud convulsion fierce and far, 
And strife and civil discord make 
Pale Europe rock with coming war, 
God of our glories ! 'tis in Thee we own 
The deep foundations of a christian throne. 

. Lift we our heart-breathed hymn on high 
To That incarnate King of kings ! 
Under Whose providential eye 
A coronation-anthem sings 
Each patriot soul, who Church and Crown can 

see 
Eeposing grandly, when they rest on Thee. 

The life-blood of a loyal heart 

Plows bravely through our British veins ; 
Nor shall this hero-truth depart 

From cot and palace, shore and plains, — 
That Kings on earth a regal shadow throw 
Of Him, to Whom all worlds subjection owe. 



ORDINATION. 



' ' The congregation shall be desired, secretly in then- 
prayers, to make their humble supplications to 
God." — Rubric for the Ordering of Priests. 

Saviour of spirits ! if the burden'd life 
Our ransom'd being into action bears, 

Be ever with some wordless mystery rife 
Which mocks what Adoration's lip declares, 



Oh, is it not, when Truth's devoted hour 
To Thine Own altar some young Levite leads, 

And the high gift of Thine absolving power 
Endows the Priesthood for celestial needs 1 

Yes, long as awed remembrance can remain 
Shall I that everlasting moment feel, 

When in the silence of St. Asaph-fane 

Heart, soul, and conscience did these words 
o'ersteal, 

" Receive Thou, for Thy priestly work divine, 
A promised unction from the Holy One ; 

Anointed be thou at this hallow' d shrine, 
Watchman of Zion ! lo, thy work begun ! 

"Absolve for Christ the sin pure grace 
forgives, 

For Him reserve what He himself retains ; 
Dispense the Food by which the spirit lives, 

The ruling Sacrament wherein He reigns." 

And when a stillness, thrilling, rapt, profound, 
Breathed from the depths of each adoring 
Soul, 

Eternity seem'd closing all around 

And shaded conscience with divine control. 

With seven-fold gifts a Grace did here descend 
Hearts to illumine with celestial Love, 

And to each priest below some unction send 
Perfumed with incense from The Priest 
above. 

Let Faith believe, and ever hope and pray 
Lord of the Temple ! Thou wert nigh, to 
bless 
Each Shepherd, vow'd to feed thy flock that 
day, 
And fold them safe in life's vast wilderness. 

To guard, premonish, and with truth provide 
The Saviour's Body here on earth which 
roams ; 
Pure unto death, to preach The Crucified, 
And beckon pilgrims to their sainted 
homes, — 

Such was the Charge we messengers received, 
Such the high call our stewardship obey'd ; 

Woe be to us ! if truths were unbelieved, 
Our bosom prayerless and the Church 
betray'd. 

Thus, living Shepherd of immortal Sheep ! 

If to our pastoral work the soul was given, 
Though for sad errors all must wail and weep, 

Still, let us hope there breathed a gift from 
Heaven. 



168 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



Years since have roll'd, of trial, change and 
grief, 
But still that Ordination-vow is heard ; 
And what can soothe us with sublime relief, 
" But, " I am with you ! " oh, Incarnate 
Word] 

And, blent with awfulness of faith and fear, 
For each young watchman then for Christ 
ordain'd 
Prophetic Fancy sketch'd some quiet sphere, 
Where souls for Jesu might be sought, and 
gain'd. 

Visions, perchance, of rural cots retired 
Hover'd around the priested hearts of those 

Who, ne'er by sad ambition inly fired, 

Haunt the lone hamlet where the poor repose. 

Such was the scene our peerless Herbert loved, 
Pictured in quaint and quiet Walton's lines ; 

Which Hooker sought, and Hammond's taste 
approved, 
In whom the image of a Pastor shines. 

Yet, little boots it, what our destined place 
In the large vineyard of the Lord may be, 

Weave but the spells of Thine ordaining grace, 
And Time and Scene are lost, Lord ! in 
Thee. 

Whether in haunts of fever, homes of gloom 
Where squalid Woe retreats, and yearns 
to die, 

The toil-worn pastor cheers some tatter'd room, 
And calms the anguish of a mourner's sigh ; 

Or, haply down where greenwood-dales retire 
Through hawthorn-lanes he wends his 
thoughtful way, 

What time pale sunset gilds the village-spire, 
And seeks the cottage where he comes to pray, 

Wherever duty, discipline and care, 

Faith, hope, and meekness grace his onward 
path, 

A Shepherd finds his flock, and feeds them there, 
And the rich promise of his Master hath. 

Spirit of Light, of pastoral love and peace, 
Divine Sustainer ! send Thine unction now ; 

And teach the watchman, time gives no release 
To bight the burden of a priestly vow. 

But bear thou up, and bear thou nobly on ! 

To warn the wicked and the saints to guide, 
Till thou be summon'd where the dead have 
gone, 

Who lived for Duty, and for Jesus died. 



EUCHARIST. 

" The most precious Body and Blood of thy Son, our 
Saviour, Jesus Christ." — Communion Office of the 
Clmrch of England. 

Banquet of bleeding Love, by Christ prepared, 
Feast of all feasts ! we turn to thee, 

Which dying Grace alone declared 
Manna of immortality ; 
For, when the tomb-call must at length arrive, 
The Dead shall feel thee in their dust alive.* 

There, sacrifice and zeal in one combine, 
With brotherhood of blissful love ; 

And faith-born feelings, most divine, 
Alighting from their Source above : 
Creeds and commands, and penitence and 

prayer, 
With purity and pardon, — mingle there. 

And who can celebrate the mystic Rite, 
Perfect and pure, predestined Lamb ! t 

Nor feel their glory of delight 
Who realise the dread I AM, 
And worship Him with tender awe intense 
In the deep shade the words " Do this," dis- 
pense 1 

List, now the pealing organ-swell is o'er 
And hymned chants dissolve away, 

And through yon temple's arched door 
Cold worldlings seek the din of day, 
Sublime the hush ! as though the Dead drew 

near 
On balanced wing, our beating hearts to bear. 

Let the stoled Priests their order'd station 
take ; 
The Shrine of sacrifice and prayer 

Lord Jesus ! Thou wilt not forsake, 
But be our felt Atonement there ; 
Renew'd by faith, and realised in love, 
While o'er Thine altar broods the Mystic 
Dove. 

Oh ! rapt Communion, which can raise the 
soul 
To the clear heights of sin forgiven, 
Scatter the spirit-clouds that roll, 
And feed us with the food of heaven, — 
Thine is the hour, when dead and living meet 
In blended homage at one Mercy-seat ! 



John vi. 54. 



t Rev. xiii. 8. 



Who comes with cold or criticising heart 

The outward elements to scan, 

In this high Feast can have no part, 

Where God comes down to sup * with man ; 
Seeds of Eternity within it lie, 
Which bud on earth, to blossom in the sky. 

Though bread look bread, and water water 



To carnal vision dull and cold, 

Yet sacraments outsoar the dream 

Of those who nought but sense behold : 
Faith is the eye by which believers view 
Christ in the tokens of His Presence true. 

Thou Nourishment for all baptismal souls, 
A food high Angels cannot share, 

The vastness of thy charm controls 
The hearts which palpitate with prayer 
Into an awe profound, — but full of grace, 
For God incarnate, bleeding for our race. 

Incorporate with Emmanuel's Body all 

By sacramental union grow, 

Who Christ their Resurrection call ; 

Though sinful dust they seem below, 
Faith more than dying Flesh in Man can see, 
And in The Lord's our true eternity.f 

Soul of all Rites ! mysteriously sublime, 
By whom the fainting Church is fed, 

Though veil'd in garbs of sense and time 
We know Him, as he breaks the bread ! J 
When Christ dispenses that almighty food, 
" Receive my Body and partake my Blood." 

Refreshment, pardon, and renewing grace 

God's eucharist to each imparts, 
That prints a reverential trace 

Of Jesus on their sainted hearts : 
And who are they who need no heavenly gift 
High o'er the world their sinking hearts to lift ? 

Humility and hope this Feast inspires, 
Chastens the mind, and calms our fear ; 

And cools the uncontrolled fires 
Of those who fancy heaven is near, 
Dreaming they stand on Zion's topmost place 
Long ere they learn to wind around the base ! 

A green oasis in this herbless life, 

This desert lone of dreary hours, 

Where Time foregoes each warring strife 

And Love renews her languid powers, — 
Proves the blest Eucharist, to all who know 
The weight of this mysterious life below. 



* Rev. iii. 20. 
f 2 Cor. vi. 16; 1 Cor. vi. 19. J Luke xx. 34, 35. 



Thy strength'ning Presence, Lord ! we pilgrims 
need, 
Sinful, and oft with sadness worn ; 

For here our bosom'd sorrows bleed 
Till even pleasures grow forlorn, 
And hues sepulchral robe the world around, 
Which looks like Lazarus in his grave-clothes 
wound. 

And what a bulwark for The Church hath been 
This feast of sacrificial Love ! 

For time has no dark error seen, 
The Bread and Wine could not remove ; 
Christ and the creatures, matter, grace, and 

mind, 
In these pure symbols meet, to bless Mankind. 

Dove of the Church ! Thou Paraclete, descend, 
And such anointing grace impart, 

That round Thine altar each may bend 
With chasten'd will, and contrite heart ; 
Not with a conscience, such as earth-slaves 

feel, 
But touch'd like Peter, with impassion'd zeal. 

Thus we adore Thee, Thou almighty Priest ! 
Prophet of hope, salvation's King ; 

Here where the lowest and the least 
May learn the song of heaven to sing, 
" Worthy The Lamb o'er men and worlds to 

reign, 
Who back to God redeem'd lost souls again ! " 



GOD SAVE THE CHURCH. 

"I speak concerning Christ and the Church." * 
Eph. v. 32. 

God save the Church ! and guard Her free, 
Whom Christ ordain'd on earth to be 
A sacramental guide and friend, 
Our creed to mould, and heart amend. 

God save the Church ! from Christ She came, 
And proved Her apostolic name 
When Rome's Augustine vainly tried 
To get her free-born faith denied.* 



* Concerning the primitive freedom and Catholic 
antiquity of the British Church, the following extract 
from a rare tract by Lloyd, formerly Bishop of St. 
Asaph, will be reverently appreciated by all church- 
men : — " For near a hundred years there was almost 
no possibility of communication between Rome and 
Britain, and therefore it was no wonder if there was 
grown a great strangeness between them. Besides, 
in that interval of time the Roman Church was much 



170 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



For long before the Danish clan, 
Or Saxon, o'er rent England ran, 
The monks of Bangor move in glory 
Through the stern page of British story. 

God save the Church ! sectarian Mind 
In prayerless reason bound and blind, 
From Her serene repulse hath met, 
Whose crown remains unsullied yet. 

Science and learning, art and song, 
Around Her name and nature throng ; 
Hero and sage, and saint and martyr 
Have gloried in Her heaven-seal'd charter. 

So, when I read th' historic past, 
And see how persecution's blast 
By rack and dungeon, fire and hate, 
In vain besieged her queenly state, 

Present and future both appear 
Enlink'd with her sublime career ; 
In whom unchanged by friends or foes 
The apostolic life-blood glows. 

God save the Church ! we challenge all 
Who English archives dare recall, 
To match her sainted roll of men 
Whose lives recall'd St. John again.+ 



altered from what it was formerly. . . . The Britons, 
whom that Emperor had left to themselves, continuing 
in their primitive liberty, a hundred and fifty years 
after this, when Pope Gregory the First would make 
Austin the Monk their Archbishop, they told him 
plainly, 'We will not be thy subjects:' they knew of 
no 'authority he had over them.' .... By these 
instances it sufficiently appears that Rome had made 
great alterations in other things, and made bold to 
impose them on other Churches as conditions of her 
communion. It appears that these Northern Churches 
were shut out of her communion; they were called 
the schismatics of Britain and Ireland, for no other 
reason but only because they would not receive these 
alterations, nor submit to the authority by which 
they were imposed. . . . Wheresoever they found the 
Roman tyranny abetted against them, there indeed 
they stood upon their terms; and laid the schism 
upon them who were the cause of it, and would ' no 
more communicate with them than with Pagans, ' as 
Bede tells us. The Scots of South Ireland stood thus 
little more than thirty years after Austin came over ; 
all the other Scots and Picts held out nearly a hundred 
years longer : but the Britons much above two hundred 
years. And yet, the Churches that stood at this dis- 
tance from Rome, all the while continued communion 
with each other, and kept their religion the same in 
all points that it was when the Roman Empire stood, 
and the same that was anciently in the purer Roman 
Church." — Lloyd's "Primitive Church," pp. 64, 65, 
69, 70. 

* John xv. 7; John xiv. 19; Matt, xxviii. 20; 
John x. 27, 28. 

f " ' My hope is that I shall shortly leave this valley 



Parochial Watchmen, pure and high 
Whose worth and wisdom near'd the sky, — 
Eternity enshrines their name 
Who Avon their crowns through fire and flame 

Howe'er ungrateful Time forget 
On earth to pay the lauding debt, 
Delighted Angels watch'd below 
Their counterparts in pureness glow. 

God save the Church ! whose rites control, 
Chasten, subdue, and calm the soul ; 
Something of earth, but more of heaven 
To all Her prayer and praise is given. 

Time and eternity appear 

To melt the sigh, and move the tear, 

As oft her liturgy of love 

Lifts man below to God above. 

Majestic, too, her haunted shrines, 
Where sentiment with stone combines : 
Chantry and choir, and arch, and nave 
Where lie the buried pure and brave, 

Breathe mute, but magic eloquence, 
And through the eye to soul dispense 
A wordless power of inward prayer, 
Born of the creed, — that God is there. 

Nor be forgot our ivied fanes 
Which crest the hills, and dot the plains ; 
Where gothic roof and graceful tower 
Wield o'er the heart a witching power : 

So hush'd and heavenlike seems the spot 
That time and turmoil are forgot ; 
And Nature her lone sabbath keeps 
Where child, or village patriarch, sleeps. 



of tears, and be free from all fevers and pain ; and, 
which will be a more happy condition, I shall be free 
from sin, and all the temptations and anxieties that 
attend it : this being past, I shall dwell in the New 
Jerusalem, dwell there with just men made perfect; 
dwell where these eyes shall see my Master and 
Saviour Jesus ; and with him see my mother, and all 
my dear relations and friends. But I must die, or 
not come to that happy place ; and this is my content, 
that I am going daily to it. . . . And now, Lord — 
Lord, receive my soul ! ' Thus he lived and thus he 
died like a saint, unspotted of the world, full of alms- 
deeds, full of humility, and all the examples of a 
virtuous life, which I cannot conclude better than 
with this borrowed observation, — 

' All must to their cold graves ; 



But the religious actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. ' " 

See Walton's Account of Herbert's Death. 



THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



171 



God save the Church ! for rich and poor 
Alike expands Her gracious door, 
Who from the cradle to the grave 
Watches the Souls Christ died to save. 

The peerage of the Church are those 
In whom the Saviour's image glows ; 
And in the poorest, grant, that we 
God's noblemen by saintship, see. 

There, prince and peasant, man and child, 
Learn saving wisdom undefiled ; 
And nought is hid by Godhead spoken 
To conscience bruised, or spirit broken. 



* Ecclesiastical annalists of the Elizabethan period 
relate, that when that good and great prelate, Arch- 
bishop Whitgift, was expiring, the only words he 
could intelligibly express were, "Pro ecclesid Dei/ pro 
ecclesid Dei ! " But, what can rival the saintly glories 
which encircle the dying bed of the illustrious 
Hooker, as recorded in the quaint page of Walton? 
"The doctor had occasion to inquire his present 
thoughts, to which he replied, — ' That he was medi- 
tating the nature and number of angels, and their 
blessed obedience and order, without which peace 
could not be in heaven ; and oh ! that it might be so 
on earth ! ' After which words he said, — ' I have lived 
to see this world is made up of perturbations ; and I 
have been long preparing to leave it, and gathering 
comfort for the dreadful hour of making my account 
with God, which I now apprehend to be near ; and 
though I have, by his grace, loved him in my youth, 
and feared him in my age, and laboured to have a 
conscience void of offence to him and to all men, yet, 



But, most because the Word of Heaven 
Is purely to the people given 
In British language, broad and free, 
Church of my Fathers ! love I thee. 

God save the Church, and save the Queen ! 

Mitre and Throne have ever been 

To weal and woe alike related, 

By Truth revered, and Treason hated. 

God save the Church ! be this our cry- 
Both while we live, and when we die ; * 
For, rail Her foemen as they will, 
The Church is England's glory still ! 



if thou, O Lord! be extreme to mark that I have 
done amiss, who can abide it? And therefore where 
I have failed, Lord show mercy to me ; for I plead not 
my righteousness; but the forgiveness of my un- 
righteousness, for his merits, who died to purchase a 
pardon for penitent sinners. And since I owe thee a 
death, Lord let it not be terrible, and then take thine 
own time : I submit to it ! Let not mine, O Lord, but 
let thy will be done ! ' With which expressions he fell 
into a dangerous slumber, dangerous as to his recovery ; 
yet recover he did, but it was to speak only these few 
words, ' Good doctor, God hath heard my daily peti- 
tions ; for I am at peace with all men, and He is at 
peace with me ; and from which blessed assurance I 
feel that inward joy, which this world can neither 
give nor take from me. ' More he would have spoken ; 
but his spirits failed him, and after a short conflict 
betwixt nature and death, a quiet sigh put a period 
to his last breath, and so he fell asleep. " 



LUTHER 



OR, 



ROME AND THE REFORMATION. 



LUTHER. 



175 



LUTHER. 



JUSTIFICATION BEFOEE GOD. 

" I, Martin Luther, an unworthy preacher of the 
Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, thus profess and 
thus believe ; that this article, ' That faith alone 
without works can justify before God,' shall never 
be overthrown, neither by the emperor, nor by the 
Turk, nor by the Tartar, nor by the Persian, nor by 
the Pope, with all his cardinals, bishops, sacrificers, 
monks, nuns, kings, princes, powers of the world, 
nor yet by all the devils in hell. This article shall 
stand fast, whether they will or no. This is the true 
Gospel. Jesus Christ redeemed us from our sins, and 
He only. This most firm and certain truth is the 
voice of Scripture, though the world and all the 
devils rage and roar. If Christ alone take away our 
sins, we cannot do this with our works : and as it is 
impossible to embrace Christ but by faith, it is, there- 
fore, equally impossible to apprehend him by works. 
If, then, faith alone must apprehend Christ, before 
works can follow, the conclusion is irrefragable, that 
faith alone apprehends him, before and without the 
consideration of works; and this is our justification 
and deliverance from sin. Then, and not till then, 
good works follow faith, as its necessary and inse- 
parable fruit. This is tbe doctrine I teach ; and this 
the Holy Spirit and church of the faithful have deli- 
vered. In this will I abide. Amen." 



PEEFACE 

TO THE SIXTH EDITION. 
1852. 

LUTHER. 

(From Herder.) 

"Machtiger Eichbaum ! 

Deutschen Stamms ! Gottes Kraft ! 

Droben in Wipfel braust der sturm, 

Du stehst mit hundertbogigem Armen 

Dem Sturm entgegen und griinst ! 

Der Sturm braust fort ! Es liegen da 

Der diirren, armen Aeste 

Zehn darnieder gesaust. Du Eichbaum stehst, 

Bist Luther ! " 

It is recorded in the history of Edward the 
Sixth's coronation, that when three swords were 
brought before him as appropriate symbols of 
the three Kingdoms over which he was called 
to reign, the monarch observed, one was yet 
wanting. In reply to the nobles who demanded 
what his majesty was pleased to require, he 



replied, it was the Bible. The sacred volume 
being then placed in the royal hands, the youthful 
king delivered himself in the following noble 
strain : — 

"That book is the sword of the Spirit, and to be 
preferred before those swords that ought to govern 
us, who are then for the people's safety by God's 
appointment. "Without that sword, we are nothing, 
we can do nothing, we have no power : from that we 
are what we are this day ; from that we receive 
whatsoever it is that we at this day assume. He 
that rules without it, is not to be called God's 
minister, or a king. Under that we ought to live, to 
fight, to govern the people, and to perform all our 
affairs. From that alone we obtain all power, virtue, 
grace, salvation, and whatsoever we have of divine 
strength. " 

In the spirit of these sentiments touching the 
regal power and religious supremacy of the Divine 
"Word, the author has the privilege to commit a 
Sixth Edition of the following Poem to the press. 
Under disadvantages of a peculiar character, 
the work has been enabled to maintain its 
ground; and it is with no vain egotism, but 
with a thankful heart, the writer is enabled to 
state that, not only in his own country, but in 
America, Germany, and on the continent, a 
poetical essay on the Eeformation has been 
welcomed as not unworthy the sacred cause to 
which it is devoted. 

As regards this new Edition, the Author has 
to observe, the poem has undergone a complete 
and careful revision ; and that the chapter, entitled 
"Jesuits and the Mind of Man," is altogether 
new. 

It now remains for him to add, the decisive 
language he has used in branding the errors of 
the Papal system, is by no means on a level with 
the enormities his work attempts to portray. 
True, indeed, by those who cultivate a latent 
sympathy with Romanistic doctrine, the writer 
has been censured for using indefensible epithets 
when speaking of what the sectarian Council of 
Trent has canonised. But, in reply to this, 
he begs to re -affirm, such language is clearly 
justified by the dogmatic teaching of his own 
Church; and that in comparison with what 
Jewell, Ridley, Latimer, Cranmer, Bramhall, 
Hall, Jeremy Taylor, Wilson and Bull, and even 
Laud, have written against the corruptions of 
Rome, — the severest lines in his poem are almost 
mild and unmeaning negations. It is easy for 



176 



LUTHER. 



those who cannot refute an advocacy, to abuse 
the advocate ; to confound charity towards Per- 
sons with attachment to Principles; and when 
superstition is righteously exposed, to raise a 
denouncing cry of "irreverence" against a writer 
who has the manliness to be truthful and sincere. 
But this injustice is too transparent to prevail 
over any mind acquainted with catholic verity 
and primitive discipline. " The truth as it is in 
Jesus," is one thing; and we recoil with absolute 
dread from language which approximates to irre- 
verence in respect to what such " truth" reveals : 
but the falsehood as it is in Rome, is another 
thing; and we maintain, nothing could be so 
irreverent, as to leave such falsehood uncensured 
and uncondemned. 

The moral realities of Luther's personal cha- 
racter, as unfolded in these pages, have been 
described by some writers as overdrawn; and 
others, indeed, have professed astonishment — 
that such a man could form a possible theme 
for poetry at all ! Instead of any formal discus- 
sion, let the author be permitted to quote the 
words of Coleridge, whose judgment on what 
constitutes the heroical attributes of Human 
Nature, few controversialists will be so immodest 
as to dispute. 

"Mr. Coleridge happened to lay his hand upon 
a little old engraving of Luther -with four German 
verses above it. He said, ' How much better this is 
than many of the butcher-like portraits of Luther 
which we commonly see. He is of all men the one 
whom I especially love and admire.' Pointing to the 
first words of the German verses, he explained them, 
'Luther, the dear hero.' 'It is singular (he said), 
how all men have agreed in assigning to Luther the 
heroic character, and indeed it is certainly most just. 
Luther, however wrong in some of his opinions, was 
always right in design and spirit. In translating his 
ideas into conceptions, he always understood some- 
thing higher and more universal than he had the 
power of expressing. He did not bestow too much 
attention on one part of man's nature, to the exclu- 
sion of the others ; but gave its due place to each ; 
the intellectual, the practical, and so forth. He is 
great, even where he is wrong ; even in the sacra- 
mental controversy, the most unhappy in which he 
engaged ; for his idea of Christ's body becoming 
infinite by its union with the Godhead is entirely 
wrong. ' Some one mentioned Calvin. He said ' Calvin 
was undoubtedly a man of talent; I have a great 
respect for him ; he had a very logical intellect ; but 
he wanted Luther's powers.' " 

But we need not confine ourselves to the testi- 
monies of writers who study the character of 
Luther through the medium of Protestant feel- 
ings. When we are next assailed for over-esti- 
mating the noble qualities of the Grerman 
Reformer, we recommend the objectors first to 
weigh the following words of Frederick Von 
Schlegel, after his perversion to the Roman 
Church — 

"In the first place, it is evident of itself, that a 
man who accomplished so mighty a revolution in the 
human mind, and in his age, could have been endowed 



with no common powers of intellect, and no ordinary 
strength of character. Even his writings display an 
astonishing boldness and energy of thought and 
language, united with a spirit of impetuous, passionate, 
and convulsive enthusiasm." . . . "Luther, so 
far from exciting the rebels, like some of the new 
gospellers, opposed them with all the powers of his 
commanding eloquence." . . . " None of the other 
leaders of the new religious party, had the power, 
or were in the situation to uphold the Protestant 
Religion, its present existence is solely and entirely 
the work and the deed of one man, unequal in his 
way, and who holds unquestionably a conspicuous 
place in the history of the world. Much was staked 
on the soul of that man ; and this was in every respect 
a mighty and critical moment in the annals of man- 
kind, and in the march of time. " . . . "When we 
consider the intellectual endowments of this extra- 
ordinary man, solely in themselves, the boldness of 
his speculations, and the energies of his eloquence, 
will be found to form an epoch (as is universally 
acknowledged), not only in the history of the German 
language, but in the progress of European science, 
and European culture." — Philosophy of History, Lec- 
ture 15th. 

What will our Romish assailants reply ? This, 
be it remembered, is not the heated enthusiasm 
of an " irreverent dissenter;" but the calm, 
cool, and thoughtful appreciation of one of the 
most philosophic historians of Human Nature, 
and who was, also, a devoted adherent of the 
papal communion. 

As might have been anticipated, on the attri- 
butes of Luther's character, the nature of the 
Roman Apostasy, and the Unity of the Visible 
Church as disorganised by the principles of the 
early Reformation — much has been written, and 
with different objects, by those who have re- 
viewed the present work. Still, as every author 
is naturally supposed to over-estimate the charms 
of his own Hero, and to exaggerate his triumphs, 
moral or intellectual, we are glad in this edition 
to offer some evidence on these points from 
parties whom no candid person will accuse of 
what certain members of our church are pleased 
to denominate, "Ultra Protestantism."* Hear, 
then, what Archdeacon Manning says in his 
work on the " Unity of the Church " — 

" I am bound to say that, on the one hand, the 
just causes of complaint which made Luther first 
address the bishops of Brandenberg and Mersberg, 
and his steady appeals through every gradation 
of ecclesiastical order to the award of a General 
Council ; and, on the other, the violent and corrupt 
administration of Leo X., ending in an excommuni- 
cation against a man whose cause was still unheard, 
seem effectually to clear both him and those who, 
for his sake, were driven from the unity of the 
church, from the guilt of schism." — Manning on The 
Unity of the Church, pp. 328, 329. London, 1842. 



* The Bishop of London, in his late charge, tells his 
clergy that so far from their being ashamed of the 
name "Protestants," they ought rather to glory in it. 
And with much reason ; since the consistency of the 
sound churchman, as well as the orthodoxy of the 
sincere Christian, is here involved. For, what book 



LUTHER. 



177 



In the second place, let us direct attention to 
the subsequent quotations from a work, which 
Dr. Pusey, for some reason or other, has ceased 
to record among his advertised works. We 
allude to the "Historical Inquiry into the 
Probable Causes of the Rationalistic Character 
lately predominant in the Theology of Germany, 
&c. &c. ByE. B. Pusey, M.A., Fellow of Oriel 
College, Oxford. London : Rivington. 1828." 
Let the reader, then, mark the high terms of 
admiration and reverence in which Dr. Pusey, in 
his best production, alludes to the great apostle 
of the German Reformation. We recommend 
them to the candid attention of those who 
denounce Martin Luther as an incarnation of 
polemical fierceness. 

"Much, both in the external and internal circum- 
stances of the German Keformation, occurred to pre- 
vent its full and adequate development. Had this 
been perfected in the spirit in which its great instru- 
ment might have completed it, if permitted tran- 
quilly to finish his work, or supported by others, 
acting on his own principles, and surveying the whole 
system of revolutions with the comprehensive and 
discriminating view of his master-mind, the history 
of the German Church had probably been altogether 
different," &c. — "The fruitless attempts to satisfy an 
uneasy and active conscience, by the meritorious 
performances of a Romish convent, had opened his 
eyes to a right understanding of the Scripture, in 
whose doctrine alone it could find rest ; and the clear 
and discerning faith which this correspondence of 
Scripture with his own experience strengthened in 
him, gave him that instinctive insight into the nature 
of Christianity, which enabled him, for the most part, 
unfailingly to discriminate between essentials and 
non-essentials, and raised him not only above the 
assumed authority of the church, and above the might 
of tradition, " &c. pp. 7, 8. — "The number of the noble 
band, who were actuated by the same spirit as Luther 
was, di min ished, and their agency disturbed by the 
troubles of the times," &c. — "More fatal than the 
impediments thus presented to the tranquil develop- 
ment of the principles, were the internal divisions, 
originating in an imperfect conception of its scheme, " 
<fec. — "These had indeed been checked by the com- 
manding spirit of Luther," p. 9. 

The following beautiful passage, though not 
immediately referring to Luther himself, is yet 
too valuable in itself to be omitted. 

" The Reformers, in consistency with their great 
tenet, that Scripture is the only authoritative source 
of Christian knowledge, had laid the study of the 
sacred volume as the foundation of all theological 
science. In the pursuance of this principle they had 
established as the rule of interpretation one which, 
when correctly developed, contains all the elements 
of right exposition, which have since been gradually 
vindicated by the combination of several partial 



in the universe, next to the Bible, protests against 
Rome with such doctrinal eloquence and scriptural 
energy as the Prayer Book of our primitive church ? 
See also an admirable charge by the Bishop of 
Llandaff. 



efforts. Then, or rather (mark this, reader !) the 
biblical rule, that ' Scripture is its own interpreter, ' 
includes in itself the religious, historical, grammatical 
elements, which were imperfectly, because separately, 
brought forward by Spener, Semler, and Emesti. 
For it is obvious that if Scripture is to be understood 
from itself, those only can rightly and fully under- 
stand it, who have a mind kindred to that of its 
authors ; as any human production upon which the 
mind of its author is impressed will be best under- 
stood by him whose intellectual and moral character 
is most allied to the original which it expresses. The 
individual is thus placed, as it were, at the centre of 
the same circle from which the views of the author 
emanated; and contemplates, therefore, every part 
in the same order, harmony, and relation, of which 
they were originally possessed. In religious writing 
it is plain that the spirit required is a religious spirit : 
that none can truly understand St. Paul or St. John 
whose mind has not been brought into harmony with 
theirs — has not been purified and elevated by the 
same spirit with which they were filled ; and this 
unquestionably was what the pious Spener meant by 
his much disputed assertion, that none but the rege- 
nerate could understand Holy Scripture," pp. 26, 27. 
— "No wonder that H. Muller should speak against 
the four dumb church idols, the font, the pulpit, the 
confessional, and the communion table," &c. — "Such 
a system could not endure ; it contained within itself 
the seeds of its own dissolution ; a reaction was 
almost the unavoidable consequence, unless some one, 
or some succession of men, gifted with Luther's pious 
and discriminating mind, should establish a separation 
between this accumulation of mercenary human defi- 
nitions ; and the simple truth should replace, by the 
influential faith of the heart, the barren contentious 
scholasticism by which the miderstanding alone was 
occupied, or rather was distracted," pp. 49, 50. 

Once more we shall venture to select a fine 
passage from this (unfortunately) now neglected 
work. In allusion to Ernesti's principles of 
interpretation, Dr. Pusey favours us with the 
following deliverance : — 

" He forgets that every new religion must form to 
itself a new language; (queiy, in what sense is 
Christianity a ' new religion ? ') that in order to convey 
new truths, words already in use must indeed be 
employed to connect them with the primary ideas of 
mankind ; but that the signification of these words 
must be modified, that they must be recast, remoulded, 
in order to receive the stamp of the newly commu- 
nicated truth. The application of classical language, 
in its full strictness, to the words of Christianity, 
could not convert them into a document of mere 
human speculation. That Kayo; signified ' reason, ' and 
'wisdom,' in the classics, was a very superficial as 
well as entirely mistaken ground for supposing that, 
in St. John, it meant nothing more than the wisdom 
of the communications made to man. The effect of 
this is seen in its full pemiciousness in his immediate, 
followers. 'Regeneration' was supposed to signify 
'the mere reception into a religious society;' the 
doctrine of the influence of the Holy Spirit became 
more or less a certain attaining of praiseworthy qua- 
lities with the (often merely external) assistance of 
God ; the iv uvea with the Father's unity of disposi- 
tion and will," <fcc. 

" In the school of experience, of Luther, he would 



/ 



178 



LUTHER. 



have learnt the analogy of different parts of the life 
of most christians, and the different stages of the 
Law and the Gospel." 

Let the preceding passages from Dr. Pusey's 
" Historical Inquiry" be considered in the spirit 
of their general significance, and few will 
say, that our view of Luther's spiritual and 
intellectual majesty as the Paul of the German 
Reformation — is exaggerated and overdrawn. 
But, for a far more impressive vindication of the 
severe language the following work applies to 
the Church of Rome, we shall now resort, not to 
the pages of dissent, nor to the works of ' ' Ultra- 
Protestants," but to none other writings than 
those of the Rev. Henry Newman, B.D., Vicar 
of St. Mary's the Virgin, "Fellow of Oxen 
College, Oxford," and author of "Tract 90." 
Let us hear, then, Mr. Newman himself on the 
essential characteristics of Trentine Romanism. 
They are "according to the last accounts" of 
Mr. Newman, by that gentleman himself — 

4. In 1838— 

" Their communion is infected with heresy ; we are 
bound to flee it as a pestilence. They have established 
a lie in the place of God's truth, and, by then- claim 
of immutability in doctrine, cannot undo the sin they 
have committed." — Tract 20. 

5. In 1834— 

"The spirit of old Eome has risen again in its 
former place, and has evidenced its identity by its 
works. It has possessed the Church there planted, 
as an evil spirit might seize the demoniacs of primi- 
tive times, and makes her speak words which are not 
her own. In the corrupt Papal system we have the 
very cruelty, the craft, and the ambition of the Re- 
public ; its cruelty in the unsparing sacrifice of the 
happiness and virtue of individuals to a phantom of 
public expediency, in its forced celibacy within, and 
its persecutions without ; its craft in its falsehoods, 
its deceitful deeds and lying wonders ; and its grasp- 
ing ambition in the very structure of its policy, in its 
assumption of universal dominion ; old Rome is still 
alive; nowhere have its eagles lighted, but it still 
claims the sovereignty under another pretence. The 
Roman Church I will not blame, but pity ; she is, as 
I have said, spell-bound, as if by an evil spirit ; she 
is in thraldom." 

"In the book of revelations, the sorceress upon the 
seven hills is not the Church of Rome, as is often 
taken for granted, but Rome itself, that bad spirit 
which, in its former shape, was the animating prin- 
ciple of the fourth monarchy. In St. Paul's pro- 
phecy, it is not the temple or Church of God, but the 
Man of Sin in the Temple, the old man or evil prin- 
ciple of the flesh which exalteth itself against God. 
Certainly it is a mysteiy of iniquity, and which may 
well excite our dismay and horror, that in the very 
heart of the Church, in her highest dignity, in the 
seat of St. Peter, the evil principle has throned itself, 
and rules. It seems as if that spirit had gained 
subtlety by years ; Popish Rome had succeeded to 
Roman Pagan ; and would that we had no reason to 
expect still more crafty developments of Antichrist 
amid the wreck of institutions and establishments 
which will attend the fall of the papacy ! . . . I deny 
that the distinction is unmeaning. Is it nothing to 



be able to look on our mother to whom we owe the 
blessings of Christianity (!!!) with affection instead 
of hatred, with pity indeed, nay, and fear, but not 
with horror? Is it nothing to rescue her from the 
hard names which interpreters of prophecy have put 
on her, as an idolati-ess and an enemy of God, when 
she is deceived, rather than a deceiver ? " 

I also say — 

"She virtually substitutes an external ritual for 
moral obedience ; penance for penitence, confession 
for sorrow, profession for faith, the lips for the heart ; 
such at least is her system as understood by the 
many." 

Also I say, in the same paper — 

6. "In 1834 I also used of certain doctrines of the 
Church of Rome, the epithets, ' unscriptural, ' 'pro- 
fane,' 'impious,' 'bold,' 'unwarranted,' 'blasphemous,' 
' gross, ' ' monstrous, ' ' cruel, ' ' administering deceitful 
comfort,' and 'unauthorised,' in Tract 38. I do not 
mean to say that I had not a definite meaning in 
every one of these epithets, or that I did not weigh 
them before I used them." 

"With reference to this passage the same monitor 
had said :" — 

7. I said in 1837 of the Church of Rome,— 

" In truth she is a Church beside herself, abounding 
in noble gifts and rightful titles, but unable to use 
them religiously ; crafty, obstinate, wilful, malicious, 
cruel, unnatural, as mad men are. Or rather, she 
may be said to resemble a demoniac, possessed with 
principles, thoughts, and tendencies not her own ; in 
outward form and in outward powers what God made 
her, but ruled within by an inexorable spirit, who is 
sovereign in his management over her, and most 
subtle and most successful in the use of her gifts. 
Thus, she is her real self only in name, and till God 
vouchsafe to restore her, we must treat her as if she 
were that evil one which governs her." 

And here let the writer be permitted to say a 
parting word on some church principles, which 
occasionally appear in this poem, and the reader 
shall be released from further intrusion. Need 
it be said, then, no apology is required for the fact, 
that the Author of this volume is a Churchman, 
who venerates the polity, and heartily obeys the 
teaching, of the Anglican Church ? And if such 
be his character, would he not have been a coward 
and a sycophant, had he endeavoured to hide his 
real principles, by not viewing the work of the 
Reformation from the historical standing-point of 
his own Communion ? No honest dissenter can 
object to this ; and while he hopes and believes 
nothing in the volume breathes a spirit of intole- 
rance against any sectarian, who conscientiously 
dissents from the Anglican Church, — he is not 
ashamed to confess, he has contemplated the 
Reformation as a loyal member and minister of 
that ancient Communion in this country, which 
rightly and scripturally claims to be, "The 
Church of England." 

In the words of Coleridge, he will now ter- 
minate this introduction. Alluding to Blanco 
White's "Evidence against Catholicism," (Ro- 



LUTHER. 



179 



manism ?) this great poet and profound thinker 
states— 

"When I contemplate the whole system as it 
affects the great fundamental principles of morality, 
the terra firma, as it were, of our humanity, then, 
trace its operation in the sources and conditions of 
national strength and well-being ; and, lastly, consider 
its woful influences on the innocence and sanctity of 
the female mind and imagination, on the "faith and 
happiness, the gentle fragrancy and unnoticed ever- 
present verdure of domestic life, I can with difficulty 
avoid applying to it what the Rabbins fable of the 
fratricide Cain, — that the firm earth trembled wher- 
ever he strode, and the grass turned black beneath 
his feet." — Coleridge on the Idea, <£c, pp. 131, 132. 



The above preface was written under a full 
impression, that a new edition of this volume 
would forthwith be published. Upon the whole, 
however, the author thinks it best to retain 
these remarks ; and has merely to add, all which 
has since occurred in regard to the Romish con- 
troversy in England, amply confirms and justifies 
the strongest statements respecting our ecclesias- 
tical dangers and difficulties. It is, indeed, with 
a sorrowing heart, subdued hopes, and many 
fears, he sends forth the present attempt to 
uphold catholic truth and scriptural Christianity, 
seeing with what fearful apostacies and perver- 
sions our own Church is now visited. Surely, 
national repentance before God is required, 
while men of faith, action and prayer, are bound, 
by the most awful obligations, to sink their com- 
plexional differences, and rally round the central 
ark of the Redeemer's Church and cause. Let 
us, in meek dependence upon the sustaining 
promises of the Gospel, combine our energies in 
one hallowed league of love ; and, thus, purified 
with the graces of the Divine Spirit, proceed 
"earnestly" to "contend for the faith once 
delivered to the saints," — having this battle-cry 
of celestial encouragement sounding in our ears, 
— "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give 
thee a crown of life." — Rev. ii. 10. 



EXTRACT FROM A BIOGRAPHICAL 
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

" The progress of the Reformation in Luther's own 
mind is a very curious subject. Such were the great 
talents and qualities of Luther, and such the situation 
of Europe at the time, that the Reformation, in fact, 
passed from the mind of the one into the mind of the 
other." — Professor Smyth's Lectures on Modern His- 
tory, vol i. p. 265, Edit. 1841. 

' ' The following pages are an attempt to reflect, 
in a poetical form, some prominent features and 
prevailing expressions in the life, character, and 
work of Martin Luther, viewed in historical 
connexion with the Reformation of the sixteenth 



century. Though each section be distinct, yet 
it is hoped, in spirit, the poem will be found to 
constitute the unity of a moral whole. How far, 
or not, the writer may have succeeded in a style 
of thought, and structure of plan, somewhat out 
of the popular track, — must be left to the 
candour and criticism of others to decide. What- 
ever may be the reception of these pages, they 
are, at least, submitted to the public eye with 
unaffected deference ; and with the entire con- 
viction that, if proved to be meritless, their 
failure must be ascribed to the incapacity of the 
author, and not to any deficiency of interest in 
the subject. 

' ' Luther, in the rugged grandeur of his faith, 
may well be considered as the Elijah of the 
Reformation ; while his life, by the stern and 
solemn realities of its experiences, and the 
almost ideal evolutions of events by which it was 
accompanied, constitutes the embodied Poem 
of European Protestantism. But, as with others 
who make or move the history of mankind, 
Luther must be contemplated under that double 
aspect, which is answerable to the twofold 
region where the moral features of manhood 
are expressed, or betrayed. In the one, we 
meet external realities, standing forth conspicu- 
ously on the broad surface of biography and 
history; in the other, we are presented with 
peculiarities of character, which appertain more 
to the inward man, and are to be detected chiefly 
in his Correspondence, — more especially, in 
Letters written from the Wartburg, where he 
reveals the darkness and despondency by which 
he was so often haunted, and perturbed. Luther 
the Reformer is, after all, but an outward and 
visible index to the inward and invisible charac- 
teristics of Luther the Man : and if in the open 
light of history, we are struck with the almost 
miraculous consequences a lonely monk, from 
the depths of an Augustinian convent, put in 
motion, — not less are we affected to perceive, 
how wonderfully and wisely the trials and 
experiences of his inner nature were providen- 
tially overruled, and wrought into experimental 
connexion with those religious achievements 
which have made the name of Martin Luther 
immortal. Indeed, to those who love to enter 
the secrecies of the human Spirit, and advance 
even unto the very centre of our spiritual con- 
sciousness, the German monk, as he appears 
behind the scene of public life, beyond most 
men, is an attraction. At one time, we discover 
bim to be all elate, high-wrought, and far- 
soaring, mounting upward and heavenward in 
the golden bight of hope and joy ; at another, he 
wails and weeps from the very dust of depression 
and anguish, — uttering either truths of self-expo- 
sure, which startle you like thunder-voices, heard 
at midnight; or else, sighing forth his restless 
mind with broken murmurs, faint and mournful 
as the cadence of a distant sea. He dipped his 
pen, at all times, in the heart-blood of sincerity, 
and wrote Himself out in a genuine copy, without 



3f2 



180 



LUTHER. 



seeming, for one instant, to care what might be 
concluded touching the original ! In this respect, 
perhaps no man has ever been self-revealed with 
more truthful audacity : and thus, in his corre- 
spondence and confessions, we have a revelation 
of the 'hidden man of the heart,' unshrouded 
to the very core ; and are invited to look into 
the surging depths of a spirit, adown which the 
deep eye of Dante would have loved to gaze. 



" The vast Creation, as constituting a material 
autograph of its Maker, in letters of dim mag- 
nificence and veiled mystery; the divine sym- 
bolism which pervades all nature ; the Headship 
of the exalted Redeemer ; his mystical Union 
with the universal Church ; the transforming 
omnipotence of His Word; the omnipresence of 
His Spirit; the unfolding drama of Providence 
in connection with the mysterious Cross ; and 
the predestinated enthronement of Messiah 
over a redeemed and regenerated world, — 
truths and themes like unto these, have been, 
and ever will be, a mock and a mystery to 
secular taste, and the mere victim of this world ; 
yet, in order to estimate Martin Luther, we 
must remember such were among the inspiring 
realities which regulated his heart and ruled his 
life. 

"In him, moreover, we find a superhuman 
reliance on Gfod, heroic zeal for Christ, a per- 
petual sympathy with the Spirit's movement, 
and a sublime conviction that in the Word, 
personal and written, are to be found all the 
reason, science, beauty, sublimity and harmony 
of the universe, in their concentrated essence and 
perfection. Such a being as this, can never, even 
in bare idea, much less in his moral reality, be 
understood without at least a portion of divine 
enthusiasm for Gfod, and Christ, and that love 
of Man by which his own spirit was ennobled 
and actuated. With all his faults, take him 
as a whole, perhaps our world will never look 
upon his like again. And while a Papist is 
instructed by the priest to consider the German 
monk a Satanic incubus ; and the man of literary 
pursuits and earth-born tastes can rarely allow 
him more than historical preeminence in the 
controversies of the church, it is gratifying to 
think that by those who bear on the forehead of 
their Lives the signature of His cross whom they 
adore, — Luther is revered as a human battle-axe 
in the hands of the Almighty, for cleaving 
asunder that System of sacerdotal imposture 
which has ever been ' the abomination of desola- 
tion,' standing in 'the holy place' of Gfod's 
truth and man's salvation. 

" 'I did not learn ray divinity all at once, but was 
constrained to search deeper and deeper, to which my 
temptations brought me ; for no man without tempta- 
tions can attain to the true understanding of the 
Holy Scriptures. I had, hanging on my neck, the 
pope, the universities, all the deeply learned, and 
with them the Devil himself. These hunted me into 



the Bible, wherein I diligently read, and at length 
(God be praised !) attained to the trae understanding 
of them.' 

" These are Luther's own broad, bold, and 
characteristic words ; and they form a fitting 
preface to a fine eulogy on his career, from the 
pen of the polished Atterbury. 

" ' Martin Luther's life was a continued warfare ; he 
was engaged against the united forces of the papal 
world, and he stood the shock of them bravely, both 
with courage and success. He was a man certainly 
of high endowments of mind and great virtues : he 
had a vast understanding, which raised him up to 
a pitch, of learning unknown to the age in which he 
lived ; his knowledge in Scripture was admirable ; his 
elocution manly ; and his way of reasoning with all 
the subtlety that these plain truths he delivered would 
bear. His thoughts were bent always on great 
designs, and he had a resolution fitted to go through 
with them. The assurance of his mind was not to 
be shaken or surprised, and that sra»§»j«a of his (for I 
know not what else to call it) before the Diet of 
"Worms was such as might have become the days of 
the apostles. His life was holy, and, when he had 
leisure for retirement, severe : his virtues chiefly 
active and homiletical, and not those lazy, sullen 
ones of the cloister. He had no ambition but in the 
service of God; for other things, neither his enjoy- 
ment or wishes ever went higher than the bare conve- 
niencies of living. He was of a temper peculiarly 
averse to covetousness or any base sin, and charitable 
even to a fault, without respect to his occasions. If 
among this crowd of virtues a failing crept in, we 
must remember that an apostle himself had not 
been irreproachable ; if, in the body of his doctrine, 
one flaw is to be seen, yet the greatest lights of the 
church, in the purest times of it, were, we know, not 
exact in then- opinions. Upon the whole, we have 
great reason to break out in the phrase of the prophet, 
and say, "How beautiful upon the mountains are the 
feet of him that bringeth glad tidings ! " ' 

" The author will now take his leave of the 
reader, and humbly commit this volume to the 
protecting love and guidance of that high Being 
' from whom all holy desires, all good counsels, 
and all just works do proceed.' Whatever in 
this volume is in harmony with His Word, may 
He condescend to bless ; whatever is not so, may 
He graciously overrule, and pardon the sin of 
the writer. 

" ' Satis me vixisse arbitrabor, et officium hominis 
implesse, si labor meus aliquos homines, ab erroribus 
liberatos ad iter cosleste direxerit. ' — Lactantius. 

' ' That he is indifferent to the critical reception 
which the volume may have, — would be ludicrous 
hypocrisy for him to assert. It has caused the 
author extensive reading, study, and reflection ; 
and he will be more than thankful if, as this 
work haply winds its way through the world, it 
may here and there please a good man, attract a 
wise, or gratify a tasteful one. With all its 
faults, he hopes and believes it contains truths 
neither uninteresting to the mere reader of poetry, 
nor unrevered by those who love to penetrate 
the hidden sanctuary of their own hearts, and 



ponder on Things beyond the grave. For the 
imperfections of the work he cannot be too 
humble ; but for the christian Principles which 
it attempts to embody, he neither has, nor 
desires to have, any apology. They are in con- 
sonance with the Articles, Homilies, and Creed 



of His own venerated Church ; they are those for 
which sainted martyrs have died, and which 
have ever constituted the noblest bulwark of 
nations, because they are in full accordance with 
the Word of God." 
Glasgow, 1842. 



CENTRE OF REVEALED TRUTH. 

From everlasting was The Christ of God 
Veil'd in the purpose of His love divine. 
But, God hath no historian ; archives none 
His past eternity to us presents : 
For, who the motions of His voiceless Will 
Can number 1 Saint and seraph here, alike 
Are baffled, and the dread I Am adore 
With that religion silent prayer begets, 
When mind created on Jehovah dwells. 
Enough for man this truth august to know, 
Redemption was no after-thought, by sin 
Awaken'd from thy depths, celestial Love ! 
When first Humanity the fiend obey'd : 
For, in the councils of almighty grace 
Thy Priesthood, oh, Incarnate ! was design'd 
Before creation out of nothing sprang. 
But when, at length, the hour predestined 

came, 
Eternity a form of Time assumed, 
And from His throne of perfect glory stoop'd 
The Second in the Godhead, and Himself 
In mortal limbs and lineaments array'd ; 
Then did Emmanuel, on this blighted earth 
Of sin and sufFring, body forth such grace 
As made our orb a wonder-scene of worlds, 
By there achieving what the God Triune 
Determined, when His master- work was 

plann'd, — 
The vast Atonement blood divine unveils ! 

Who can express Thee, Thou great Pro- 
found 
Of glory, where all miracles in one converge, 
And God Himself in concentration shines 
For ever? Thee The Father only knows, 
And truly fathoms. Thee the Spirit crowns 
Sole Prince of Earth, and Paragon of Heaven 
In Whom the counsels of salvation reach 
Their glorious summit. Thee bright Angels 

bend 
Around, and ever, with enchanted gaze, 
Centre and strain their intellectual eyes 
Full on Thy wonders, — dazzled, awed, and dim 
With Thine excess of all-exceeding love ! 
Thus, how shall erring man, begirt and bound 
With mental darkness, to the heights of grace 
Incarnate, lift one clear and cloudless view ] — 
For in the secrets of Thy Cross we find 



A principle, where God alone on God 
Is acting,- — where the Heart almighty beats 
With mercy, and the pangs of Calv'ry prove 
His attributes, in full pulsation met. 

Expression dies before a theme like this, 
Completely master'd ; but, the heart of Faith 
Breaks into language with outbursting love, 
And, taught by scripture, thus presumes to cry, 
" Thou art, Christ ! our intellectual Sun 
Throned in the firmament of deathless mind ; 
The radiant Centre of almighty love, 
The mystic Vine of everlasting life, 
While the dread Trinity in Thee is hymn'd 
By saints and angels, with commingled praise." 

And, all we have, and are, or hope to be, 
Hangs on Messiah, as the holy source ; 
Who shades with mercy that consuming fire, 
Which else creation would at once have smit 
To ashes, when the curse for sin was due. 
But in the Cross, and by the Cross perused, 
How featured with significance sublime 
And beautiful, this breathing World becomes ! 
Creation, by the plastic charm of faith 
Transmuted, like a boundless temple stands, 
Where all is eloquent of Christ The Lord. 
Lo ! the broad earth a solemn area seems, 
And the arch'd sky a bended ceiling grows 
Whose lamps are planets, in their burning 

shrines ; 
Wonder is priestess ; and the mingled choir, 
The organ-music roll'd from waves and 

winds, — 
While, deep with worship, swells th' unconscious 

voice 
Of Nature, when her blent hosannas rise 
To bless the Architect and Source of all. 

And say, what merit must The Blood express, 
That guilt from God in vindication hides ] 
Oft in the night, when musing thought 



And well remembers all the world has been ; 
How Sin hath never yet a sabbath kept, 
From the first pulse in man's apostate mind 
To the last throb in Treason's bosom now, — 
Well may the heart, with big emotion charged, 
Empty itself in adoration's tears : 



182 



LUTHER. 



And mind devout, with awed amazement, 

think 
How infinite must Calv'ry's pleadings be 
Which soften judgment, and sustain a world ! 

Thus, every mercy our creation holds, 
Born of His merit, bears Emmanuel's name ; 
And through His rent and riven side descends, 
Eeaches all hearts, and radiates all homes 
With christian brightness. Hence, in Jesu's 

Cross 
We glory ; all our creed round That revolves : 
For there, to heights of unimagined grace 
God's Covenant the wond'ring mind attracts 
And welcomes, till the o'erwrought heart 

succumbs 
In mute religion at their mystic base. 
And therefore, while in nature God we greet, 
And in the wrappings of this outer-world 
His garments witness, that from sense infold 
A Splendour Infinite, a felt Unseen, — 
Yet not o'er these the heart's most epic strain 
Lift we of lauding rapture. Though the sun 
Burn like a mystery of living beams, 
Filling our eyes with reverential light 
To watch him ; though the moon's poetic brow 
Be lovely, arch'd with most celestial grace, 
And yonder meek and melancholy stars 
Thrill like the pathos of eternity 
Our pensive bosom, — not in these we boast, 
Though beautiful : nor in the sacred Deep 
Who chants his lone and everlasting hymn 
Of waters, like the psalmody of waves 
In worship ; nor in all the wondrous things 
Which Nature in her realm of varied life 
Concenters, can the God-taught spirit trace 
Matter for largest triumph. — Nor can Mind 
Such rev'rence claim, as that dread hour 

demands 
When burst thy heart, Emmanuel ! into blood 
For sin, and back the forfeit-heaven regain'd. 



CHRISTIANITY. 

Thus, " God forbid ! " a rapt Apostle cries, 
In aught we glory, but the Cross sublime ; 
Which, planted in this wilderness of worlds, 
Hath bloom'd with second paradise to man. 
And think, (unless the terror of that thought 
Palsy thy mind, or stop the mental pulse 
From beating,) think what Man and Earth 

had been, 
If never from Emmanuel's veins had roll'd 
The tide of Merit, our atonement drew ! 
What but a curse, a prison, and a pang 
Had reason, life, and apprehension proved ? 
Amid the bowlings of the Law unkept 
Encompass'd ever, like incarnate hells 



Men would have lived, have wept, blasphemed, 

and died ! 
Then, why not, Priests of sentiment and song, 
Yourselves baptized, baptize your pages too ] 
Oh ! let the Cross your admiration deck 
With solemn beauty, when o'er nature's types, 
Her hues and scenes, poetic fervours rise ; 
For, all creation is with Christ inspired. — 
And ye, who through the world of mind 

delight 
In thought to wander, lo ! The Christ is there ; 
Reason is but a ray from Him derived, 
That sparkles only with the light He makes. — 
Monarchs who rule ! remember, lawless will, 
But for His pangs, would rank and order 

crush ; 
And ye, who legislate for church, or crown, 
From the deep science of Salvation draw 
Canons of truth, by creed almighty sign'd ; 
For there, both law and love together form 
A perfect Archetype, in Whom they blend. 
Or ye, who in domestic bower enjoy 
Heaven's fairest miniature, a virtuous home, — 
'Tis from the homeless Man of Grief ye draw 
Your sweets of gladness, when the hearth-sides 

glow. 
And Christian ! what art thou, but Christ in 

man, 
By creed and conduct, character and life 
Envolved, and still envolving ? Thou in Him, 
And He in thee, — thy life but echoes His ; 
Thy foremost graces are refracted gleams 
Directly from His perfect glory cast. 
But, all thou art can faith alone depict : 
Experience only is description here, 
And that, internal : — since the life of truth 
Is learn'd by feeling, and by love acquired : 
Mere language only is a dead pretence, 
Aping the life which love alone can reach, 
Or e'er embody. But, if thus the life 
Of faith imperfect, far beyond the soar 
Of speech, to altitudes of secret awe 
Itself exalteth, who, by climbing words 
The Lord of Being in His life of faith 
Presumes to follow 1 There all language ends, 
As tenses in eternity are lost ! 
Be this enough for sinful man to know, 
In Christ the sum and substance of all truths 
Are met, and manifest; in Him, full-orb'd 
Religion ev'ry saving virtue finds : 
For, there alone the heart of God unveils 
Its vast expression : in the Face Divine 
Of Him, the arch-Elect, before all worlds 
In secresy of Love divine embraced, 
In Christ, the counterpart of Godhead, shines 
That moral radiance which Himself repeats 
By humanised reflection. There alone, 
The fallen Spirit, with an eye unfilm'd 
By grace, from sin and sensual darkness freed, 



MYSTEEY OF SUFFERING. 



183 



Pardon and peace in God for man can find. 

All other media which inventive Pride 

Presumes to fashion, are but barren dreams : 

Man's deity is only dust refined, 

Himself re-cast in some ethereal mould, 

A finite into infinite enlarged, 

And this dilation for a God mistook ! 

But Thou, Emmanuel ! art the Way we come, 

The Truth we know, the endless Life secured, 

The all in all of God to us reveal'd, 

And us to Him restored. — Creation's book 

Lies blotted o'er with sin's perplexing stain, 

And no erasure can Thy name detect, 

In full divinity of sound and sense 

Conspicuous, or complete. And, what can Law, 

That dreadful paraphrase of Justice, speak 

To lawless Guilt, but condemnation dire 1 

And, how can Reason in her light resolve 

That proble*m, deep as God, and dark as guilt, 

How sin is punish'd and the sinner spared, 

When falls the sabre of celestial Wrath, 

And in one flash both heaven and hell illumes 1 

Or say, can conscience, whose rebuking voice 

In jealous echoes of the jealous God 

Is ever sounding through the soul within, 

Can this alarmist, to the shrinking gaze 

Of guilt, the trembler, mercy's plan unfold 1 ? 

Ah ! no : in Christ alone we Godhead find ; 

In Christ alone His character evolves ; 

On Calv'ry's hill God's attributes were throned, 

And reach'd a climax when their Lord expired. 



MYSTERY OF SUFFERING. 

Throughout the universe of God there reigns 

A ruling harmony of love and law ; 

And thus all worlds, by secret link allied, 

Together one melodious system make, 

Wherein each orb a fated portion fills 

In due relation to the boundless whole. 

But here, let Reason stand, where Mary stood, — 

Under The Cross ; nor catechise the work 

The filial Word completed, when in flesh 

He suffer'd ; and His suffering Body taught 

How God on time eternity reflects, 

And in the mirror of the church's life 

Doth glass the features of a sovereign Will, 

Secret, and not to faculties create 

In flesh, or spirit, e'er to be reduced. 

But still, we rest not ; and our reason longs 

Madly to question what no finite mind 

On earth can answer, when our musing eye 

Roves o'er the moral waste the church hath 

been, 
And dares to criticise what God hath done 
Or Christ permitted, in this world of ours ! 
For what, but good and evil, strangely mix'd, 
Seems the dark mystery of the church's doom 1 



Here saint and sinner, grace and nature blend ; 
Angels and Fiends for blood-earn'd souls 

combine ; 
All passions, principles, and powers remote, 
(From the high daring of celestial hearts 
To the low horrors of consummate guilt,) 
All strive with each, and each with all 

conflicts. 
And, who can wind his labyrinthine way 
Through shades of providence, like these, 

profound ] 
We see in part; but when perfection dawns, 
Both part and whole shall then Thy name 

uplift 
Almighty ! then, the choir of chanting Worlds 
Around salvation, one stupendous tide 
Of deepening rapture shall for ever roll, 
And God His own great Vindication be. 

But here, we lisp the alphabet of grace 
Alone, and scarcely that at times pronounce. 
Infants of time, we yet have much to learn, 
And more to suffer, ere we find resolved 
The paradox of wrong the church endures. 
If to each pang some purpose we could link, 
Patience might sing, where now vexation sighs 
For wisdom ; but the Yision tarries yet ! 
Between God's purpose and our pang there lies 
An Infinite, where baffled Reason, blind 
With gazing, would in vain some landmark see. 
But grief, when sanctified, is God to man 
Himself imparting, for some end conceal'd 
Deep in the core of his eternal plans. 
Here may we rest ; beyond we cannot rise ; 
Or, on the infinite Unknown we dash 
The mind to madness, and our faith to fears. 
Perchance, our World to higher Being proves 
A Platform, where the truths of heaven enact 
Their natures, and to angels wisdom show. 
Or, hearts on earth are moral schools to heaven, 
And pangs below are preachers to the skies, 
While glory shines around each sainted tear 
Which faith, or feeling, in our warfare sheds. 

Perfect through suff 'ring ! — such Emmanuel 
was; 
And can the members of that mystic Head 
Refuse to echo what their Master felt ] 
A suff 'ring Image must the church become 
If with her archetypal Lord complete 
Her oneness prove; and what in pangs the 

Head 
Endured, each member must on earth repeat 
By thrilling counterpart in truth, and tone, 
Of all He suffer'd. ISTor in heaven forgot, 
Though there unfelt, Messiah's woes remain ; 
Still through His splendour point the piercing- 
nails ; 
There in His glory yet the gash is seen; 



184 



LUTHER 



E'en on His throne, a sacramental Lamb 
Types to eternity the Manhood slain ! — 
And, like her Bridegroom, must the Bride elect 
From suff'ring deep to endless glory climb. 

We see by part, but suffer in the whole ; 
There lies the myst'ry ! there our flesh 

complains, 
Hurt feeling staggers, and the heart recoils. 
Meanwhile, in vain would Souls their doom 

avoid, 
Or mould, or master : each, in turn, must weep, 
Writhe on some rack, or drink the cup of woe 
Down to the dregs, if such their God present. 
All have their pangs, their penalties, and pains, 
Some thorn to fester in the spirit-life, 
Or, fret the mind to feebleness, or fear 
Unholy. But, the Comforter abides ! 
And while to sense the church an orphan seems, 
The Father pities, and His children find 
A secret pasture in the promise left, 
Though all look herbless to the eye of men 
Carnal, or clouded. Nor will more be felt 
Than Wisdom, for some destined rank above 
Apportions ; cross and crown related are ; 
The one is suffer'd, as the other shaped, 
Eesponsively. And as the artist's hand 
Plastic with genius, to some picture gives 
Line after line, and touch on touch repeats, 
Till colours image what his mind contains 
Of beauty, — so, in faith, experience feels 
Pang after pang, till God at length transcribes 
That viewless copy of celestial life 
His purpose imaged, ere our souls were born. 
Or even, as the skill'd refiner bends 
O'er his fused metal, in the furnace laid, 
And heaps new fire, till back its molten face 
His own returneth, by reflection bright, — 
So in the flame of hot affliction, man 
By Heaven in myst'ry is a while retain'd ; 
Till, purged of dross, and purified from sin, 
At last the metal of the heart is clear, 
And back on Deity by love reflects 
The radiant image which His glory casts. 



WISDOM COMES FROM WOE. 

We learn by suff'ring, while by faith we live, 
And graces brighten as our griefs expand : 
But, where indeed, between the woe endured 
And height of glory in a heaven to come 
Of being, is the true connection found, — 
Baffles our reason, in this cloud of flesh 
Now to unfold. Yet this, at least, we learn, 
The Head of manhood was a suff'ring Head, 
And all His members, by their mystic pangs 
But echo back Avhat Thy pure bosom felt, 
Eternal Archetype of life and faith, 



Whom all things emblem ! Here alone, there 

dawn 
Truths which illumine what might else appear 
Darkness infernal, deep, and black, and dense 
To suffocation. Here, some aims profound, 
Whose roots are in eternity's result, 
Arrest the tear, and calm to chastcn'd awe 
Secret rebellions of the soul within. 
The good shall suffer ; yet, if goodness be 
To nature fall'n, but the noble part 
Of trial, when by sin-consuming grace 
Pure love is deepen'd, — not for this repine 
The brave adorers of The Crucified ! 
They glory rather in the racking fires ; 
The more of grief, the more of God they have, 
And do (what seraphim have never done) 
Suffer for Christ ! — man's pure distinction this ! 
His high prerogative, His peerless crown 
Appointed. Devils for themselves*' endure, 
And angels, quick as sunbeams, glide and go 
At His command, and own Him Liege, and 

Lord ; 
But Virtue, by the church's heart reveal'd, 
Mounts to a range sublimer, and excels 
Beyond the burning Watchers round His 

throne : 
For, she can suffer ; and by suff'ring learn 
Lessons transcending what the angels teach. 

And more than this th' afflicted church 

evolves. 
From Abel's cry, to Luther's convent-groan, 
Self was our ruin ; into that, direct 
From God, creation's first apostate fell ; 
And out of that, alone can Flesh arise, 
By will surrender' d, crucified, and slain, 
And by the sovereignties of Will Supreme 
Master'd, and moulded. Thus, the saints are 

train'd 
From strength to strength, by educating woes, 
To loathe that vampire of creation — Sin ! 
With hate celestial, and on God to live ; 
While in that Book, whose promises, like stars, 
Eule in the night, a radiant charm they have, 
O'er all the dim perplexities of doom 
Beaming mild comfort, through the blackest 

woe 
Which palls the christian, or a church portends. 



GRIEF AND GLORY. 

Glory to grief ! when thus for God endured ; 
'Tis but the pang a Saviour's bosom felt, 
Ee-echoed, and by peerless faith prolong'd. 
The Man of Sorrows forms no men of smiles ; 
Our hearts must bathe in His baptismal fire, 
Or ne'er be whiten'd ; Cross and Crown were 
His: 



HUMAN NEED, AND DIVINE SUPPLY. 



185 



We grant it ; but, in order each He took ; 
The first He suffer'd, ere the last He wore. 
And as the Bridegroom, must the Bride be 

form'd, — 
Eepeat His Cross, and then reflect His Crown ; 
That Like on earth, in heaven alike may prove, 
In grief below, in glory, one above ! 
So, in eternal consciousness to come, 
Salvation will be sympathy entire 
'Tween Head and Members — unity august ! 
When Christ in each will Self from all absorb. 

Meanwhile, to us, Eternal Spirit ! grant 
The wisdom meek, which lives on truth divine, 
However veil'd ; a waiting mind impart ; 
And in our weakness show our strength to 

dwell. 
Like as of old, a pensive Learner sat 
Low at His feet, and listened to her Lord, 
Absorb'd and self-renouncing, be our soul 
Before the Cross in docile rev'rence bent. 
For Thou, Christ ! amid the fires hast been ; 
And o'er the flames, which on Thy church 

advanced, 
The promise, " with you, till the end of time," 
Breathed like the spell of some almighty 

breeze, 
And cool'd them into impotence, or calm. — 
No ! never hath the murd'rous hoof of Hell 
Trampled the heart from out the church of 

heaven; 
Within her, life, when all seem'd lifeless, 

glow'd ; 
Within her, grace, when all seem'd graceless, 

dwelt ; 
Within her, truth, when all seem'd truthless, 

reign'd ; 
While, ever and anon, amid the gloom 
Which Priest, or Tyrant, or the Devil made, 
Star after star in radiant grandeur rose 
To shame the midnight of the soul away. 
But, chief o'er all the galaxy of lights 
To stud the firmament of christian fame, 
Shone Luther forth, — that miracle of men ! 
A gospel-hero, who with faith sublime 
Fulmined the lightnings of God's flaming Word 
Pull on the towers of Superstition's home, 
Till lo ! they crumbled ; and his with'ring 

flash 
Yet sears the ruin with victorious play. 

But thou, who o'er the church a thoughtful 
mind 
Haply in moods of mournful awe hast bent, 
Eevere the fact, whose deep foundations lie 
Far in the Infinite, beyond the wings 
Of faith, though plumed with apostolic strength, 
To follow : — Christ hath God with man conjoin'd 
By union so unutterably close, 



Divine, unfathom'd, and for ever firm, 
•That sun shall wither, all the stars wax pale, 
Mountains depart, the heavens to air dissolve, 
And the dread universe itself shall die, 
But, this Conjunction shall unweaken'd stand 
When Time is dead, and Nature drops extinct 
Into her grave eternal. Boundless truth ! 
Which out of Deity all other dwarfs 
To less than littleness, beyond compare. 
All unions type it ; all connections preach; 
Nature, and art, and pure affection's ties 
Are fill'd with emblems, shadowy, dim, and 

faint, 
Th' exceeding glory of this bond to tell : 
Wherein, by unity of mystic power, 
Christ and His Church are into One transform'd 
Colossal Person, Spirit, Life, and Frame, 
And Fellowship, and Feeling. Let that Church 
Suffer a pang — the Saviour feels it too ! 
Touch but a Member, and you thrill the Head 
With shock electric, on his Throne perceived ; 
And therefore, Tyrants ! when ye wound a hair 
Of God's anointed, up to heaven your wrong 
Ascendeth, and the heart of Jesus strikes ! 
Pays in the sun are not so brightly close, 
Trees to their root are not so firmly knit, 
And streams to fountains not so close allied, 
Body with breath, and both with soul combined 
Together, as the Church and Christ cohere. 
Hence Earth, nor Heaven, nor Hell that fights 

with each, 
The Bridegroom from his sainted Bride can 

tear. 
Thy Maker is thy Husband, Church elect ! 
And rich eternity thy radiant dower. 
And thus, we lift the shout, and song of faith 
Victorious : for the Oneness is so true 
Between the members and their living Head, 
In vain creation may be tax'd for types 
Or teaching shadows, to portray its power, 
Since mere analogy in light is lost ; 
Upward, and heavenward illustration mounts, 
Till, near the throned Almighty, overawed, 
Faith cannot soar, but folds her duteous wing, 
Backward recoils, and trembles into prayer. 



HUMAN NEED, AND DIVINE SUPPLY. 

E'en like an instrument, whose chorded depth 
Enwraps the unheard music, but awaits 
A master-touch of some awaking hand 
To make it vibrate, did the high-strung world 
Of truth and feeling for impulsive souls 
In solemn hush abide, beneath whose sway 
The moral harmonies of ransom'd mind 
In mingling swell of holiness, and love, 
Once more should waken. — Luther was that 
soul 



186 



LUTHER. 



Predestined ! he, by grace divinely arm'd, 
From the foul grave of papal sin and gloom 
The buried Gospel came to disinter. 
And let us laurel his intrepid brow 
Who faced alone (by all save Heaven unarm'd) 
That priestly Giantess of pamper'd sin, 
Whose throne was blasphemy by pride upheld ; 
That brazen Arbitress, whose sceptre robb'd 
The King almighty of the soul's domain, 
Even papal Eome ! who still her wine-cup 

drugs 
With damning charms, and deadly spells ; and 

dares 
Within the heart's pantheon yet to shrine 
Dark falsehoods, which redeeming truth 

bemock, 
The soul profane, and parody our God. 

Eternal hallelujahs rise ! and ring 
That Grace around, which call'd the champion 

forth, 
And with heaven's panoply his spirit clad 
For combat. With the energies of hell 
To grapple, with incarnate fiends to fight, 
Behold him summon'd ! On that lifted brow 
Heroic calm indomitably smiles ; 
And in that lion heart each pulse which beats 
Throbs like an echo to the cheer of heaven. 
Behold him ! grateful Mem'ry, come and gaze ; 
See Luther, from eternity decreed, 
Eise in the majesty of moral force 
From superstition's grave to heave the world, 
And bid it look upon the Cross, and live. 

And oh ! what marvels did that Mind 

achieve, 
Which in itself a Eeformation was. 
For cent'ries, deep the night of falsehood 

reign'd, 
Mildew'd the Soul, and manacled her powers 
With fett'ring darkness ; cloister'd Learning 

pined 
In cell monastic ; Science grew extinct ; 
The Bible moulder'd in scholastic rust ; 
That Fountain, from the Saviour's wounded side 
For sin once ope'd, by sealing lies was shut ; 
And, 'stead of His bright garb which Mercy 

wove 
Of perfect righteousness, by Jesu wrought, 
Spangled with graces, rich as God's own 

smiles, 
The filthy rags of ineffectual works 
Clad the cold skeleton of naked souls : 
While on his throne of sacerdotal lies, 
The arch impostor, Satan's rival, sat 
Self-deified, and ripen'd earth for hell. 
Then, Luther rose ; and Liberty and Light 
The soul unbarr'd, and let salvation in. 
Hark ! the dead Scriptures, into life recall'd, 



Harangue the conscience ; lo, the Gospel lives ; 
SAvift from the Cross infernal darkness flies : 
Martyrs and Saints, like baffled mock'ries sink 
To nothing, by victorious truth dispersed; 
O'er fancied merit free redemption reigns ; 
And in the temple of a soul illumed 
No venal priesthood, with parade of lies, 
And sacraments of sin, can enter now : 
There, Christ Himself by triple office rules, 
King, Priest, and Prophet, on the Spirit's 
throne. 



THE SOLITARY MONK. 

The solitary Monk, who shook the World 
From pagan slumber, when the gospel-trump 
Thunder'd its challenge from his dauntless Up 
In peals of truth, round hierarchal Eome, 
Till mitred Pomp, and cowl'd Imposture quail'd, 
And each false priesthood, like a fiend 

unmask'd 
And stripp'd of light fictitiously assumed, 
By some detecting Angel, shrunk dismay'd 
And shiver'd, in thy vast exposure seen, — 
Thee would I image, thou colossal Mind ! 
For what, though sad humanity's broad taint 
Of weakness, here and there thy soul diseased; 
Or, harshly quick, or, too severely loud 
Some intonations of thy spirit rose ; 
Yet, in the greatness of thy glorious work 
Eight nobly art thou, like a second Paul, 
Apparent, graced with apostolic zeal; 
Waving that banner, on whose blood-stain'd fold 
Thy name, Emmanuel ! at each ruffling blast 
Of conflict, beams with awful brightness forth. 

Thee would I vision, and on Mem'ry's glass 
Some traces of thy many-colour'd life 
In lines of holy miniature reflect. 
For in thy destiny our God we find 
Himself expounding, by the truth unveil'd. 
Upon thy mind, as some prophetic map, 
Almighty love mysteriously engraved 
An outline wondrous of the work decreed; 
Thy moral Self a Eeformation seems ; 
And in each phasis which thy soul presents, 
An imaged counterpart of all we trace 
Hereafter, in the world's vast scene evolv'd. 
And therefore, Hero of a hundred fights 
Celestial ! morning star of Jesus ! rise, 
Eise in full radiance; through the cloud of time 
Dart the rich beam of evangelic day, 
And cause the Church's heart to glow with thee. 

But yet, how low, to Season's carnal eye 
Which measures all things by the scale of sense, 
The means appointed for the end pursued ! 
How strangely small those intermitting ways 



PEOLOGUE AND PREPARATION. 



187 



By which, to great results, God's wisdom 

moves ! 
Yet, once a manger did th' Almighty hold, 
When first Messiah's human life-pulse beat 
For our behoof. And were not they, who 

hurl'd 
Philosophy from off her Babel-throne 
To speechless ruin, and our rescued souls 
To the rich fountain of celestial Blood 
Directed, — were not they, the peerless Twelve, 
Whose words like arrows pierced the heart of 

Hell 
With fire and fearlessness, the low and weak, 
Of man unlearn'd, but learn'd in much of God 1 
E'en so, from out a shepherd's mountain-hut 
Far in the wilds of Alpine bleakness hid, 
The Swiss apostle ran his high career ; 
And he, who, with the sun-like mind compared 
That Luther in his flaming boldness show'd, 
Soft as the moon in mellow radiance seem'd, 
The mild Melancthon ! — from a clanging home, 
A martial workshop, dates his lowly birth. 
And Thou ! the Reformation's mental spring, 
The Bible's loved redeemer from the cell 
Where monkish falsehood barr'd its glory in, 
Not from the loins which heraldry admires 
Didst thou proceed ; of poor, but pious blood 
Wert thou ; a simple miner call'd thee son. 



PROLOGUE AND PREPARATION. 

When God to matter gave the fiat, — Be ! 
E'en like an echo, heaven and earth arose, 
The instant product of creative Will, 
And Will alone. But when His hand divine 
The great Idea, 'fore all ages form'd 
Concerning Manhood, would in shape express, 
Lo ! in The Godhead consultation moves, 
The Persons think, the Attributes confer, 
And, " Let us make him ! " is the awful Speech 
Which symbols out to human sense, how vast 
And wond'rous was the master-piece of heaven, 
Who imaged forth the Trinity, when Man 
Rose on the scene, as lord and light of all. 

Thus Reason, here, may with Religion cry, 
" Oh, what a Fabric eloquently deck'd 
With strength and grace, our regal nature 

is ! " 
A mental structure, for whose living walls 
Eteroity and Truth foundations were. 
E'en such is Man, when fully bodied forth 
By daring energies of mental worth, 
And virtue. Hence, when heroes pure and high 
Rounded and finish'd into full-orb'd grace, 
On earth at length are destined to alight, 
E'en like some new apocalypse from heaven, 
Truthful and deep, and most divinely touch'd 



In faculty of heart, and mind, they show 
In each high lineament the stamp of God. 

And such was he, who burst the jail of 

thought, 
Shaking each fetter from the dungeon'd soul 
Of ages ; and to 'nighted Faith restored 
That creed almighty which the Cross enacts. 
But e'en as Luther was through grace con- 

firm'd, 
And shaped in secret, by the truth applied 
In the lone temple of his God-taught mind, 
By man untutor'd, — so, the creedless world 
A Hand eternal and an eye unseen 
By gradual prelude did prepare, and guide ; 
That when the true Regenerator came, 
A platform might await him ; and his Work 
Fit audience find, to welcome its advance. 

And means there were, successive, stern and 

slow, 
By which, as organs, Providence achieved 
Each consummation that His will forecast. 
Time after time, some lone Elijah lifts 
His wail august for Liberty, and Man ; 
Truth had a voice; though much unseen 

remain' d, 
Like pearls of beauty in a shell conceal'd. 
Soon Dante's hell of poetry began 
Full on the Pope to flame a fierce revenge, 
For virtue : Petrarch call'd on kings to rise : 
Then Genius, with her tongue of many tones, 
Learning, and Art, and philosophic Scorn, 
At once inspired, their banded forces hurl'd 
On the huge vice the Vatican uprear'd. 
And, long ere this, the great Arabian Lie 
Had rippled into life the stagnant pool 
Of priesthood : — foul and faithless at the core, 
It yet the unity of God preserved ; 
And by the scoff of its sarcastic light, 
Lurid, and keen upon the monkish cowl 
Reflected, — good and gracious work achieved. 
Remedial truth all falsehood underlies ; 
And thus Mahommed's arch imposture did, 
Beyond intent, in this high prologue act 
A part momentous. Next, from Alpine-homes 
The exiled Gospel sent its mountain-cry, 
All Europe thrilling. Then, the Schoolmen 

rose, 
And, wiser than their conscious wisdom knew, 
Embalm'd each verity their words o'erlaid 
In secret amber, — safe from popish tact. 
And thus, (so wonderful the links that bind 
Thought into thought, along the chain of 

time !) 
From Lombard's heaven-awaken'd breast was 

thrown 
A burning ember of immortal truth 
Pure into Wickliffe's ; thence, to noble Huss 



188 



LUTHER. 



It glow'd along to Jerome's kindred mind, 
And he to Luther did that spark convey : 
And so that Bible-spark illumines now 
The hearts of England with its holy life 
And lustre, though seven hundred years have 

roll'd 
Their tide of darkness o'er the Schoolman's 

head, 
Where first 'twas kindled by a ray from heaven. 

Here are the signs, predictive as profound, 
That all betoken, with precursive truth, 
Some Advent mighty, which an empire's heart 
Shall welcome. These are like a Baptist- 
voice 
The earth haranguing, with its glorious swell. 
But when that crisis of the world arrives, 
How doth a Hand almighty o'er the scene 
Move unbeheld, and write the coming doom ! 
See Reuchlin, by his classic lore inspired, 
Utter aloud to God's dead language, " live ! " 
And hark ! the Bible, like a Hebrew seer, 
Again may preach and prophesy to man : 
While e'en Erasmus, cold and cautious thing ! 
(A craven neuter in the cause of Christ) 
Whose head was light, but in whose heart no 

love 
Was kindled, rose beyond himself at times, 
With blasting irony to sear and singe 
The monk-born vices: thus, that orphan'd 

youth 
To God his genius and his love inscribed, 
And voiced the Bible with a Latin tongue. 

Nor dare we to progressive mind alone 
The conflux strange of tendencies, and truths 
Refer, which just before the battle-voice 
Of the brave monk around the Popedom hurl'd 
Its dreadless challenge, into force arrived, 
And action. Mark, at once, a mental blaze 
Beyond all precedent, by Heaven illumed. 
And first, that fearful Thing which rules the 

fate 
Of battle, thund'ring over field, or deck, 
With havoc wing'd on its resistless roar, 
Is now compounded ; next the Magnet comes, 
With true polarity, that ever points, 
Like sterling principle, to where it tends ; 
And marks old ocean, like a map with lines 
Of knowledge, till the wave-toss'd pilgrims 

roam 
And coast all seas, all countries, and all climes, 
Far as free commerce wafts them. Nor, the 

least 
In rank, nor last in the resulting power 
Thy fall, Byzantium ! Though the Turkish flag 
Moved in fierce triumph o'er thy crumbled 

walls, 
Yet did the Orient with a gush of mind 



Burst from its mounds, and through the arid 

West 
Pour the rich blood of intellectual life 
And learning. Next, an unimagined World 
For ages cover'd with Atlantic gloom, 
Secret of waters by stern ocean kept 
Inviolable, at length, her silence breaks, 
And lo, America on Europe smiled, 
Shaking the heart of nations with delight ! 

Marvel on marvel !— each with vaster range, 
Or new excitement, thus to Man appeal'd ; 
Heighten'd the tone of morals and of mind 
Awaken'd, roused the soul from monkish sleep, 
And thrill'd the student in Platonic bower 
Or cloister'd umbrage, with electric throes 
Of more than rapture : — for the social frame, 
From east to west, did vibrate with o'erwrought 
Emotion. Seem'd it then, as if the Earth 
Again were heaving with prophetic throbs, 
Sent to precede her soon descending Lord. 
So fast did providence itself expand, 
Nature evolve, and kindled genius rise 
And forward into fields of glory rush. 

Yet, in this prologue of adjusted means 
Heaven-moulded, chief and prime of arts 

immense, 
See, Printing rise, a universe of powers ! 
That bids the Past become perpetual Now, 
Gives reason sway, imagination shape, 
To time a soul, to thought a substance lends, 
And with ubiquity, almost divine, 
For living permanence and local power 
Each ray of soul immortally endows. 



MIGHT OF THE PRESS. 

Thou great Embalmer of departed mind ! 
Thou dread Magician ! by whose mental charm, 
A mournful, pale, and solitary man 
Who pines unheeded, or who thinks unknown, 
Long after dust and darkness hide his grave, 
Himself can multiply, with magic force 
Beyond the reach of language to explore, 
And the wide commonwealth of minds may 

rule 
With sway imperial ! Who can image Thee, 
Whether to heaven uplifting mind and man, 
Or hell- ward both seducing, bike a fiend? 
Boundless in each thine unremember'd sway ! 
Thine was a voice, whose resurrection-blast 
Peal'd through the catacombs where buried 

Soul 
For cent'ries lay, and lo ! with living might 
The Fathers burst their sepulchres, and 

breathed ; 
Dead Intellect from classic tombs came forth 



Quicken'd, and into active substance changed 
By thy vast potency : and then, was felt 
The pith of thought, the marrow of the mind 
Itself transfusing, like a second life 
The old absorbing, as with heat divine. 
And since that moment, have not Books 

become 
Our silent prophets, intellectual kings, 
Anointed hierarchs of human thought 
To vice, or virtue 1 Are they not like shrines 
For truth'? cathedrals, where the chasten'd 

heart 
Can worship, or in tranquil hours retreat 
To meet the Spirit of the olden time 1 
Since there, the drama of the world abides 
Yet in full play, immortally performed. 
Still ride the fleets o'er Actium's foughten 

waves 
Before us ; patriots fight, and tyrants fall ; 
Sparta and Corinth, and the famous Isles 
Which fought for freedom, till their blood ran 

o'er 
With brave contention, there convene, and 

clash 
Their forces ; still the Eoman eagle flies 
In full-wing'd triumph o'er the subject world; 
Caesar and Pompey yet the earth alarm, 
Or, drag their chariot with the captive East ; 
Battles are raging ; Kingdoms lost or won ; 
Yea, all the genius of gone time is there 
In Books articulate, whose breath is mind. 

And, was not Godhead in a work like this, 
When the World took a most enormous stride 
Forward at once, to freedom, life, and law 1 
Priestcraft and Falsehood (that terrific pair, 
Who murder'd Truth, and made the church 

become 
A dungeon, where imprison'd Thought expired,) 
Trembled, as if that dooming blow was struck 
Which fell'd them into nothingness, or names 
For ever : God indeed was now at work, 
Though Man, the organ, was alone reveal'd. 



BOOKS AND THE BIBLE. 

But, why are Books such half-almighty 

Things, 
Making, or marring, whatsoe'er they touch, 
With force internal 1 Whence their wond'rous 

spell? 
Bethink thee, reader ! and the answer comes. 
The universe itself was once a Thought, 
xl thought Divine, in depths creative hid ; 
And so, whate'er this mortal scene invests 
Of human action, is but plastic thought 
Itself revealing, in some forms without 
Apparent. What is half these eyes behold 



Of boundless, beautiful, sublime, or vast, 
But thought embodied into outer shape, 
Or, answ'ring symbol 1 Arches, cities, domes 
And temples, fleets and armies, trades and 

towns, 
Yea, all the might and moral of mankind 
To this significance at length arrives, 
And backward into thought may be resolved 
By fair reduction. Now, if Books be thought 
By printing clothed, and palpably endow'd 
For its vocation, whether art, or lore, 
Poetic vision, or prosaic truth, 
Kingdoms immense, or individual Souls 
The aim of its predestined mission be, — 
Forth to its work that printed Thought pro- 
ceeds ; 
And who shall track it, as it rounds the 

world 1 
Who can imagine, when 'tis once abroad, 
(However humble was its natal home) 
The Work it dares, the wonder it achieves 1 
Black as a Fiend, or like some Angel bright 
That Thought in action, may itself approve ; 
For printing, like an omnipresence, gives 
Its power expansion ; far and wide it moves, 
Peaches all hearts, a host of minds affects, 
And executes what none, save God, controls ! 
Oh, 'tis enough to harrow breath and blood 
With chilling horror, thus to feel, and know, 
That when some Thinker, who debauch'd his 

soul 
And put damnation into print for fame, 
Is cited to the last and long accompt, 
His thought is living ! like a demon, still 
Haunting the world of passion with its power, 
Or poison ; breathing a perpetual curse, 
And dropping hemlock into sensual hearts 
Which love the venom which a lie instils ; 
And thus, for ever ! not perchance to cease, 
Till Thought and Thinker shall together stand, 
Cursed by their victims, at the bar of God ! 

So great are Books : and what the Bible, 

then, 
By printing voiced, and through all regions 

sent 
To speak the errand of celestial Love ! 
Here was the Prologue, in consummate form 
Develop'd ; here the Prelude looks divine : 
That God in words, descending into Man, 
And there achieving all its creed affirms 
Of goodness, that the Bible thus should have 
An Organ ready for its godlike mouth, 
Here is the Wisdom which on high o'errules, 
Making all hist'ry but her echo'd will ! 

But now, the world is waiting : prescient 
Hearts 
In mute expectance, big with wonder beat, 



190 



LUTHER. 



Predicting -what these powers commingled 

mean, 
Or, Who from out the heaven of truth shall 

come 
Mankind to marshal, in this pregnant hour ] 
Shall Prince, or Potentate, or armed Force 
Girt by the squadrons which the world arrays, 
March in the van of Liberty, and Light 1 
" E'en by my Spirit, saith the Lord of Hosts !" 
Again that motto to Almighty ways 
Becomes embodied, and to life transform'd : 
For lo ! the Reformation's human spring, 
Unknown, unseen, in cloister'd shade retired, 
Is framed and fashion'd by the Hand Eterne : 
Here, from the depths of convent-gloom, He 

calls 
The Man He loves, the instrument He wields, 
And moulds him for the mighty Work decreed. 
But Him, who now a beacon o'er mankind 
Flames in the lustre of his far renown, 
The Spirit summons from no royal scene, 
From throne, nor palace, nor ancestral hall ; 
But chooses, in the wisdom of free will, 
A fameless Monk, of poverty and prayer, 
And leaves the palace for a miner's home. 



GOD'S HEROES. 

The Kings of mind, who govern from their 

graves, 
Our thoughts their subjects, and our hearts 

their homes 
Perennial, when they first in light emerge, 
Like new expounders of almighty Will, 
Forth from the secresy of truth unveil'd 
Glad tidings bring they, of a Glory meant 
Yet to awaken, and the world invest. 
Their utt'rance, large ; their meditation, lone ; 
By passion for the Infinite o'erpower'd, 
They dart their glances into Things to come ; 
Intense, beyond the teachings of the soul 
To reach, or satisfy. But, how received, 
These new Avatars, sent on missions high, 
To herald forth eternity in truth 
For all who love them 1 Are loud welcomes 

rung] 
Greetings of head, and jubilees of heart 
Do these salute them with applausive joy 1 ? 
Alas ! too holy the vocation far 
Of Truth's high Priests, when first behind the 

veil 
Of outward things themselves presume to 

pass, 
And bid us follow, with responsive track 
Through the rent shroud their faith had first 

undrawn. 
Time is their justice. When their tombs are 

rear'd, 



Then, Wonder dares to consecrate their deeds ; 
Will call them, primates in the church of man. 
Great Nature's own episcopate they form, 
And rule, like metropolitans of mind. 

But, mark the conflict when their voice 

emerged ! 
Struggles within, and all without them, rose. 
Their great Impression was the God unseen, 
But felt, an Infinite through finite glimpsed ; 
Yet, how they falter'd ! of themselves afraid, 
When Thoughts in vain articulation sought ; 
Or giant Apprehensions, dim and deep, 
Scarce ventured forth in intellectual shetpe 
And bodied meaning ! Oft, expression fail'd 
In form to realise what feeling grasp'd : 
Language was only a prismatic mean 
But half refracting, with imperfect ray, 
The truth essential, which they purely saw 
Single, and one, within the soul contain'd. 
But when the mind could stammer forth its 

tones, 
Profound, original, and preaching high 
On God, and Nature, Science, Man, and 

Soul, 
No music breathed they to the world's dull ear. 
But, harshly strange, and dissonant they 

seem'd, 
With fruitless paradox, for sense unfit 
And reason dang'rous ! Such the first salute 
Prophetic genius from the world obtains : 
And such have earth's regenerators met, 
From God-called Moses, to the German monk. 

But if to Morals and to Man they bring 
Authentic tidings from the Throne of Truth, 
Divine, yet most disturbing, scowl and scorn, 
Affronting coldness, and condemning fears 
Assail them ever, with a shameful wrong, 
From all who love the ancient, but the new 
Abhor, like treason ! Thus the world, self- 
blind, 
Hath greeted oft how many a regal Soul 
That rules her now, with legislative awe ! 
Wisdom itself seems heresy to fools ; 
And freedom is but license to the slaves 
Who love the fetters, which their languors fit. 
Their light is darkness, and their being death, 
And rotting silence all the soul admires, 
Admits, or sanctions, in that dormant calm 
By cent'ries gather'd o'er imprison'd mind. 
E'en like a temple, where the owls retreat, 
And the bats lodge within long-moulder'd 

shrines, 
Ope but a window, let a sun-burst in, 
And what a screaming anarchy awakes 
Where falls the light, or sounding footstep 

comes ! 
So, in the temple of deserted Man 



IMPERFECT AT THE BEST. 



191 



Where sin for ages unmolested breeds, 

Or lying Errors long repose enjoy, 

If but a day-beam of immortal truth 

The gloom dissever ; or, a living Thought, 

Divine as heaven, original from God, 

Down from the skies should suddenly alight, 

And walk his spirit with a kingly tread 

Majestic, what a host of wild alarms 

The priests of Dulness round the stranger raise, 

And call it mad, the dead in mind to wake ! 



MARTYRDOM. 

Here is the doom of Hero, Bard, or King : 
The cross of hatred first their hearts endure, 
And then, the crown of homage on their heads 
Dying, or dead, at last cold Justice puts ! 
Their crown we witness, — has their cross been 

weigh'd ? 
We boast their triumphs, — have we told their 

tears ] 
We laud their greatness, — have we felt their 

gloom, 
Their lonesome watchings, and their weepings 

long, ' 
The fret, the fever, and those wasting pangs 
Year after year, which wore the heart of Youth 
To sickness, ere the laurell'd moment came 
When truth and triumph paid high Merit's due ] 
Result the many only dare to prize ; 
But still, the process solemn, stern, and 

strange, 
Through stormful agonies, and griefs, and 

glooms, 
By which a Hero to his great result 
Attaineth, why should this no homage win ] 
Luther was great at threat'ning Worms, we 

grant ; 
But, greater still in solitude, and tears, 
When first he grappled with his fiery heart 
And, in the prison of a papal creed, 
Panted, and pray'd for evangelic day. 

Heroes are martyrs, if their minds be pure 
And highly-temper'd ; for, the Truth is strange 
To men who only by their bodies live, 
And to the pageantries and powers of Sense 
External yield their sympathies alone ; 
Or, never down Themselves presume to gaze 
With eye reflective : so, when prophets rise, 
And utter oracles from deeps of Life 
Hidden, and heavenly, from the Flesh remote, 
To them they sound like necromantic tones ; 
Eye, ear, and taste, compose their All in All ; 
And though around, within, above them moves 
And lives, an energising Power Supreme, 
Whose vesture is that Visible they love, 
They give no credence save to flesh, and form. 



Yet, what is genius, but a mouth for God 

To speak Himself to Nature, and to Man, 

And from the visible and vain of sense 

Attract us unto mysteries divine, 

But viewless, by external semblance hid ? 

There, Faith's reality alone is found ! 

Since all expression which the Outward bears, 

Is but a token of God's inner-truth 

And purpose. Thus, beneath a veiling shroud 

The Infinite an awful Presence robes, 

His thought embodies, or reflects its power. 



IMPERFECT AT THE BEST. 

Yet, what is life, but imperfection's breath, 
And human Being, but incarnate fault 
E'en at the best, howe'er by grace refined ?- 
Moses was anger'd ; David's honour fell ; 
Paul felt a thorn, and Peter proved untrue. 
Genius hath faults, and Luther's none o'erveil. 
A brave restorer of departed truth, 
Xo hollow semblance, and no heartless shade 
Came he on earth to manifest, or preach. 
Manful, but rugged, to the centre bold, 
His heart beat fiercely; and his blood ran fire 
When Eight divine, or some disastrous Wrong 
Challenged his faith, or forced his feeling out 
In action ; then, the soul's tornado raged, 
And shook the spirit to its moral roots ! 
Stormful, and strong, and gusty in his moods, 
Oft the black whirlwind from some ireful cloud 
Roused his rent bosom with disturbing rush, 
And hurl'd propriety from off its throne 
Amazed, and master'd. His was battle-life ; 
Great-hearted being ! with a lion plunge 
Full on the foe, with all his living fire 
Leapt his free soul, magnanimous as firm, 
And, — no surrender ! for the Truth must fight, 
And Faith prove conflict, if she stand sincere. 

Spirits may be, like flowers from heaven 

that fall, 
Deck'd with fine beauty, clad with mental bloom 
Most delicate, but soon earth's tainted soil 
Bedims them ; trodden in the dust they lie, 
Forgotten, faded, or defeatured things, 
Ere yet they open'd their immortal buds 
Of virtue, or their perfect fragrance gave. 
Not such was Luther's : like some burly oak 
Whose boughs wave battle with the tearing 

winds 
And bend, but never break, — his fighting heart 
Contended with all mutinies, which came 
From prince, or pope, from circumstance, or 

creed, 
And wrestled with them; or, with Samson 

force 
Subdued them, or himself with glorious fall 



192 



LUTHER. 



Laid prostrate ! Sinful oft, his moody ire 
Betray 'd him ; unadvised words he spake ; 
And sometimes, when the fervid heart grew 

wild, 
Scatter'd both friend and foe with burning 

force 
And tameless fury ! Like a soul on fire, 
The gentle wonder'd, and the wise condemn'd 
To see him thus by evil lightnings rent 
And harrow'd: but, how soon the tempest 

died ! 
When the broad sunshine of forgiving love 
Blazed o'er his spirit, like a summer-noon 
Settled and bright. Not always hot and harsh 
Did nature find him ; playful moods had he ; 
For oft that smiting earnestness of tone 
Which scorn'd the false, and cleaved all fiction 

through, 
Priestly or papal, with a forcing might 
That flash'd with fierceness, like a sword's 

descent, 
Melted away ; and, like an infant lull'd, 
Pathetic Luther all the poet-life 
Of purest feeling testified, and taught. 
Witness, ye tears ! that dropt o'er Tetzel's bed 
When reft and dying; and o'er thine which 

fell, 
Beloved, and lost, and beauteous Madaline ! 
Oft in the granite of a soil unhewn 
Full many a flower in secret freshness smiles ; 
And many a stream, where all looks arid 

blank, 
Lurks in the Horeb of some heart, unknown. 
E'en such was Luther, with his rocky front 
And jagged features, to the foe display 'd : 
But sweet affections, sanctified, and soft 
As ever water'd human breast with love, 
Gush'd into force when Feeling's reign began. 



LUTHER, AND THE AGE. 

Luther had faults, but can a feeble age 
When forms heroic, such as olden life 
Admired and moulded, are to faith and fact 
No more ; when little-hearted Truths prevail ; 
When Mammon chiefly is the standard used, 
And God's own world, where angel-wings yet 

play 
In secret motion o'er the homes of men, 
Is made an engine, whose mechanic force 
A mill can work, or manufacture sway, 
The mighty prowess and majestic heart 
Of Luther read, with comprehending love ? 
Belief hath vanish'd in the vast Unseen ; 
And earth ungodded, to presiding laws 
Is given over with a heartless lie, 
Till scarce their unbelief some dare believe ! — 
But Luther's was a lofty soul, which felt 



Beyond the body, life's true secret lay ; 
While faith in Goodness, God, and Truth 

reveal'd, 
Subdued his being with o'ermastering spell. 
And thus, by quick intensity o'ersway'd, 
He often stumbled, where the colder stand 
Securely guarded, in their frost enshrined. 

"Luther had faults!" but, oh, ye little 

Minds 
Less in your faith, and lesser still in deeds 
AVhich make the hero, or the man unfold 
In full-soul'd daring, while the outer-life 
You ponder, have ye pierced the core within 1 
A fool can censure where a prophet weeps, 
When life is only by its faults and falls 
Eeview'd : but underneath, what noble tears, 
What pangs remorseful, penitence, and prayer, 
What struggles mute, what passionate regrets ! 
Deep in the bosom — there begins a fight ! 
And there the battle-scene 'tween Flesh and 

Faith 
Unfolds its grandeur. All without appears 
The moral echo of that inward din, 
A mere reflection of internal strife 
In fitful shadows thrown on human eyes. 
Yet, these are chiefly what adjudging sense 
Accredits ; character from these is drawn ; 
And so with Luther : bold as blazing fact, 
The failings of his outer-life advance 
To catch the censure of prosaic eyes, 
And hearts which never with emotion sway'd 
Themselves, or others. But, the secret fight 
Internal, when his wild and wasted soul 
Struggled, and strove, contending with the 

Fiends 
Of darkness, baffled oft, and bleeding faint, 
And yet, right upward, through eclipsing gloom, 
Through storm and danger, and internal wrong, 
From famish'd boyhood e'en to fearless man 
Advancing, with a most unconquer'd will 
To God and virtue, — who hath laurell'd this 
Or wreath'd the record with a just renown 1 
But, true biography in heaven is writ, 
And every heart-beat throbs a record there. 

'Tis therefore, by successive falls they rise 
Step after step, through stormy grief and 

gloom, 
These Benefactors to the boundless mind, 
Patrons of soul, and true philanthropists. 
Hail to their glory I Let the sceptic rave ; 
There's something godlike in the truly great ; 
They find the lever Archimedes sought, 
And fix its fulcrum in the soul of Man 
And nobly lift him to our destined skies. 
Like parts and portions of the primal True, 
Like apparitions from a purer World, 
Like human echoes of great Nature's heart, 



OMNIPOTENCE OF FAITH. 



193 



Whose beat is holy, — fresh from God they come, 
And summon man to virtue ; or, expound 
Our vast relations with the Infinite. 
Their words breathe might ; oracular and strong, 
Direct from deep Eeality they roll 
Like inspirations : or, with soul array'd, 
Their meanings fall with fulminating burst 
Full on the battlements of ancient Crime, 
And crush them ! — thus, their mental tones 
Are sleepless echoes to the ears of Mind 
For ever ; time with them is all attuned. 

Yet, though these Spirits bear th' almighty 

stamp, 
And challenge far beyond what earth bestows 
Of homage, yet the world is all unwont 
Voices from out the solemn deeps of Thought, 
Divine as theirs, to rev'rence, or regard. 
And Luther, like his fellow-heirs in fame, 
A great minority, a glorious One 
A while stood forth, unaided and uncheer'd. 
But here is greatness, — when by truth possess'd, 
Earth, Sense, and Time, alone to face and feel. 
And where, save in the armoury of heaven, 
Found the brave monk a weapon for his fight 1 
And that was Faith ! in God, in Good, and 

Truth, 
In Beauty, Wisdom, and celestial Worth, 
Heaven-rooted Morals, in the deathless Mind, 
But chief, in Duty ! — dread and awful Thing ! 
Which o'er relations from Th' Eternal drawn, 
Reaches on high, to where God's throne is 

rear'd, 
And downward to Perdition's wailing hell 
Extendeth. — That which holds our being fast, 
And binds together with uniting band 
All facts, and feelings, faculties, desires, 
All that we suffer, fancy, dream, or do 
From life's first pulse of reason to the last, 
This power and principle of Duty makes ; 
To finite deed gives infinite result, 
Calls the dead Past to resurrection-life, 
Harangues the guilty, and that hour predicts 
When mem'ry into one concenter'd whole 
Gone life shall grasp, and startled Conscience 

hear 
How the last trumpet can our thoughts restore. 



OMNIPOTENCE OF FAITH. 

Faith was the weapon ! by it Luther fought, 
Conquer'd himself, and then, the world subdued. 
And what is That, but God by man applied 
Above all reason, sense, and earth, and sin, 
In things heroic, heavenly, or sublime 1 
From Abel's worship, e'en to Samuel's word 
Faith was a magic which all wonders did ; 
Whether the pausing sun its cry obey'd 



Or, the Moon hearken'd to its holy spell, 
Or, Red Sea parted, by its kingly voice 
Cloven, and balanced like a billowy wall 
On either side, for heaven's anointed Host, 
Scatheless the fire, or mute the lion's mouth 
Became, — whatever in the kingdoms three 
Of nature, providence, or grace, was done, 
Faith was the doer, at whose potent cry 
Empires and thrones, and alien armies fell, 
Weakness grew strength, the mortal, half 
divine ! 

And what, without it, seems this fallen world 
But Pandemonium, with a purer name 1 
Clothed in hell-fire, come any Shape of sin, 
Take any form, satanic Guile ! but this, 
The Infidel !— the fellest blight which falls. 
No foul elixir of a fiendish lie 
So baneful as the cup, which Unbelief 
Drains to the bottom with delirious joy. 
Oh ! 'tis a wasteful, with'ring, black disease 
That to the vitals of all virtuous thought 
And wisdom, sends a paralysing shock ; 
The very life-blood of all goodness dies 
Before it ; like a heart-fiend, lo ! it rules ; 
All forms of excellence and feeling die, 
The Beautiful departs, the Brave expires ; 
Hope hath no heaven, and fear no hell to face : 
All high relations are at once relax'd 
With God, and duty ; self and passion rage 
In the hot furnace of a seething heart 
Resistless ; men are now but fiends, with flesh 
Apparell'd ; lust becomes a brutal flame, 
And all those moral harmonies, which make 
Nature a noble, Man a godlike thing, 
Have perish' d ! Life is then a form of death ; 
The heart's insolvent ; mind a bankrupt too ; 
Jehovah in eclipse Himself retires, 
Till thus, all ghastliness the earth appears, 
Orphan'd of God, — a suicidal world ! 

Here was thy rock, thy fortress, and thy rest, 
A faith intense, beyond mutation firm, 
Whose solid basis was th' eternal Heart 
Open in scripture, by the Spirit read. 
But in the life of Jesus heard to beat 
With pulse almighty, in its love for man. 
Here was thy spell, thy secret, and thy sway, 
Thy lock of strength, unsever'd and unshorn. 
Luther ! in this thine earthly comment lies. 
Here is the key, which all thy soul unlocks, 
And lets mute Wonder, with exploring gaze 
Each hidden region of thy spirit view. 
Faith to thy being sun and shield supplied, 
Summon'd the soul, and nerved the noble heart 
With zeal untamed, to burn, or bleed, or die, 
But tremble never ! — Thine was spirit-life, 
Whose solemn breathings were from scripture 
drawn, 



194 



LUTHER. 



And adoration ; while, both heart and head 
Motives and movements from the world to 

come 
Divinely influenced with inspiring force, 
Or sanction. Thus, thy mission was complete, 
Thy virtue safe, and thy vocation seal'd. 
Whether we mark thee, when that rugged face 
Beam'd in bold triumph o'er the flaming Bull ; 
Or on thy forehead, where intrepid thought 
Throned its high meaning in the hall of Worms, 
Admiring Hist'ry fix her spell-bound gaze ; 
Or grateful Fancy, by the gospel led, 
Bend o'er thy Bible, when some midnight-lamp 
Lighted each feature, as the truths divine 
Rose into life, by thy translating touch 
Restored, or brighten' d, — still, in all we find 
Faith was the secret power, whose shaping 

charm 
Moulded the man, when most he grew sublime. 

And, whatsoe'er our rank, degree, or lot, 
Giant or dwarf in morals, or in mind, 
'Tis faith alone true character can build. 
Not as we learn, but as we live, we are ; 
And as we live, with things divinely pure, 
These in their depths, we rightly understand. 
Since faith is rooted in eternal life ; 
And all fair promise in the tree of man 
Blossoms from thence, or dies a mocking show 
Fruitless, and fragile. G-ive us faith, God ! 
Faith in Thyself, and that will Thee impart ; 
Chaste will life be, and calm its closing hours, 
To them who have Thee, all their hearts and 

souls 
Possessing ever, and by them possess'd. 
In Thee, and by Thee, — thus they live, and love, 
They think, they suffer, what they act, achieve ! 
In all things, heaven and holiness abound ; 
Minutest objects Thine hand- writing prove, 
And Life becomes one grateful hymn to Thee. 
So, when that trump, whose archangelic peal 
Shall sound the tocsin of creation's doom, 
Thunders its challenge, Faith shall then arise 
And, firm as Jesus on The Judgment throne, 
Look on thy face, Eternity ! and smile. 



THE CHILD PROPHESIES THE MAN. 

The hand of Jesus on thy heart, child ! 
In love was laid ; He watch'd its hidden play, 
And heard it throbbing with unspoken 

prayer. 
Thou fair inheritor of mortal flesh, 
Typing the kingdom of the unattain'd ! 
Prophet ! with mighty revelations mute ; 
Thou priest ! with sacrifice of soul to come ; 
Thou king ! whose monarchy young feeling 

rules, 



Meanings around thee, full of heaven declare 
'Tis like religion, when we look on thee. 

A deep heart thrilling with the Unavow'd, 
A spirit dark'ning with the Undescribed, 
And his whole being rock'd, and urged, or rent 
With big emotions, beautiful and strong, 
On Mansfield plains, behold, that destined Boy, 
All that is great in earth, or sky, adore. 
Earnest he is, and most intensely true ; 
Free-hearted, bold, with open forehead graced, 
Rude as the wave that roughens in the wind 
Resistless ; gifted with a fervid soul, 
Mirror' d by eyes, where mental radiance beams, 
And yet, withal, by sadness mildly touch'd 
At being's centre ; meditative, lone, 
And quiet often, as the placid cloud 
Cradled at twilight in the lulling west. 

The vernal freshness of life's dewy morn 
Bedecks his nature, like a magic bloom, 
And mantles all things. Now, with dreadless 

play 
Opens the heart at feeling's lightest touch ; 
Time hath not barr'd it with those jealous bolts 
By Prudence framed, which bid the stranger 

wait, 
And knock for years, before he enters in 
To find a welcome. All is bold, and free, 
Unguarded ; giving forth a quick response 
To each appliance from the passing scene ; 
Promptly as flowers to breezes yield their scent, 
Or boughs their music to the playing winds 
That bend them : such is youth's excited frame, 
And such, though brief the guiding annals be, 
Was Luther's. Genius is a glorious one; 
And all her children like impression bear 
Of their high parent. This, in after-life, 
Back on dim boyhood darts explaining gleams, 
And proves the child then prophesied the man. 
Luther in germ, may now in heart be seen ; 
For, what is manhood, but the child drawn out, 
By mere expansion of that moral seed 
Which buds and blossoms into perfect man, 
Whose ripen'd germ is character full-blown ] 

And now, fair Beauty, Grandeur, Form, and 
Grace, 
Yea, all the felt significance of life 
Inner, and deep, begin their blended reign ; 
And so inspire him, that material earth 
Turns one vast mirror to envisage mind. 
And with what boundless, sateless, unsubdued 
Young appetite, his spirit thus partakes, 
At each fine inlet, all this God-made world 
Before him, like an inspiration spread ! 
E'en as a sail to catch the coming breeze, 
So boyhood opens its expectant breast, 
Panting for beauty, at each conscious pore. 
And hence, in all things youth's poetic faith 



GENIUS, SOLITUDE, AND SYMPATHY. 



19; 



Beauty perceives ; or, by perception makes 
The beautiful, a virgin heart admires. 
Thus, flowers are fancies by the Earth produced; 
The clouds, emotions of the Tempest born, 
The arch of heaven, how eloquently high ! 
A bright archangel of the burning east 
The Sun ariseth, on his wings of light 
How watch'd, and welcomed! Then, comes 

Night august, 
A dread magician ! with her sybil-stars 
Attended ; and the twilight Sea is made 
Creation's poet, with his billowry lyre 
Rolling for ever an unconscious chant, 
Or broken swell of oceanic hymns. 
Blood, heart, and brain, the beautiful inhale ; 
Matter and mind a very duel fight 
By sweet contention, in some high-wrought 

mood 
Of young entrancement ! Forms without, 

appeal, 
And thoughts within, like answ'ring music, 

play; 
Till life itself a lovely poem seems 
Tender, but touch'd with most impassion'd 

tones. 
So rapt is youth, and fervidly entranced 
When genius fills it with her hallow'd fire, 
And all the open Secret of the world 
Round a lone heart its earthless magic brings. 

Such the boy, Luther; simple, rough, and 
rude, 
A thoughtful earnestness his brow enthrones 
Beyond all shrinking. His the cloudless heart ; 
And men may read it with a ready glance. 
Like glass transparent, do his actions show 
That hidden wheel-work which the heart 
involves. 



GENIUS, SOLITUDE, AND SYMPATHY. 

Genius was thine, thou heaven-commission'd 

Boy! 
But surely, Sorrow was thy guerdon too""; 
Since ne'er doth greatness in a bosom lodge, 
But Sadness thither, like a shade, attends, 
Its true companion. In this faded world 
Our graves and tears are almost equal, now; 
And, e'en at best, light-hearted youth must 

bear 
A burden voiceless, and the pang unbreathed 
Of many a dark and undevelop'd mood. 
The earth is exile ; and for Home we pine 
How often ! when high visitations come 
From whence we know not, and the mind 

o'erwhelm. 
As if some Angel by the flesh immured 
Our Spirit were, within whose conscious powers 



The sounds and splendours of ethereal life, 
In dim remembrance, were at times renew'd. — 
And did not he, whose pure vocation was 
The Infinite with finite things to join, 
Wrestle with thoughts, his yearning boyhood 

strove 
In vain to answer] Felt he oft no thirst, 
Like a young Tantalus, by mocking bliss 
Encompass' d, melting from the parched mind ] 
And did not Dreams, and Solitude, and Night 
Profoundly move him, till prophetic thoughts 
Imaged the future ? Rapt in speechless awe, 
Ponder'd he not on that behind the Veil, 
When round him, like a belting zone which 

binds 
All time, all scene, all circumstance, all change, 
Divine Eternity in shadow came 1 ? 

We know not this; but, e'en as eagles soar 
And sky-ward through the rending storm-cloud 

mount 
With plumes unbafned, Luther's winged soul 
Against the blast of Circumstance did beat, 
And struggle upward to a destined sphere. 
From want and woe his educated will 
The glory of its resolution caught; 
E'en from the cradle, tears his teachers made, 
And suff ' ring, hard as adamant, engraved 
Lessons which left throughout all time their 

trace 
Instructive. Thus, amid the true and stern, 
And keen realities of testing life, 
The Boy was rounded into full-orb'd Man 
And fitted for his function. Thus, a Soul 
Predestined, for its prophet-work was train'd, 
And grew heroic : till at length, the world 
In full apocalypse of all its powers 
Emerging shall behold it act, and speak. 
And like the hammer of a christian Thor 
Down on the Curse of Christendom and man 
Descend, with most annihilating crash, 
His tones of thunder and his truths of life ! 

But, in those powers auxiliar, which expand 
The young Reformer, feeling play'd its part; 
And that, perchance, beyond all others, pure. 
His was a mother, from whose heart of love 
Sacred and deep, with fine devotion full, 
As from a shrine, his lisping boyhood took 
Counsels of grace, oracular and fond. 
And who can say, how much that Luther 

show'd 
In his high work of majesty and mind, 
Which grateful Empires with their homage 

crown, 
Sprang from a look, a warning, or a word, 
A mother wielded, when she taught him God ] 
And ever thus, from love maternal spring 
Feelings and powers, which o'er progressive life 



o 2 



196 



LUTHER. 



Reign with a subtile, secret, holy spell : 

And deeds, and darings which have moved 

the world 
A cent'ry forward, from a mother's lip 
Caught the first glow whence inspiration came. 

Yet, bleak the lot his boyish prime endured ! 
And sad, indeed, and merciless as dark 
The shades of circumstance around him fell ; 
"While yet, no precious dawn of grace appear'd 
His soul to lighten through domestic gloom. 
But, on his cheek a blanching terror came 
When He was named, within Whose wreathing 

arms 
Of mercy, once, a folded infant smiled ! 
Foodless, and friendless, oft the fainting boy 
Far from his home, with none, save God, his 

guide, 
In Magdeburgh from house to house was 

doom'd 
A meal to beg; and thus, by Heaven was 

school'd 
To hard experience, when Hereafter came. 
" Bread for the love of God ! " hark ! Luther 

chants 
From door to door, through Eisenach's winding 

street, 
Mix'd with a group, as wan and worn as he 
Of students poor. But lo ! as once he lay 
Beneath the umbrage of a cottage-tree, 
Alone and pensive, while the leaf-shades fell 
Like soft expressions on his speaking face 
Of suff' ring, sad and sweet the hymn he sung ; 
The very echo of his soul was there, 
And, like the fragments of a broken heart, 
His shatter' d feelings trembled into song. 
But not in vain that plaintive scholar mourn'd ; 
For on the ear of Ursula they sunk, 
Those tones of truth, like tears upon some 

heart 
O'erburden'd, dropt from Friendship's genial 

eye. 
Xever again shall that pale youth despond 
In Famine's grasp, through days of pining 

gloom ! 
At once, both heart and home their shelter ope, 
And, like the Shunammite, her all she shares 
With him, the homeless boy of sorrow, now. 

Blessings be on thee ! Cotta's lowly bride, 
And praise immortal, for the feeling hand 
Which dealt thy substance; and the angel- 
voice 
That, rich as dew-fall on a summer eve 
Descending, when the fev'rish earth-sod pines, 
Besoothed the world's great benefactor, then ! 
For here, by want unchill'd, by care unworn, 
Bosom'd in calm domestic, Luther builds 
By soft degrees, his mental being up. 



Science, and Art, and Lore, that lovely trine ! 
Around him throng, and with their blended 

smiles 
The budding energies of mind attract 
Forth into blossoms of expanding force, 
And freshness ; e'en as sunshine tempts 
The hue of flowers, and harmonies of spring 
To full expression. Home of halcyon ease ! 
When the loud roar of his hereafter-life 
Deafen'd the heart, how oft did Luther love 
That sabbath-haven of the soul to haunt 
With mem'ry's eye : and once again recal 
The bliss of tranquil being, when the noise 
Of man's great world with no disturbing sound 
The soul distracted : like the far-off waves 
To one who, pensive at his window, dreams, 
When twilight o'er the palpitating breast 
Of Ocean melts in rosy calm away, — 
The soften'd echoes of a distant world 
But served to make the hush of home more 

dear. 

And Music, too, her poetry of sound 
Evoked : for oft, when Evening's pallid veil 
Curtain'd the clouds with beauty ; or, the 

Moon 
A mild entrancement from her beam inspired, 
Did Luther hymn the golden hours to rest 
With deep-toned chants, and melodies divine ; 
Where voice and lute each other's echo seem'd, 
So richly one their combination grew. — 
When years had flown, and Europe's grateful 
hand 
! Round Luther's name a wreath of glory twined, 
I And at his feet the heart of Empires bow'd 
Admiring, Cotta's home, still unforgot, 
Was outlined in his mindful heart of love 
Serene as ever ; while his voice proclaim'd, 
By gallantry and grace at once inspired, 
There's nothing sweeter than a woman's soul 
When Truth divine erects her temple there ! 



UNIVERSITY. 

" Who prays the most, will study best ;" so 

spake, 
In noble answer to official pride, 
A young Reformer, when th' unfolding gates 
Of Erfurth from his asking eye retired, 
As pale he stood, her letter' d walls beside 
\ Intreating entrance there. And now, com- 
menced 
! The waking myst'ries of his mind within ! 
j Around him, more and more, dread shadows 

fell, 
Which seem'd reflected from Almighty frowns ; 
While conscience, that pale miniature of God ! 
! In outlines faint, the Holiness Supreme 



FALLEN NATURE IN RELIGIOUS FORMS. 



197 



Began to image. Morning, noon, and night, 
AVith soul intense, and heart of upward gaze, 
How oft did Luther on the wings of hope 
Rise out of earth, heaven's tearless home depict, 
And on Christ's bosom pillow all his cares ! 
Twas then, while sensitive at ev'ry pore, 
His soul lay open to the pregnant beams 
Of truth eternal, from the heavens derived, 
That Mercy-seat of everlasting mind, 
The Bible ! — first on Luther's spirit breathed. 
Yet, little thought he, when the dust-worn 

shelves 
"Were traced, some intellectual food to find, 
How God in language to the conscience speaks 
When faith in scripture hears the Spirit there. 
And scarce could Seraph wave his wings of 

light 
With ecstasy of more celestial glow, 
Than did the student, with his raptured eyes 
To heaven upraised, the heart's rich anthem 

peal 
Of thankful wonder, for this costly boon ! 
That moment was the Reformation's seed ; 
That Volume, then, the universe outweigh'd 
In mental preciousness and moral power ! 
For in its pages slept those living germs 
Of principle, from out whose depth have 

sprung 
The faith, and freedom of a christian world. 



FALLEN NATURE IX RELIGIOUS FORMS. 

Sat, how can man be justified by God?- 
Challenged eternity would echo, " how," 
But from The Cross responding grace replies 
To this high question : faith in Christ is life, 
And love, and righteousness, completely fit 
To each vast claim of violated Law. 
Thus, conscience finds no compromise involved: 
Nor Mercy from the hand of Justice grasps 
The sceptre, and her awful head uncrowns ; 
But there, all Attributes divinely blend 
In one rich centre of consummate light, 
And God, with most benignant glory, smiles 
His goodness forth, o'er ransom'd souls and 
worlds. 

But he, pale thinker ! in portentous gloom 
Robed by the rags of papal righteousness, 
"Was shiv'ring yet : around his spirit coil'd 
The clankless fetters of condemning law ; 
And upward, when his heart to gaze presumed 
A moment, soon it shrunk, appall'd and dim, 
From God's dread eye-glance, flaming with 

the curse ! 
Dark wrestler with the pangs of sin untold, 
Silence and solitude his haunt became, 
Transforming nature, till the soul was typed 



In all be witness'd, of the bleak and wild. 
Down lonely vales, and paths of soundless 

gloom, 
He loved to meditate, and learn'd to mourn ; 
But, chief the night-blast, with its hollow yell 
Rung from the Tempest's riven heart of sound, 
Becharm'd him, when beneath the wat'ry moon 
Late roaming. Still, the crisis came at last ! — 
'Twas summer ; and with crimson eye of fire 
Full o'er the pine-tree boughs the west'ring 

Orb 
Sunk flaming; like a furnace glow'd the air 
In breezeless trance, while not a bird-wing 

moved : 
And forest-leaves, as by some fixing spell 
Enchanted, like the lids of slumber, hung 
Subdued, and motionless : so deep the hush, 
Your very heart-pulse strange and loud appear'd; 
"When, lo ! the blacken'd cope of heaven 

divides, 
| And flashes ; re-divides, and with one fold 
j Of sheeted flame the firmament involves. 
Hark ! peal on peal redoubling, and return'd 
"With raging echo, till heaven's arches ring 
And vibrate ; then, in one convulsive burst 
The clouds are clash'd to thunder, and descends 
Down at his feet, in supernat'ral roar, 
A death-bolt ! — Harmless as the rain-drop fell 
The blasting ruin ; Luther, in the shade 
Of that great Hand, Whose hollow hides the 

church 
From storming earth and hell, was all secure, 
Though death glared round him. "What a scene 

was there ! 
In kneeling agony, with eyes of awe 
To Heaven upturn'd, as if the judgment-pomp 
And equipage of heaven's almighty King- 
Emerged apparent, Luther throbb'd, and 

pray'd ; 
And vow'd his after-life to God alone, 
If safely rescued from the whelming storm. 
So sank a great Apostle, when the blaze 
Bright as That form of Glory whence it fell, 
Abash'd him into blindness, and he heard 
The mournful thunder of Messiah's lip 
Rebuke him, till his conscience rock'd and 

reel'd. 

But now, all faithful to his word, sincere 
In darkness, to the blinding creed he loved, 
Hark ! on their hinges grind the massive gates 
Of St. Augustine's cold and cloister'd pile, 
And in the clang of those reclosing doors, 
The knell of Luther's freedom ! Darkly bound 
By dread theology's remorseless chains 
Of monkish falsehood, in the deep of night, 
Fresh from the haunt of social youth he comes 
Self-exiled, and sincere, in convent -gloom 
Amid the graves of unproductive mind, 



198 



LUTHER. 



Where dead religion putrified to fear 

And fear to superstition, — there to lift 

His soul to God, and fashion it for heaven ! 

Yet, mark in this eternal Wisdom's plan. 

A dungeon'd martyr, on whose haggard limbs 

The rust-worn chain its branding trace hath 

delved, 
When free again beneath the skies to walk, 
Inhaling liberty from each loved breeze 
Which carols round him, chief o'er all can tell 
How priceless to the heart pure freedom is ! 
And thus did Luther, by whose dreadless hand 
Of truth, base fetters from the mind were 

fell'd, 
As captive, first by dark experience learn 
How deep that dungeon of the spirit was, 
Where Roman witchcraft plunged, and plagued 

mankind ! 
Yes, he, the champion of Jehovah's cause, 
Whose bold harangues, like Alpine thunder- 
peals 
Hereafter shook the Vatican to shame, 
Himself once crouch'd, in martyrdom of zeal, 
Beneath the lashes of a monk's stern lip 
In silence; wound the clock, and swept the 

floor, 
And begg'd, a charter'd mendicant, from house 
To house, the bread of blushless charity ! 

But, found he there the holiness he sought 1 
Did peace divine in purity descend 
Down on his conscience, like the calming 

Dove 1 
Ah ! no ; in vain the convent's round of rites, 
The fastings dull, the macerations dire, 
The penance long, the midnight-watchings 

pale, 
All the mean clockwork of monastic life, 
Wheel within wheel, by superstition turn'd ! 
From righteous acts no righteous nature flows ; 
First form the nature, then the acts arise 
Spontaneous, free, by fertile love produced, 
Not pleading merit, but proclaiming Christ 
AVithin, by transcript of His life without. 
For, how in Self can man salvation find, 
When self is sin, connat'ral and corrupt 1 
But, like that Bible, which his sateless eyes 
Read oft and oft, with most devouring gaze 
Of faith and feeling, Luther wore the chain 
Which round the soul rank Superstition binds. 
Yet, oft the heavings of his spirit rose 
In dark reflection, to his pale-worn face ! 
While e'en the whisper of that still small 

Yoice 
W T hich cowards all, but christians maketh 

none, 
Beneath the roof of his o'erarching cell 
Raged into moral thunder, when stern thoughts 
Of God in judgment, tore with tort'ring might 



And mystery, the troubled mind within ! 
Thus, like a spectre, through the cloisters 

moved 
With fruitless sigh, and ineffectual groan, 
Day after day, all spirit-crush'd, and worn, 
The helpless Luther, till the Cross appear'd : 
From holy love then true repentance sprang ; 
And faith, like Mary, at the feet of Christ 
Attending, hung upon His lips, and lived. 



REVIVAL. 

Celestial love ! no self-created sound 

In the cold depth of man's corrupted heart, 

But rather, a responsive echo, waked 

By Love supernal, art Thou, when sincere. 

By God's to man, man's love to God begins ; 

And Christianity is Christ received, 

The soul possessing, and Himself possess'd. 

Then thaws the heart, however iced and dead, 

In tears which glow with gratitude divine. 

So Luther felt, when Love's almighty voice 

Becalm'd him ; round the Cross he ever read 

The page of heaven, and in that Fountain 

wash'd 
His soul to whiteness, which for sin unclosed 
In streaming mercy from our wounded Lord. 
Light, peace, and order round his being 

throng'd 
In rich communion ; prayer and praise arose, 
Like native incense from the soul renew'd ; 
And holiness, man's paradise regain'd, 
No effort now, but second nature seem'd, — 
Not labour done, but life itself enjoy'd. 
Yet, who can tell, as stern-eyed Law retired 
And the mild Gospel o'er his conscience 

breathed 
Like Jesus, when He sigh'd the breath of 

peace, 
How on his heart the Bible's image grew, 
Till, like a throbbing counterpart, it beat 
In living echo to the truth it loved ! 
While doctrines now, which once with scowling 

front 
Black as the shades which over Sinai hung, 
Appall'd him, soft as Christ's own pity, smiled. 
No more the penance vile, with venal aim 
To bribe Eternal Justice, was achieved : 
In Christ her all-in-all stern Conscience found 
And, sprinkled with His blood, her claim 

withdrew 
For ever : penal Law its lightning veil'd ; 
And when from sickness, pale and purified 
The convert of the Cross in health arose, 
He clung to Jesus with a clasping soul 
Devoted, lifted high o'er legal fears, 
And from His wounds saw earth's atonement 
flow. 



METROPOLIS OF ANTICHRIST. 



199 



PREACHER AND PULPIT. 

" Go ! stand the living and the dead between, 
Take the rich censer of Messiah's grace 
And stop the Plague." Such looks the Office 

high 
To him appointed, who the tidings glad 
Proclaims of Liberty to souls condemn'd 
In the black dungeon of the Curse to writhe, 
And weep for ever. Well may dread, sublime 
As holy, soften'd o'er with human shades 
Of feeling, round some youthful Herald steal, 
When^r^ the embassy of Pardon rolls 
In strains of heart from his excited lip, 
Which vibrates, like a chord by music thrill'd, 
Master'd by young emotion. What a theme ! 
God in our Flesh, to save that Flesh, array'd, 
The Infinite within the finite lodged, 
The form Almighty in a frame all weak, 
The dread Creator on the Cross unveil'd 
In bleeding glory ! — Heaven, and Earth, and 

Hell, 
Eternity and Time, and Sin and Grace, 
The choral anthems of the blood-bought Church 
Circling the Lamb with coronation-joy ; 
Or, wild Perdition's cry, in lurid flames 
Stretch'd on a rack of self-tormenting ire, — 
These are the elements combined to throw 
Around a Preacher that commanding spell 
Of awe, which makes the earthen Yessel bend, 
To think it treasures such a peerless trust ! 

And, who can dare himself sufficient deem 
For work so fearful, where seraphic Minds 
May travail in the greatness of their strength, 
And yet, not scale its altitude divine 1 
Oh, Thou ! Whose office 'tis the Word to bless 
And quicken, till it breathes a living grace, 
Thee may we ever prove in presence nigh 
As Great Inspirer ; Whose anointing power 
Alone can tune the "sounding brass" to 

Heaven's 
True note, and bid some " tinkling cymbal " do 
In mortal accent, an immortal work ! 
Whether beneath yon bow'd cathedral roof 
Of vastness, while the organ's billowy peals 
Roll like a sea of melody and might 
Down the dim nave, and long-retreating aisles, 
Thy Word is preach'd ; or in some Saxon fane, 
Where rude simplicities, of ancient mould, 
Linger in stone's most exquisite decay ; 
Wherever on the tide of human breath 
Floats a rich argosy of Gospel-truth, 
As Christ appointed, may dependence be 
The preacher's motto, and the preacher's mode; 
Dependence meek on that concurring Grace 
Of Him, the Bible's Author, by Whose light 
Alone our sermons live, and souls are saved. 



FIRST SERMON. 

So felt the young Reformer, when he rose 
Within thy square, high-fated Wittemberg ! 
Where the grey walls of St. Augustine's fane 
Crumble in low decrepitude, and dust ; 
And from his pulpit, piled with simple planks, 
Blew that loud trumpet of Salvation's truth, 
Whose echoes yet the heart of empires stir. 
Eye, cheek, and brow, with eloquence array'd 
As though pure spirit would incarnate be, 
Or mind intense would burn its dazzling way 
And be apparent, — like a Saxon Paul 
Flaming with truth, the fearless Herald pour'd 
Himself in language o'er the list'ning throng 
Around him ! With a mental torrent ran 
The rich discourse ; and on that flood of mind 
Nearer and nearer to the Lamb's white Throne 
The soul was wafted, while for Christ he spake, 
And hid himself behind the Cross he raised. 

A more than Hercules, to cleanse a church 
Where priestly falsehood stabled all its guilt 
Through cent'ries dark of domineering crime, 
So seem'd he then ; and in that sermon gave 
A noble prelude of the trumpet-blast 
Predestined from his daring lip to roll 
Hereafter, when from lethargy and lies 
He roused the Autocrat of Romish priests 
In cruelty, and curses, till there came 
An avalanche of everlasting truths 
Down on the Popedom, in those thund'rous 

words 
Which crush'd it, like th' apocalyptic Stone 
Hurl'dby God's angel through the blood-red sea.* 



METROPOLIS OF ANTICHRIST. 

To shameless Rome, the capital of sin, 
When Crime in canonised pretension smiled, 
And Pride and Lust pontifically reign' d, 
At length, great Luther comes. The glare of 

skies 
O'er which the mercy of no soothing cloud 
Had floated, vainly tried his toil-worn frame ; 
For still, o'er Alpine crags, by torrents wild, 
And hoar ravines, within whose rocky depths 
Yell'd the loud streams their everlasting cry, 
The Monk of Wittemberg, with eager step 
And soul expectant, sought the seven-hill'd 

Queen 
Of cities ; till, behold ! in glimm'ring haze 
Her turrets, towers, and giant temple-spires 
At length emerge : and low upon the ground, 
In kneeling homage, falls her duteous son, 



Rev. xviii. 21. 



200 



LUTHER. 



To breathe his blessing o'er maternal Rome, 
Mother, and Mistress of the churches all ! 
But when her pillar'd streets of pomp he trod, 
And on those ruins, eloquent and vast 
Around him in sublime confusion piled, 
Gazed with devotion, — what a gushing sense 
Of ancient glory through his being swept ! 
The past in tow'ring resurrection rose 
Bright from the tomb of ages ; while the air 
Which Peter breathed, and Paul himself 

inhaled, 
Play'd round his temples, like a breeze from 

heaven 
New-wafted ! Rome and rapture were 

combined ; 
And Luther, in one lofty dream of soul 
Enchanted stood, and drank the glorious scene ; 
As if Religion from the very stones 
Was preaching where Apostles once had trod, 
And over which the martyr's flame of death 
Gleam'd in dread radiance, like a glory now. 

But, soon the bandage of imposture fell ! 
And then, e'en like the Arch-fiend's mystic 

pomp 
Summon'd before Emmanuel's heaven-bright 

gaze, 
So fleetly vanish'd into viewless air 
Thy pageantries, thou Babylon of guilt, 
And scarlet Lady with the costly blood 
Of God's elected, drunken and bedew'd ! * 
Since, then reveal'd in all thy hideous truth, 
He found thee but a leprous church of lies 
By ages putrified, in papal form. 

Oh, grace divine, and wonderful as deep, 
That Rome and Luther should confronted be ! 
And there, in Superstition's heart, one text 
Almighty, like a thunderbolt of truth 
Down from the throne of Revelation cast, 
Should raise him, while he crouch'd in dismal 

faith, 
Deluded ! Thus, the Champion for his cause 
Was train'd ; and thus from Rome herself he 

drew 
Weapons of might, whereby her powers would 

fall. 
Hence, swift recoiling from his task abhorr'd, 
Uprose the brave Reformer ! free and firm 
For ever : " By his faith the just shall live ! " — 
Thus came a Text from Inspiration's lip : 
Religion, then, and Luther's mind arose 
Erect ; upon the rock of faith alone 
Together did they face the frowning Hell, 
And bid our spirit in the Lord stand free ! 



* "The woman drunken with the blood of the 
saints." — Rev. xvii, 6. 



INDULGENCES. 

" Lo ! at yon gate," the Mercuries of sin 
Are crying, " Stands the awful Grace of God ! " 
And, in one moment, like a moral wave 
Heaves far and wide the town's excited heart ; 
Council, and nuns, and priests, and monks 

advance, 
And motley crowds, from ev'ry lane and street 
Are rushing, while the festive town-clock peals 
A loud hosannah from its lofty spires, 
And tapers flash, and greeting cymbals sound, 
To meet the great Procession. See ! they come, 
In robes how costly ! There, in cushion'd pomp 
The Bull of grace, whereby the Godhead's 

hands 
Are bound, and His dread thunders must awake 
Or sleep, as priestly conjuration bids ! 
For now, before a wooden cross uprear'd 
Bedeck'd with Leo's blazonry of pride, 
The loud-voiced Tetzel takes his stand profane : 
Prime vender he ! beneath whose venal lip 
Heaven's attributes, as in a mart exposed, 
Are purchased by Indulgence ; Christ is sold 
In pardons ! Sin itself, before conceived, 
Or acted, by the Pope's almighty Bull, 
Shall not be damning : whatsoe'er Desire 
May dream hereafter/through its charm absolved, 
Shall be forgiven ! — " Down this cross there 

flows 
A grace like that the Saviour's bleeding side 
Dispersed; but hark ! from deeps of ghastly woe 
Where yelling Spirits clang their chains of fire, 
Tormented parents, friends, and children, lift 
Their tongues uncool'd, and cry for needed 

alms 
To bring them from that red Abyss of wrath, 
Where scorch their souls in purgatorial flames ! 
Let but your money, with its golden clink, 
Yon chest descend, and, lo ! at once escaped, 
Those dungeon'd Spirits, wing'd by papal grace, 
Full into heaven's bright welcome flee ! " 

So cried that dread impostor ; and the souls 
Of myriads, by anointed lies seduced, 
Imperill'd ; Christ himself, in blacker shame 
Than once the Cross of Calvary o'erhung, 
Was openly to mocking Hell exposed ; 
Eternity a mart of sin became, 
Or, papal auction, where that grace was sold 
For filthy lucre, which the costly Blood 
Which warm'd Emmanuel's veins, alone 

procured ; 
And 'gainst the purity of Heaven's high throne 
The breath of human blasphemy arose 
From Pope, and priesthood. Seal'd the Bible, 

then! 
And sure, if ever down a Seraph's cheek 



REFORMATION.— JUSTIFYING GRACE. 



201 



Roll'd the rich tear immortal feeling sheds, 
It trickled now, when thus religion dared 
In -words divine God's heart of gracious love 
To libel ; Christ's own pangs for venal lies 
To barter, till the Truth of heaven betray'd, 
In priestly suffocation sank, and died. 

But, there is mercy in thy myst'ry lodged, 
Eternal ! Out of darkness cometh light 
By Thee evoked ; and, while the anarch sin 
To mortal judgment, in its clouded gaze, 
O'er time and circumstance sole monarch looks 
Ascendant, all the waves of human will 
In lawless riot though they toss and plunge, 
Within the circle of Thy will supreme 
Alone are heaving ; if they rise, or fall, 
'Tis only as Thy secret law ordains. 



REFORMATION. 

Pale with devotion, wrestling long and lone 
With God in prayer, behold ! the lion heart 
Of Luther beats with supernat'ral pulse, 
And throbs for Deity, and great design. 
Stung to his very soul with piercing shame 
Beneath a lie to see heaven's truth expire, 
And trampled Scripture gasping in the dust 
Of low venality, and priestly lies, 
Upon the door of Wittemberg's dark pile 
He fasten'd then, with hand divinely firm, 
Ninety and five of those all-fearless truths 
Which shook the Popedom, and the World 

redeem'd 
From charms infernal, to the Cross alone. 
Faith, hope, and love, upon the Rock of souls 
Were founded ; Grace in gospel-freedom rose, 
From Schools and sophistry at length escaped ; 
And from the fountain of Emmanuel's Blood 
Both peace and pardon in conjunction fiow'd, 
Free, full, and glorious from the heart of God, — 
Giver and gift in amnesty combined ! 
And yet, what eye save His, before W T hose 

beam 
Time, place, and all contingencies retire 
As though they were not, in this daring act 
Of Luther, heard the Reformation's pulse 
Of Life and liberty begin to beat 1 
Or who, among the crowd that rush'd to read 
In tumult wild, upon the church's gate, 
Those Words, which dash'd Indulgences to 

air, 
The silent thunder of their strength foretold 
Upon thine eve, All-Hallows? Monk and 

priest 
And Pope, and hoary-headed Falsehood, then, 
Were death-struck : in those few fine truths 
The germs of unexpanded glory slept, 
As in the acorn future navies float. 



And when at night a lonely cell was sought, 
Could the brave Monk his deed of pregnant 

might 
Have measured 1 In the greatness of the act, 
Oh, was he conscious of th' Almighty, there ? 



JUSTIFYING GRACE. 

One truth divine, from deeps of scripture 

drawn, 
And by one heart with burning zeal espoused, 
Then, bodied forth in majesty of life, 
What miracles that single truth achieves 
Which rock an empire, or a world restore ! 
And hence, when pale in his monastic gloom, 
Alone, and pensive, groping after God 
Through clouds of error, black with Romish 

guile, 
At length the tortured monk, with tears of 

praise, 
Consummate pardon in the Cross alone 
Discover' d, then, a peerless Truth was found 
From whence instructed Empires learn to live. 
And in that hall, where stood the fearless 

man 
Bulwark'd with principle, beyond all powers 
By earth created, or by hell contrived, 
He grasp'd a truth which Heaven's eternal 

creed 
Hath canonised, and by the Cross explain'd, — 
That Grace is God by God alone applied : 
On this, Religion all her fabric rears, 
That else, is baseless, as the yielding air. 

Hence flow those energies through man and 
mind, 
Which mould our being great, or make it good. 
Here, by the pardon of perfective grace, 
The anguish'd memory can alone subdue 
That dread Gehenna, which our guilt inflames 
Oft in remembrance ; and, from thence derived, 
Pure emanations spring, and feelings act 
Which feed with moral life the social frame 
Of men, and nations ; for the heart is free, 
And guarded Conscience on the bosom's throne 
Reigns in the sanctity which Christ inspires. 

'Tis thus, where dreadless martyrs often 

fail'd, 
And ancient heroes their protesting voice 
Lifted in vain, to vindicate The Truth 
From all aggression, Luther's prowess smote 
The Roman Beast to ruin, nigh to death, — 
And that, with principle ! 'Twas here he 

fought, 
He grappled with the foe of God, and man. 
Swift through the night of man's imprison'd 

soul 



202 



LUTHER. 



He pour'd the beam of evangelic day ; 
And where Authority, in mitred sway, 
Fetter'd weak conscience with infernal chains, 
He throned The Gospel, in the light of Grace 
At once the law, and liberty of souls. 
But, had he only on a mob of " saints " 
Shot his keen arrows of sarcastic truth, 
Or, laid the monk's Augean darkness bare, 
In form regen'rate, but with life corrupt, 
The Reformation then had toil'd, and died. 
But, glory be to Him whose Name we bear ! 
'Twas grace in principle which Luther taught : 
Here is the lever which the world uplifts, — 
" A Saviour just, for man unjust hath died ! " 
Here is a Truth, whose trumpet-voice might 

preach 
The Pope's religion into airy nought ; 
A truth, which is at once the text of texts, 
Making all scripture music to our souls. 
The Bible read, is God Himself perused 
In pages letter'd with almighty love, 
When thus proclaiming what the conscience 

craves : 
While the rich fountain of Emmanuel's Blood 
Not barricaded round with priestly walls, 
Nor blent with superstition's blackening tide 
Of " merits," now its healing flood of grace 
Full on the heart in one vast current pours ! 

He ended, thus, where ancient Minds began ; 
'Gainst outward vice those murder'd Saints 

appeal'd, 
And perish'd : but for Principle Divine, 
Bravely alone the monk of Erfurt fought. 
He struck the root, — and then, the branches 

fell; 
He purged the fountain, — then, the stream 

roll'd pure ; 
The deep foundation down to hell he shook, 
And then — the Roman superstition reel'd : 
From centre to circumf 'rence, did the soul 
Of Luther reason out its lonely way ; 
Till, lo ! at length, by Gospel-light reveal'd, 
He saw impostures, in successive types 
Each after each more canker'd, and corrupt ; 
And in the Pope that Antichrist discern'd 
Whom Daniel vision'd, and St. John unveils. 



GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MAN. 

I.— Supremacy. 

" Son of the living God ! The. Christ Thou 

art!" 
So spake, by more than mortal wisdom led, 
The bold Apostle, when, through flesh and blood 
Divinity within the Form august 
Of Jesus, shrined in mortal clay, he saw : 



And on the " rock " of this confession, high 

In Godhead rear'd, and deep in Manhood based, 

Emmanuel built His everlasting Church. 

But how hath Sin, from out the promise made 

To Peter, in apostleship sublime, 

But not supreme, beyond his fellows rank'd, 

The Keys of power, the Kingdom, and the 

Laws 
Which bind or loose, as papal nods decree, 
Derived ! — and thus on earth enthroned 
A vile dominion, measureless, and vast 
As Guile could plan, or cheering Hell applaud. 
Admire we then, let gratitude adore 
The Power divine, which hurl'd the Popedom 

down 
From that cursed height of blasphemy and 

crime, 
To which, through ages of gigantic skill 
By fell gradation, it at length arose ; — 
Reigning aloft, stern Arbitress of kings 
And thrones ; dispensing sceptres with a smile, 
Or else dissolving Kingdoms by a frown ! 
For Peter's shadow, and the Roman name 
O'er power and policy together ruled : 
Then, the high Past a holy magic breathed ; 
And the rich lustre of a world's regard 
Made Rome the palace of Mankind appear, 
The true Metropolis of priestly hearts, 
A Temple, with apostleship instinct, 
The stones all sacred, and Her dust inspired ! 
Thus magnified, and with mysterious charms 
Endow'd, behold, a miracle of pride 
Erect ! Supremacy, thy Pope survey, 
A Breath of sin on Deity's great throne ! 
Oh, never in the luxury of lies 
Hath Self more wanton'd ; never in this world 
Hath Adulation's most besotted dream 
A foul pretence so hideously assumed, 
As then, around some ruffian Pope began ; 
For, palsied Reason to his sceptre bow'd, 
And Blasphemy baptised a monster, " God ; " 
Disgust, be mute ! and horror, speechless 

stand ! 
'Tis not in language, though each word be fire, 
Or, fang'd with truth's most execrating force, 
A Pope to paint, ivhen deified by sin. 
All right above, beyond all law secured, 
In errorless perfection shrined aloft ; 
Of Peter's royalties sole heir, and king ; 
Of churches, Judge ; of Christendom the Lord ; 
And, such an oracle ! — that when his lips 
Shall condescend some great response to give, 
Virtue is vice, and vice may virtue be, 
Or, each be neither, if his nod decide ! 
Since Truth and Nature are at once transform'd 
By him, the world's embodied Fiat, now. 
E'en more than this ! — to heights of sin 

beyond 
These climbing blasphemies of folly scaled, 



GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MAN. 



203 



And from the temple of Jehovah took 

The crown, and from the Hand Eternal robb'd 

The sceptre, till from Godhead's self there 

seem'd 
To pass all glory ; and, in pontine shape, 
A mock almighty was the Pope adored ! 

II. — Mystery. 

Above, beneath, around, where'er we move 
Or live, an atmosphere of myst'ry floats ; 
For ever baffling with its gloom unpierced 
The pride of reason's analytic gaze. 
E'en like that Pillar, which, of cloud and fire 
Contemper'd, to the pilgrim-church bestow'd 
A guidance solemn, through untrodden wilds, 
So human knowledge, in this world forlorn 
By shade and light alternately prevails, 
Too dark for pride, too vivid for despair. 
And thus, accordant with our state corrupt, 
From truth to truth, the educated soul 
Through shades of awe is humbled yet advanced ; 
While noble ignorance, that knows itself, 
Kneels in the shadow of a Mercy-seat 
And prays the heart to piety, and love. 

Yes ! all is myst'ry : from that blaze immense 
In which pavilion'd dwells the Yast Unseen, 
Down to the insect of minutest frame, 
Science is mock'd. Within retreating depths 
The Cause uncaused, above all causes throned, 
Who can describe ] Yet, what religion owns, 
Plain reason grants, — that He is perfect One 
Pervading all things with His presence whole ; 
Unfelt, unform'd, unheard and undefined, 
All Eye, all Ear, all Spirit, and all Power, 
His center, Light, and his circumf 'rence, Love : 
Yet, what reveals Him, Who all else reveals, — 
The Unexplain'd, who yet explaineth all ] 
What sun to systems, God to truth appears ; 
But still, apart, impenetrably shrined 
In secresy of light, for ever veil'd. 

Then turn to nature, eloquently touch'd 
With living beauty ; and in sight and sound 
Teeming with all which holy Truth admires : 
There, though a shadow of the primal Curse 
Dims the soft radiance of a virgin-world, 
Traces of Eden, tracks of angel-feet 
Still haunt creation with a hallowing charm : 
But myst'ry, still, o'er nature's Secret broods, 
Beyond philosophy's most daring ken 
To master ; lock'd in mute reserve it lies. 
Since, what is Essence, how formation acts, 
Or life and law reciprocally play,— 
Can reason here mount explanation's throne 1 
Nature herself is thine embodied Will 
Almighty ! There, at last, the mind has gain'd 
An ultimatum which unteaches pride ; 



While Genius, like a second childhood, stands, 
And, rapt in wonder, to Religion turns. 

And, does not Providence our life invest 
With one horizon of perpetual cloud 1 
But while to man, his planless life appears 
A problem made of paradox, and gloom, 
Darkness itself may Deity enshrine 
When acting mercy, in deep wisdom, there. 

m 

But now, within, profound Logician ! gaze ; 
Down thy deep hell of consciousness descend, 
Who o'er Jehovah thus presum'st to wave 
The treason-banner of rebellious thought. 
Thou, to thyself embodied myst'ry art ; 
And why 1 Because unfathomably bad, 
And thus, by grace unfathomably heal'd ! 
" Deceitful, vain, and desperately vile 
All things above, the heart of man is found ; 
And who can know it 1 ? — I, the Lord alone!" 
Thus chants a prophet ; and we seem to hear 
Round all the regions of created soul 
Ring his dread challenge ; mute alike remain 
Seraph and Angel, and the star-bright Host 
Who, nearest to the fountain-source of Mind, 
'Mid radiance intellectual, shine and sing : — 
To each and all unsearchable abides, 
The heart of Nature in the human breast. 

Then, turn to grace, — the Trinity express'd 
In threefold glory, yet divinely One. 
There, all is myst'ry, hung with moral gloom. 
Flight after flight, in vain proud Reason takes, 
And seeks and soars, and soars, and seeks 

again, 
And more confounded by the search becomes : 
Till, all exhausted, like the arkless dove 
Back to the shelter of a simple truth 
The soul retreats, and learns by faith to live, 
And love the more, the less it understands 
Of the Great Secret which salvation hides, — 
The how, and why, in all of Godhead, there. 

And Him, the Paramount of living grace, 
The Truth Incarnate, how can words reveal ] 
Or who by comprehension yearns to grasp 
Emmanuel's Person, in our flesh array'd 1— 
True greatness is to know how small we are, 
Who learn divinity by loving God, 
And as we love, alone can understand. 



III. — Mystery of Iniquity. 

And thus, at length, analogy conducts 
Our hearts to Thee, the consummation dire 
Of myst'ries all by Antichrist sustain'd ! 
Around it more than twice six hundred years 
Have travail'd, in the pride of priestly art ; 
And now, a very prodigy of mind 



204 



LUTHER. 



Depraved, of truth corrupt, and power abused, 
It moulds, and masters all whom it beguiles. 
Compact, complete, symmetrically form'd 
To fit all hearts, whate'er the sensual frame, 
Or oscillate to each exacting move, 
Mental or moral, varied life presents, — 
This myst'ry plays the Proteus with mankind. 
From character it draws responsive tones ; 
From all condition wins a pleased support j 
In circumstance, the very crisis wields, 
And of weak conscience takes advantage vile : 
Virtue and vice alike its charm obey ; 
And, forging chains that with no clanking fall 
The ear arrest, or rouse the dormant soul; 
The heart it manacles with fettering guile, 
And binds it down, deluded to the last. 

" A myst'ry " was this antichristian spell 
In wisdom by prophetic Paul foretold ; 
Nor aught which infidels have dared, or done 
The Lord of souls to crucify again, 
like this imposture hath mankind seduced. 
There, falsehood in its open vileness reign'd ; 
Conspicuous, mark'd, and branded as the bad, 
The heart may shun it, and securely keep 
Both principle and purity awake. 
But here, false Darkness, with a face of Light 
Deceptively upon its victim smiles ; 
And, by the aspect of an angel's love, 
Euins the spirit with a demon's guile. 
Here lies the danger, lurks the full deceit, — 
Pretension, high as heaven's meridian truth, 
Performance, low as hell's absorbing lie ! 
Religion thus, with suicidal hand 
Herself destroys ; and into death transmutes 
A living zeal, which, else, for God and souls 
Like inspiration might the world employ :■ — 
Dilates a precept, or a truth contracts, 
Can mould a doctrine, or a creed erect ; 
And round salvation such a dimness cast 
That Christ is hidden, and the Church alone 
In sacramental mist at length adored. 

But yet, how stern, how lofty, how refined, 
Thy vast professions, Romanistic creed ! 
Not Purity itself, is pure as Thou 
In strictness, and severity of aim. 
From the mix'd world, monastically free, 
Our spirit thou would'st fain entice ; and cast 
Its powers in moulds of superhuman faith ; 
And thus, from foul entanglements of flesh 
The mind deliver, till, to earthless heights 
Of dazzling purity at length arrived, 
That consummation of the church is reach'd, — 
Meekness and martyrdom, in one combined ! 

The Devil is the parodist of God ; 
And priestly colours are the paint employ'd 



To tinge his counterfeits of Truth divine 

With holy semblance ; and that flaming zeal 

For saintliness, apostate Rome affects, 

For Him has wrought satanically well. 

Pollution's self on Purity's clear throne 

In veil'd enchantment thus hath ruled, and 

reign'd, 
Deceiving others, and itself deceived. 
The Roman myst'ry is a mask of lies, 
While yet thy countenance, celestial Truth ! 
It borrows ; Mercy is the mild pretence, 
Justice her theme, and love for God the law, 
And zeal for Christ the Church's ardent soul 
That makes Her all that miracle she is ! — 
Satan himself can thus religious seem, 
And poison Virtue with her very smile. 

Gospel and Grace in this dread system die, 
And Love and Light to cruel darkness turn, 
Shade upon shade, impenetrably deep, 
Investing Godhead with a vile array 
Of terrors, forged by sacerdotal guile, 
And summon'd forth as guilt, or gain demands. 
Where is The Father, in that fiction dread, 
That ghastly Something, for a God believed, 
Which Popery to the harrow'd Mind presents 1 
Or, when the ague of a guilty heart 
Rages in secret, what paternal voice 
From God in Christ subdues it into tears 1 
Then, not direct through Son and Spirit looks 
A soul repentant, from the pleading eye 
Of faith, on God reveal'd; but damning 

frowns, 
Blacker than Sinai's legal night of death 
To daunt the sinner, are at once evoked, 
Hiding the cross with intercepting gloom : 
Infinite Cruelty thus God becomes ; 
His throne all blackness, and His heart begirt 
With stern-eyed Saints, who awe the spirit 

down 
Till first their mediatorship is moved, 
And God, persuaded by their prayer, relents ! 
As if by impulse an Almighty moved, 
Nor in Himself His own great motive was. 

IV. — Sacramental God. 

But, see the climax of corrupted truth, 
An Incarnation, parodied by priests ! 
Robed for a melodrame of mutter'd spells 
Lo, where the sacerdotal Juggler stands, 
Beneath whose touch the sacramental Host 
To Body, Blood, Divinity, and Soul 
Itself transforms, created into Christ ! 
Emmanuel there, consummate and complete, 
Again must bleed, in Calvary revived ! 
Oh, horrible, and heartless mock of all 
Of God in glory, or of man in grace, 
That He, whose Person is the Sum and Soul 



GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MAN. 



205 



Of what in time Eternity shall act 
High o'er the senses, or mere reason's grasp, — 
Is now in sacramental bread contain' d 
While the blest wafer turns embodied God.* 

* To justify " Transubstantiation, " the following is 
the evidence afforded to us by the " Catechism of the 
Council of Trent, published by command of Pope 
Pius the Fifth," as "Translated into English by the 
Rev. J. Donovan, Professor, &c, Royal College, May- 
nooth,"p. 230. 

A perusal of this will convince the reader that not- 
withstanding the sternness and sarcasm wherewith 
the Romish Church has accused "Protestantism " for 
"rationalising" away the highest mysteries of Faith, 
she is herself guilty of most daring rationalism in 
thus daring to theorise concerning the mode of the 
Real Presence in the Eucharist. 

"To explain this mystery in a proper manner is 
extremely difficult. On the manner of this admirable 
conversion, the pastor, however, will endeavour to 
instruct those who are more advanced in the know- 
ledge and contemplation of divine things : those who 
are yet weak may, it were to be apprehended, be 
overwhelmed by its greatness. This conversion, then, 
is so effectuated that the whole substance of the bread 
and wine is changed by the power of God, into the 
whole substance of the body of Christ, and the whole 
substance of the wine, into the whole substance of 
his blood, and this, without any change in our Lord 
himself; he is neither begotten, nor changed, nor 
increased, but remains entirely and substantially the 
same. This sublime mystery, S. Ambrose thus de- 
clares : ' You see how efficacious are the words of 
Christ ; if, then, the word of the Lord Jesus is so 
powerful as to summon creation into existence, shall 
it not require a less exercise of power to make that 
subsist which already has existence, and to change 
it into another thing 1 n Many other Fathers, whose 
authority is too grave to be questioned, have written 
to the same effect : ' We faithfully confess,' says 
S. Augustine, 'that before consecration it is bread 
and wine, the produce of nature ; but after consecra- 
tion it is the body and blood of Christ, consecrated by 
the blessing.' 2 'The body,' says Damascene, 'is 
truly united to the divinity, the body assumed of 
the Virgin ; not that the body thus assumed descends 
from heaven, but that the bread and wine are changed 
into the body and blood of Christ.' 3 This admirable 
change, as the Council of Trent teaches, the Catholic 
church most appropriately expresses by the word 
'transubstantiation.' 4 When in the natural order 
the form of a being is changed, that change may be 
properly termed ' a transformation ;' in like manner, 
when in the Sacrament of the Eucharist, the whole 
substance of one thing passes into the whole substance 
of another, the change our predecessors in the faith 
wisely and appropriately called ' transubstantiation. ' 
But according to the admonition so frequently re- 
peated by the Holy Fathers, the faithful are to be 
admonished against the danger of gratifying a prurient 
curiosity, by searching into the manner in which this 
change is effected. It mocks the powers of conception, 



1 D. Ambr. 1. 4. de sacr. c. 4. 

2 Citatur de consec. dist. 2. can. "Nos autem," &c. 

3 Lib. iv. de orthod. fid. c. 14. 

4 Trid. sess. 13, c. 4, et can. 2, et de consec. distinct. 2, 



And Thou, Spirit ! who alone canst rule 
The hearts where pantheistic darkness reigns, 
Or carnal gods, by dreaming passion shaped, 
Debauch the conscience till its light goes out, 



nor can we find any example of it in natural trans- 
mutations, nor even in the wide range of creation. 
The change itself is the object, not of our comprehen- 
sion, but of our humble faith ; and the manner of 
that change forbids the temerity of a too curious 
inquiry. x 

" The same salutary caution should also be observed 
by the pastor, with regard to the mysterious manner 
in which the body of our Lord is contained whole 
and entire under the least particle of the bread. 2 
Such inscrutable' mysteries should scarcely ever become 
matter of disquisition. Should Christian charity, 
however, require a departure from this salutary rule, 
the pastor will recollect first to prepare and fortify 
his hearers, by reminding them, that ' no word shall 
be impossible with God. ' 3 

" The pastor will next teach, that our Lord is not in 
the Sacrament as in a place ; place regards things, only 
inasmuch as they have magnitude ; and we do not 
say that Christ is in the Sacrament, inasmuch as he 
is great or small, terms which belong to quantity, 
but inasmuch as he is a substance. The substance 
of the bread is changed into the substance of Christ, 
not into magnitude or quantity; and substance, it 
will be acknowledged, is contained in a small as well 
as in a large space. The substance of air, for instance, 
whether in a large or in a small quantity, and that 
of water, whether confined in a vessel or flowing in 
a river, must necessarily be the same. As, then, the 
body of our Lord succeeds to the substance of the 
bread, we must confess it to be in the Sacrament, 
after the same manner as the bread was before conse- 
cration ; whether the substance of the bread was 
present in greater or less quantity is a matter of 
entire indifference. 

" We now come to the third effect produced by the 
words of consecration, the existence of the species of 
bread and wine in the Sacrament without a subject, 
an effect as stupendous as it is admirable. What has 
been said in explanation of the two preceding points 
must facilitate the exposition of this mysterious 
truth. We have already proved that the body and 
blood of our Lord are really and truly contained in 
the Sacrament, to the entire exclusion of the substance 
of the bread and wine : the accidents cannot inhere 
in the body and blood of Christ : they must, therefore, 
contrary to the physical laws, subsist of themselves, 
inhering in no subject. This has been, at all times, 
the doctrine of the Catholic Church ; and the same 
authorities by which we have already proved that 
the substance of the bread and wine ceases to exist 
in the Eucharist, go to establish its truth. But it 
becomes the piety of the faithful, omitting subtle 
disquisitions, to revere and adore, in the simplicity 
of faith, the majesty of this august sacrament; and 
with sentiments of gratitude and admiration, to 
recognise the wisdom of God in the institution of the 
holy mysteries, under the species of bread and wine. 
To eat human flesh or to drink human blood, is 



1 Eccl. iii. 22. 

2 D. Thorn. 3, p. q. 76, Trid. sess. 13, c. 3, et can. 3, 

et Florent. in decret. Eugen. 

3 Luke i. 37. 



206 



LUTHER. 



"With what an aping Liturgy of lies 
Hath Romish parody presumed to mock 
The might, and glory of Thy work august ! 
And dared, for living waters freshly drawn 
From the deep fountains of eternity 
And truth, Herself to substitute, and lift 
Her canons vile to revelation's throne. 

When thus the life-blood of religion's drain'd 
By this fell vampire, what for man is left 
But the mere carcass of a ritual show, 
A mindless worship, meaningless as false, 
Where man is. God, and God to man trans- 
form'd ? 

Thou dread Almighty ! may we dare repeat 
With deep-toned echo, that mysterious Cry 
Apocalyptic martyrs lift above, 
And chant, " How long shall Grace Eternal be 
By juggling Rome dishonour'd, and traduced 1 
How long shall falsehood wear the saintly dress 
Of truth celestial, while the Cross is veil 5 d, 
And He, whose merit is creation's shield, 



The church's light, and providence's law, 
High o'er His Throne, behold anointed dust 
And sainted villains, canonised and cowl'd, 
Ascend beyond Him, in their plea for grace ! 
'Tis thus, the laurels from the brow of Christ 
Are taken, and around the head enwreathed 
Of Antichrist, for twice six hundred years, — 
That aping monster, who travesties God 
And in the glory of his darkness seems 
A mimic Satan, on Messiah's throne ! * 



most revolting to human nature, and therefore has 
God, in his infinite wisdom, established the adminis- 
tration of the body and blood of Christ, under the 
forms of bread and wine, the ordinary and agreeable 
food of man. From its administration under these 
forms also flow two other important advantages : it 
obviates the calumnious reproaches of the unbeliever, 
to which a manducation of the body and blood of our 
Lord, under human form, must be exposed ; whilst 
by receiving him under a form in which he is imper- 
vious to the senses, our faith is augmented, ' which, ' 
as S. Gregory observes, ' has no merit in those things 
which fall under the jurisdiction of reason.' But 
what has been hitherto said on this subject demands 
much prudent precaution in its exposition ; and in 
this the pastor will be guided by the capacity of his 
hearers, by times and circumstances. 

" We therefore confess that the sacrifice of the Mass 
is one and the same sacrifice with that of the cross : 
the victim is one and the same, Christ Jesus, who 
offered himself, once only, a bloody sacrifice on the 
altar of the cross. The bloody and unbloody victim 
is still one and the same, and the oblation of the 
cross is daily renewed in the eucharistic sacrifice, in 
obedience to the command of our Lord, ' This do for 
a commemoration of me.' The Priest is also the 
same, Christ our Lord ; the ministers who offer this 
sacrifice consecrate the holy mysteries, not in then- 
own but in the person of Christ. This the words of 
consecration declare : the Priest does not say, 'This 
is the body of Christ,' but 'This is my body;' and 
thus invested with the character of Christ, he changes 
the substance of the bread and wine into the sub- 
stance of his real body and blood. That the holy 
sacrifice of the Mass, therefore, is not only a sacrifice 
of praise and thanksgiving, or a commemoration of 
the sacrifice of the cross, but also a sacrifice of propi- 
tiation, by which God is appeased and rendered pro- 
pitious, the pastor will teach as a dogma, defined by 
the unerring authority of a General Council of the 
church. 



* As the author has been severely censured, in 
certain quarters, for thus denouncing the ritual 
abominations of the Mass, he feels it due, alike to his 
own position as a catholic churchman, and also to the 
sacred cause of truth, to vindicate the ground he has 
taken ; and before he does so, he wishes the reader to 
remember one point, i. e., the quotations which 
occupy this note are not descriptions from Protestant 
sources, but the formal utterance and dogmatic 
teachings of the Romish Church herself, as they are 
developed in her Canons, and Standards. Nothing is 
easier than to charge this work with distortions and 
exaggerations ; and yet the writer dares to ask, with 
what conscientious reverence for scriptural orthodoxy, 
or, on what principle of loyal adherence to his own 
Apostolic Church in England, can any man do so, who 
will diligently read and reflect on the following fearful 
self-description of the papal communion ? 

The Romish doctrine of the Mass, is thus stated in 
the fifth article of the Creed of Pope Pius VII. — ; 

"V. I profess, likewise, that in the Mass there is 
offered to God a true, proper, and propitiatory sacrifice 
for the living and the dead ; and that in the most 
holy Sacrament of the Eucharist there are truly, 
really, and substantially the body and blood, together 
with the soul and divinity, of our Lord Jesus Christ ; 
and that there is made a conversion of the whole 
substance of the bread into the body, and of the 
whole substance of the wine into the blood : which 
conversion the Catholic Church calls transubstan- 
tiation. I also confess, that under either kind alone, 
Christ is received whole and entire, and a true sacra- 
ment ! " 

With regard to the first point, the Church of Rome 
teaches, " Council of Trent," Sess. 22, Canon 3 : — 

"If any one shall say that the sacrifice of the 
Mass is only a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, or 
a bare commemoration of the sacrifice made upon the 
cross, and that it is not propitiatory, or that it profits 
only the receiver, and that it ought not to be offered 
for the living and the dead for their sins, punishments, 
satisfactions, and other necessities : let him be ac- 
cursed." 

TEANSUBSTANTIATION. 

The Papal Church as to the second point in the 
fifth Article of the Creed, binds upon her members to 
believe — 

' ' That in the most holy Sacrament of the Eucharist 
there are truly, really, and substantially, the body 
and blood, together with the soul and divinity of our 
Lord Jesus Christ." 

In Canon 1, Session 13, of the Council of Trent (on 
the Eucharist), the Church of Rome decrees : — 

' ' Whoever shall deny, that in the most holy sacra- 
ment of the Eucharist there are truly, really, and 
substantially, contained the body and blood of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, together with his soul and divinity, 



GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MAN. 



207 



V.— Moral Root. 

But, whence this power, which paralyses men 
To dull machines, for priestly hands to work, 
That from the Cross all crucifixion takes, 
And shuts the fountain in Emmanuel's side, 
Whence gush'd atonement for the World's 
great sin, 



and, consequently, Christ entire ; but shall affirm, 
that he is present therein only in a sign or figure or 
by his power ; let him be accursed." 

Also, in the Catechism of the Council of Trent (p. 226), 
Rome states as follows : — 

''Here the pastor will explain, not only that the 
true body of Christ, and whatever belongs to the true 
constitution (rationem) of a body, as the bones and 
sinews, but also, a whole Christ is contained in this 
Sacrament ; that the word Christ designates the Man- 
God, that is to say, one person in whom are united 
the human and divine natures ; that the holy Eucha- 
rist, therefore, contains both, and whatever is included 
in the idea of both, the divinity and humanity whole 
and entire, the soul, the body and blood of Christ, 
with all their component parts, all of which faith 
teaches us are contained in the Sacrament." 

But can that be the body of Christ, in reference to 
which the following rule is laid down in the " Roman 
Missal," on "the Defects of the Mass?" — 

"If the priest vomit the Eucharist, and the species 
appear entire, they must be severally swallowed, 
unless nausea prevent ; and in that case the conse- 
crated species must be cautiously separated from the 
vomit, and laid by in some sacred place until they be 
corrupted, and afterwards they are to be thrown into 
the tabernacle (sacrarium) ; but if the species do not 
appear, the vomit must be burned, and the ashes 
thrown into the tabernacle ! ! ! " 

As respects the fourth point in Article V. of the 
Creed of Pope Pius IV., the Romish communion binds 
her members to believe as follows : — 

" I also confess, that under either kind alone, Christ 
is received, whole and entire, and a true Sacrament. " 

In Canon 3, Session 13, of the Council of Trent 
(on the Eucharist), the Church of Rome decrees as 
follows : — 

" Whosoever shall deny, that Christ entire is con- 
tained in the venerable Sacrament of the Eucharist, 
under each species, and under every part of each 
species, when they are separated: let him be ac- 
cursed." 

Also in Canon 4 (same session), we read : — 

" Whosoever shall affirm, that the body and blood 
of our Lord Jesus Christ are not present in the 
admirable Eucharist, as soon as the consecration is 
performed, but only as it is used and received, and 
neither before nor after ; and that the true body of 
our Lord does not remain in the hosts or consecrated 
morsels which are reserved or left after communion ; 
let him be accursed." 

The following rule is also enjoined respecting the 
wine (" Roman Missal," " Defects of the Mass") : — 

"If, after the consecration, a gnat, a spider, or any 
such thing fall into the chalice, and if it produce 
nausea, to the priest, let him draw it out, and wash 
it with the wine ; and when Mass is concluded let 
him burn it, and let him throw the ashes and the 
washings into a sacred place. But if there is no 



Till Christ with closed wounds remains, 
Shorn of those beams, which round His ransom 

Play, 
And form a Merit fit for man to plead, 
Ample as Justice, Law, and God require 1 
Whence the dread magic, which so mocks the 

world, 
Soothing pale conscience with Iscariot's kiss 1 
Look in thy heart ! there, reader ! there it 

lies. 
As fits the die within the forming mould 
So false religion for thy heart is framed. 

Thy fountains, Nature ! are the fatal spring 
Whence Popery all her canker'd life-blood 

drains, 
And drains for ever — for they ever flow ! 
A moral cast from our corrupted soul 
Designing Eome hath taken ; and contrived 
A feign'd religion, that, with fitting art, 
Infernally for each expression finds 
Some flatt'ring counterpart, or creed, or charm. 
'Tis Man's religion from the root of sin, 



nausea and he fears none, let him swallow it with the 
blood ! ! ! 

"If in winter the blood be frozen in the cup, put 
warm cloths about the cup ; if that will not do, let 
it be put into boiling water, near the altar, till it be 
melted, taking care it does not come into the cup. 

" If any of the blood of Christ fall on the ground, 
or table, by negligence, it must be licked up with the 
tongue, the place must be thoroughly scraped, and 
the scrapings burned ; but the ashes must be buried 
in holy ground " ! ! ! 

Finally, and to wind up this dreadful, but necessary 
evidence against Rome, let the reader who venerates 
the Body and Blood of Christ as Sacramentally present 
in the Eucharist, read the following, and ask his 
heart whether the line in "Luther," 

"An Incarnation parodied by Priests," 
has, in the least degree, distorted the truth ? 

Thus then, the Roman Church teaches (on the 
defects of the Mass), that the validity of the conse- 
cration depends on the following : — 

" First. That the bread be of pure wheaten flour. 

" Second. That it be not made with distilled water. 

" Third. That it be not leavened. 

"Fourth. That the wine be not sour or putrid, or 
be made of bitter or unripe grapes, or be mixed with 
so much water as to spoil the wine. 

" Fifth. Due disposition of soul. 

"Sixth. Due adjustment of the body. 

" Seventh. Due arrangement of garments. 

" Eighth. Due disposition in the service itself, as 
to those matters which can occur in it. 

"Ninth. That the minister intend to consecrate, 
and not to counterfeit; also, if any wafers remain 
forgotten on the altar, or if any part of the wine or 
any wafer he hid, when he did not intend to consecrate 
but what he saw ; also, if he shall have before him 
eleven wafers and intended to consecrate but ten 
only, not determining what ten he meant, in all 
these cases there is no consecration, because intention 
is required. 



208 



LUTHER. 



By passion foster'd, and by pride increased, 
Deep-grounded, in the under-soil intense 
Where guilty nature feels the goading pang, 
As conscience prompts, or keen compunction 

wakes. 
Hence, creeds are moulded ; hence, all gods 

are made ; 
While reason, bribed to superstition, bows, 
As sin and penance take relieving turns ; 
Till man himself his own atonement dreams, 
And draws salvation out of sighs, and tears. 

And thus, not Mind, whate'er its lofty range 
Along the pathless Infinite of thought, 
A shielding bulwark round the man can raise, 
Safely to keep one Romish error out. 
For oft, religion is but God disguised ; 
And when its nature from the name is torn 
Mere sounds and shades for sense and sub- 
stance act ; 
And cheated man a human mock adores. 
But God is love, by his Own love inspired, 
As seen the sun, by His own ray reveal'd. 

Then, vain those paeans which we loudly ring, 
As though the great millennium of the mind 
Were coming ; or, a mental noon began, 
Too searching for the Man of Sin to face. 
Philosophy the sting of Death renews 
And back the vict'ry to the grave restores. 
Whatever prospect soaring mind attain 
No good it masters, till in God it rest, 
Where peace and pardon, law and love combine, 
And Christ and conscience can together dwell. 
And why] because some creed embrace we 

must ; 
From heaven or hell religion must be drawn. 
For deep within, prognostications lurk 
Of tongueless dread ; and boding terrors strike 
Their hidden chill ; and throbs immortal stir, 
Like pulses of eternity, our souls ; 
While moods are felt, when flames of wrath 

to come 
Prelude damnation, such as Guilt foretells, 
Till the grave opens through the banquet's 

glare 
And time's last thunders their rehearsal ring. 
Though sin confront it, yet will Conscience 



Till sear'd, and branded into senseless nought. 
Shrined in the centre of our being, dwells 
That voiceless Umpire, on his moral throne 
Erect, and pure ; whose archetype is God, 
In the stern radiance of severest law 
Reflected there, for legislative might. 
Here, Right and Wrong their true award 

receive ; 
And Past and Present for acquittal stand, 
Or, condemnation from the bar receive ; 



Here Man, the ruin, in his ashes keeps 

Some righteous embers, which a priest can rake, 

Or quench, or quicken, as the crisis needs. 

When darkly flatter'd, and when deeply read, 
Our hearts becomebut platforms, where a Priest 
Can play the drama of his Church, at will, 
And shift the scenes with most consummate 

guile. 
Some charm which echoes our exacting taste, 
Some lust respondent to the varied will, 
Some lie, to oscillate with pleasing sway 
And skill'd vibration, as the mood requires, 
Some gulling fiend to take angelic form, 
And o'er the pathway which to hell conducts 
Weave a rich carpet of seductive woof, — 
Let these be organised, or well applied, 
And man's religion in their magic proves 
How wondrously such adaptation works ! 
Garb'd in a shroud of theologic guise 
Behold the Arch-fiend, with undreaded power 
His priesthood guiding ; and, with ritual spells 
To sooth or sadden, flatter, charm or chain 
All which in Man of dust or devil acts, 
Gild moral ruin with redemption's smile ! 
Thus, like a puppet, many -wired and weak, 
Our handled nature to each sacred pull 
Of Popery moves, with most responsive play. 

Art thou a Student, from the pristine wells 
Of learning, pleased and proud with classic 

thirst 
To drink rich draughts of undiluted Mind 1 
Or, is thine ear by intellectual taste 
To harmonies of ancient thought attuned ? 
See ! the hoar'd Fathers in their hallow'd 

shrines, 
And pale Philosophy, in pensive state, 
Ready to bathe thee in some mental calm, 
And soothe thy terrors with ascetic trance. 
Or, (to the chariot of the senses chain'd) 
Do glare and grandeur, and attractive sheens, 
And Pomps, and Festivals, and painted Lies 
With false and fatal eloquence, appeal 
To the base passion of thine earthly will 1 
Lo ! the drunk Sense with reasonless delight 
May find a Ball-room spiritually gay, 
A ritual opera, by Rome arranged, 
Where the blood dances, where emotion reels 
While soft damnation, musical and sweet, 
Charms faith to feeling, and each feeling, 

blind ! 



VI.— Religious Instinct. 

But, most to that religiously-depraved 
Self-righteous dream of ever-prompting Pride,- 
From earth to heaven to win or work its way, 
Adapting Popery, with mimetic art 



Her necromance of ritual pomp applies. 
A finite Self to infinite transform'd, 
Some Trentine god by moral fiction shaped, 
Is all tliat Passion's creed impure desires; 
And lo ! in Rome the heart's vile canons meet 
Their very echo ! grace and sin conjoin'd, 
An outward form for inner-life prepared, 
A dead religion where no God remains, — 
Here is thy Charm, thou sorceress of souls ! 
Self-gain'd salvation forms thy secret force : 
Hence liturgies, to please corruption plann'd ; 
Hence creeds, to flatter hope, or bribe a fear, 
And all the pantomime of bows, and beads. 
Thus perfect in pure falsity, Thou seem'st 
By the Great Liar of the world inspired, 
To set the Adam of the sensual mind 
In motion ; feeling, so that nothing's felt, 
And working, so that nothing's truly wrought 
As Law proclaims, or holy love demands. 
Yet, nature, pleased with self-atonement, dares 
Blindly to merit what mere Grace bestows, 
And parts with all things, sin alone except ! 

And thus, machines, by blind devotion 

turn'd 
For rites external, Eome's deluded slaves 
Become ; automatons for priestly guile, 
Moving, or motionless, as that inspires ; 
For, each false yearning of self-righteous will 
In Popery some pleasing vent can find. 
Devout fanatics, passionately wed 
To forms, where sense o'er spirit domineers, 
May there a sanctimonious refuge gain, 
From seeming prayer, to suit a prayeiiess 

heart, 
Down to the beads dull Superstition counts. 
Eome loves the Crucifix, but hates the Cross ! 
And thus, whatever gull'd Emotion longs 
Upon her shrine of selfishness to lay, 
Her human gospel cunningly applies ; 
Cheating the soul with skeletons of truth. 
No taste, but here a subtle pleasure finds ; 
Wo sentiment, but what some echo meets ; 
Nor fancy, which no fellowship can find. 
There, Painting, with its poetry of hues, 
And Music, with its poetry of sound, 
And temples, with their poetry of stone, 
All, all compose a theologic cheat 
That charms the spirit from its saviour-God. 

VII. — Sorcery. 

But thou ! Imagination's martyr'd fool, 
Whose faith is fancy, in religion's dress, 
Whose shining virtues are but gilded vice 
Seen by the Bible's heart-exploring beam, 
For thee the cup of Antichrist is drugg'd 
With rapt intoxication's master-spells ! 
Anthems, which seem to roll from Angel-harps, 



And silver chants, that Seraphim might sing ; 
Paintings, where Beauty's virgin grace 
Divinely-mortal, exquisitely smiles ; 
And sights superb, processions' vast array, 
Or cloisters pale, where Pensiveness may roam, 
Or perfumed incense, with its spiral clouds 
Floating to heaven, before the vested priests, 
Whose robes with sacramental meaning wave ; 
All these, with Churches, where religion stamps 
The very stones with symbolising force, 
And painted windows, by their colours, preach 
Sermons which strike imagination dumb, 
Or, melt it in soft martyrdom of sighs, — 
Here is the weaving of those spells which bind 
Millions to darkness, in the chains of Rome ! 
Whose mock religion The Almighty veils, 
And each fine essence out of saving truth 
Evaporates, in Forms which stifle faith, 
And from the heart its vital heaven exclude : 
For, what is holiness but heaven below 1 
Or heaven itself, but holiness above ? 

But, in some crisis of mysterious gloom 
When frowns almighty round the heart of guilt 
Darker than death-shades, dismal as profound, 
Hover and hang, the buried past revives 
Till dead Hours quicken in their secret graves, 
The Infinite a voicely fear becomes, 
And all of God to all in man appeals 
For vengeance ! Horeb is on fire again, 
In thunder preaching its horrific curse. 
Now, seems a Sinai in the soul of man ! 
Erected there by that instinctive law 
Which Nature's creed must canonize, and own : 
And oft, beneath its altitudes of gloom 
Pale terrors, and alarm'd compunctions fall, 
By strong enforcement, at its awful base ; 
Till the bow'd spirit trembles into tears, 
While thunder-peals of God-proclaiming truth 
Preach to our guilt th' uncompromising Law ■ 
Which conscience echoes with responsive groan. 
Then doubts, which make a Golgotha of mind, 
Madden the sinner with a fest'ring sway : 
The wind was sown, — the whirlwind hence is 

reap'd ; 
The seed was darkness — and the fruit is death ! 
And where, now pleasure's silken trance is o'er 
And fear'd eternity with curses rings, 
Shall the torn spirit some true refuge find 1 
Oh, fell imposture ! priestly Fiction comes ; 
And all its juggi'ry of cheating lies, 
Indulgence vain, and penances most vile 
Which keep the sinner from the saving Cross, 
Again renews ; the soul with opium drugs ; 
Infernal laud'num blinded Conscience drinks, 
Till thus, from terror into torpor soothed, 
Her sunken witness in stagnation dies ; 
And the torn Heart, by self-atonement heal'd, 
Back to its smiles of sinful peace returns 



To drink from pleasure draughts of death once 

more, 
Like a mad infant to its mother's breast, 
Though pale, and poison'd by some murd'rous 

hand. 

Here is thy venom, here thy spring of 

strength, 
Thou master-spell of Satan's master-piece ! 
With all the finish of a fiend contrived 
To soothe the conscience, when a rack 

begins ; 
To keep the penance and a priest in play ; 
To hold the sinner, but let loose the sin, 
And by Confession to absorb the Cross. 
Thus, papal lies to nature's roots descend ; 
They fix, they fasten in the moral soil 
Their foul adjustment. Man is papal born, 
And false religion must be papal too ; 
And his exacting nature nicely fit 
In heart, in conscience, and uncertain will. 
For sin, when loved, for punishment, when 

fear'd, 
Consummate Rome hath thus for both prepared 
A recipe, that 'tween the two can act : 
A sop for Conscience — when it pleads with 

dread, 
And sin for Passion — when that dread is o'er : 
And thus, beneath the burning eye of Heaven, 
No parody of truth like this, deceives ; 
No spell, by genius of satanic might 
Forged in the secrecy of mystic lies, 
No miracle of dread imposture, works 
Perdition with so masterly success 
As when God's will, travestied and transform'd, 
To Man becomes religion ; and /ro?/i heaven 
Beguiles him, while it seems to guide him 

There. 



INSPIRATION OF THE IDEAL. 

'Tween two eternities each hour is born 
Of present Being ; in the midst, our mind, 
(Through some deep sense of undevelopd 

power, 
Haunted for ever by the Unattain'd) 
Fevers, and frets with intellectual thirst 
For more of Perfect, Beautiful, or Pure, 
For more of Truth, in majesty and might 
Than ever rises on the reaching sense, 
Or, seems embodied in the shape of Things. 
The Infinite we love, and half adore ; 
Our heaven of feeling seeks a heaven of fact,- 
An outward Image, whose responsive mould 
May body forth Imagination's dream. 
And hence, enthroned in some ethereal calm, 
Conceptive Genius from creation draws 
Types of vast truth, and. symbols of the soul, 



To aid Perception, when its shaping power 
Would vision out a universe of Love, 
And Ideality in life reveal. 

But if, beyond what Nature's world supplies 
A yearning soul for moral beauty thirsts, 
Creative Thought, by combination frames 
From all which heroes of the heart have felt, 
Or martyrs of the sleepless mind portray'd, 
Or dreamt in prison-gloom, or palace-smiles, 
A model of true consummated Man ! 
And, noble is such discontent of soul 
Which leads to Virtue's elevating path ; 
The mind unprisons ; or, from chaining Sense, 
That coarsely to the common life of things 
Would bind us down in drudgery and death, 
To freedom and infinitude allures 
The man within. And hence, all dreamings 

high 
And holy ; hence, imagination's flight ; 
And aspirations, fetterless and pure. 
For, in this orbit of mysterious Life 
The central immortality is Man ; 
And, greater far than all the greatness seen 
One viewless Thought of his observing Mind ! 
Since what the apprehending sense beholds 
Forms but a veil, through which are dimly 

view'd 
Deep intimations of diviner Things, 
And preludes faint of far profounder Truth 
And Beauty, yet by God to be unveil'd. 
'Tis thus, the poetry of heart begins, 
The painter's longing, and the sculptor's love, 
Which purify from sensual dross and guile 
Our inner-life, with sacramental force ; 
Hence, Homer drew ; and solemn Milton drank 
The inspirations of a deathless song. 
In beautiful transcendencies of thought 
From earthly matter into heavenly forms 
They soar'd, for ever ; and, by shaping dreams, 
Imaged a life above the life they felt 
And breathed the immortality they sung. 
'Tis thus, by passion for the Infinite, 
And glorious longings for some Perfect Good, 
The heart's millennium, in all ages, acts : 
Hence Liberty her laurell'd hero frames, 
Martyr, and saint, and sage their stamp receive, 
Religion half her purity obtains, 
And the bright paradise of Morals blooms. 

Thus Luther, in his lone and lofty zeal 
Impetuous, bold, and ardent as sublime, 
With feelings vivid like the soul they fired, 
Who led the exodus of man and mind 
From the vile Egypt of enslaving Rome 
To Canaan's borders, in the world of truth, — 
E'en like a prophet, o'er predestined scenes 
Above the cold, the actual, and the coarse 
Mounted aloft ; and sleeplessly pursued 



MAMMON" AND MATERIALISM. 



211 



Through tears and torture, outrage, grief, and 

wrong, 
Through storm and cloud, convulsion and 

contempt, 
That great Exemplar which his mind conceived. 
Beauty and Brightness their ideal thrones 
Erected in him ; while their magic spell 
Temper'd his heart for each ethereal type. 
And so, by Pre-conception's purest charm 
Master' d and moulded, his frail being grew ; 
He lived the Poetry which others thought ; 
And from that hour when friendly capture 

threw 
A shroud of safety round his perill'd head 
"Where the lone castle of Altenstein frown'd, 
To that famed crisis, when from cell and chain 
Heaven's cloister'd Principles came forth to 

breathe, 
Pale from the prison of a thousand years, 
His passion for the Perfect and the Pure 
Nerved him for wonders ! Like that mystic 

Yoice, 
Which often to the soul of seers reveal' d 
Visions of Godhead, vocal and distinct, 
Heaven-ward, for plans archangels might have 

cheer'd, 
Pure Inspiration seem'd to guide him on. 
Gigantic efforts, flush'd with sacred zeal, 
And high endeavours, honourably vast, 
Ardours intense, with flames of moral ire, 
A mental freedom, or that tameless force 
Which grappled ever with imagined Fiends, — 
All were expressions of one master-wish ; 
The indications of a Soul, inspired 
To be the great Apostle of mankind 
In deeds of glory, for a cause divine. 
The sigh of Nature with herself to blend 
And bind, in one fond brotherhood of faith, 
The feelings and the family of Man ; 
A New Jerusalem on earth to hail ; 
A Church redeem'd to apostolic mould ; 
A reigning Jesus, a rejoicing World, — •' 
To such bright centres of consummate hope 
Did Luther, with ideal passion, tend ; 
These made the goal to which he onward 

press'd, 
The lofty mark, at which his virtue aim'd ; 
And from the level of a monk's low range 
Lifted on high his ever-loving heart, 
And bade him, in a sunless age, to shine 
A moral saviour o'er eclipsed mankind. 



MAMMON AND MATERIALISM. 

Oh, for a Luther to inspire us now ! 
Th' awaking magic of some mind God-taught 
To charm the sensual from the Nation's soul ; 
Our passions dark, our appetites of dust 



To brighten, or to banish ; till the love 
Of whatsoe'er is lofty, and divine, 
Of whatsoe'er is glorious, and august, 
The throne of public Taste may re-ascend, 
Give life to Genius, and a law to thought, 
And for the Beautiful true homage gain. 
Woe to the Land ! whose days are evil now : 
Venality in vulgar glory reigns ; 
Profit and Loss intense inspirers are ; 
The Arts are pining in neglected gloom, 
Sculpture is dead, and Poetry in tears ; 
And Science mostly for the palate reigns ! 
Utility, a social god. becomes, 
And Britain but as Dives, longs to live 
In pomp and purple, and in sumptuous joy. 
The universe for comfort seems arranged. ; 
The world, — a warehouse for convenience 

plann'd ! 
And that Creation, which to faith appears 
An outer-court to God's more secret shrine, 
Is made a temple, where the Senses may 
Adore the Useful, with vile worship now. 

Alas ! for England when her god is gold, 
And nought believed but what coarse passions 

love; 
"When all of spirit, found in tasteful lore, 
In effort noble, or sublime in aim, 
A mock becomes, till principle expires, 
And base Expediency's polluted breath 
Falls, like a mildew, over minds and men. 
Romance is faded ; sentiment extinct ; 
All the fine chivalries of ancient Faith 
Are laugh'd away, as meaningless, or vain : 
While Dulness prospers in her leaden smiles, 
And mediocrity, with damping weight, 
Each nobler faculty and sacred power 
Darkens, at last, to intellectual death, 
And leaves to Manhood little but a name. 

Oh, for a spirit of reviving truth, 
A resurrection from the grave of Mind ! 
That soon the harmonies of olden thought, 
Like buried music, from the past may rise 
In solemn cadence, and our souls becalm. 
Let Finite in the Infinite be merged ; 
Let Fancy dream, Imagination dare, 
And Effort triumph in heroic forms 
Till Art and Genius glorify the world, 
And Science from her dreams of sensual bliss 
Turn to the Soul, and there, with rev'rent 

gaze, 
Deep within deep those springs of Nature 

trace, 
Where most the unapparent Spirit works, 
And awful Conscience from Her secret throne 
Each lawless movement of the soul condemns ; 
Or like an Oracle is ever found 
Approving virtue, and proclaiming heaven. 



p2 



212 



LUTHER. 



COVENANT OF HEARTS. 

Bound in the links of that ethereal Chain 
Which upward, from the insect's tiny pulse 
On earth that throbs, to yonder wheeling orbs 
Enormous, its unbroken coil extends, 
Are all things by the Hand almighty held. 
And thus, what chance to vulgar sense appears, 
Is veil'd causation, and confirm'd decree. 
Nature herself, through each organic change 
And form, or function, is but Will supreme, 
In might, or beauty, marching to result 
Predestined. Not an atom is consumed ; 
No leaf can vibrate, not a billow laugh, 
Nor wild breeze nutter on its fairy wing, 
But God o'errules it, with control as nice 
As that which belts the planets with a zone 
Of harmony, and binds the stars with law. 
And though mere chaos, to an eye immersed 
In sensual darkness, Life's perturbed scene 
Must ever be, not thus to them who scan 
The world's confusion by celestial light 
From scripture beaming, does mysterious time 
Appear. For then, disorder is but plan 
Divinely-working, by arranged degrees 
Upward and onward into truth evolved 
Through the long maze of labyrinthine wills, 
Or human actions. Kings, and slaves, and 

priests ; 
Erected monarchies, or crumbled thrones ; 
The shout of warriors, or an infant's wail ; 
In life, in faith, in conduct, or in creed 
Whate'er be witness'd, God behind the scene 
From His high watch-tower of incessant sway 
Governs, and guides the blended Whole of man. 
Never the Eye omniscient drops its lid, 
Or slumbers : whether Virtue's godlike brow 
Be laurell'd, and the Church's heart exult ; 
Or dark temptation, like a Demon come, 
Harness the soul, and lash Desire along 
To ruin, — in that change, no change exists. 
For in the freedom of the foulest will 
Venting itself in vanity, or vice ; 
Or in the soarings of a strong-wing'd faith 
That heavenward mounts, and leaves low earth 

behind, 
Around them moves One all-inclusive Will 
Which, leaving man responsible and free, 
For God retains supremacy and law. 

And none, whose souls, by sacred fear made 
wise, 
The lesson of their weakness well have learn'd ; 
Or rightly weigh'd, how much from ties of love 
And charms of social power the moral frame 
Impression gathers, — dare to Chance ascribe 
A covenant of Hearts, when struck between 
Two in the faith, accordant and conjoin'd. 



Pure Love our moral gravitation makes; 
At once the motion, and the rest of man : 
But when, and where, and how electric chains 
Are closely fasten'd into Friendship's heart, 
Should make us ponder ; since for bane, or bliss, 
Over man's conscious destiny they cast 
A character Eternity will not efface ! 
Since Love is plastic ; and by secret charm 
Shapes to resemblance with its moral self 
Our yielded bosom ; and the yearning heart 
Thus takes the likeness of each thing it loves, — 
E'en as some insect from the herb derives 
A hue responsive to the food it eats. 
Hence, only virtue forms a solid base 
Rooted, and grounded in the heart of truth, 
Where friendship's high and holy structure 

stands 
Bedeck'd, and order'd, by approving Heaven. 
Two Finites can no lasting friendship make ; 
Between them both an Infinite must stand, 
And He is God ! Without Him, all is mock ; 
The paint and pageant of a soul's outside 
By fancy colour'd, or by feeling tinged ; 
But, wanting holiness, that All it needs 
Which crowns a friendship with undying 

charm. 
Fair Amity ! when thus, indeed, the fruit 
Of sacred principle, by love inspired, 
Thy bloom is fragrant of yon world of bliss 
Ethereal, and with fadeless beauty rife. 
And such, when Luther and Melancthon's 

heart 
In oneness holy blended their deep powers, 
Wert thou ; a friendship from the Cross which 

sprang 
In the green fulness of their common faith. 
And, in the archives of the past, how few 
The feelings, that more lovingly have twined 
A wreath of nature round the brow of grace, 
Than those, which from the young and verdant 

breast 
Of their twin Manhood, did together rise ! 



DISTINCT BUT UNDIVIDED. 

Distinct in tone, yet undivided, both 
Their hearts in melody combined, and met. 
But if in nature poesy would find 
Their fancied echo, hark ! the torrent's fall 
In liquid thunder foaming loud and fierce, 
From crag to crag precipitous, and bold, — 
And there, is Luther ; while, along the banks 
Tree-shaded, list, yon low and quiet stream, 
And mark ! the mild Melancthon. Each to 

each 
A grace of contrast, and the charm which glows 
Round minds which vary while the .hearts 

embrace, 



CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP. 



213 



Imparted : both in one vast work converged ; 
And oh ! what hours of evangelic peace, 
What hymns of soul, what praises blent with 

prayers, 
What feelings high amid the haunted woods 
Of Wittemberg, were oft by each enjoy'd ! 
And in the lassitude of lofty cares 
When, crush'd beneath his adamantine wrongs, 
The soul of Luther lay in bleeding gloom, 
How the calm sunshine of Melancthon's face 
Around him shed some heart-restoring smile ! 
But o'er Thy page, Eternal Wisdom ! most 
Did their high friendship in communion blend ; 
As truth on truth, from out the classic grave 
Of language, where dead meanings were 

entomb'd, 
Started to life in Luther's noble tongue 
Till Fatherland its own free bible hail'd, 
And God in German to his country spake. 
Thus, day by day, that Book of Heaven became 
A sabbath-port from earth's tempestuous cares, 
Which raged and roll'd around them : scene 

and time 
And circumstance, those mast'ring three in one 
That make, or mar the All mere worldlings 

dream, 
To them were shadows, which the radiant 

Word 
Dazzled to nought, as clouds in sunbeams die. 
The monarch's palace, or the monk's low cell, 
Or chamber dim, from out whose frescoed walls 
In massy framework look'd the pictured Dead 
Who live in hues immortal,* — 'twas alike 
To men, who on this world, were in the next, 
By faith or feeling ever wafted there. 

Then, what are base alliances, miscall'd 
By friendship's name, but artificial modes, 
Or satires on the sacredness and sense 
Of this high virtue 1 — mere enamell'd lies ! 
Too often are they but a painted show 
Of pleased Hypocrisy, whose silken ties 
Are light as gossamer, before the storm 
Severe affliction round our lot may bring. 
Convenience ; lucre ; folly, pride, or gain ; 
A ride, a dinner, or a small request ; 
Or sad communion in the common sin 
By passion cherish'd — there, mock friendships 

reach 
A zenith, and their noblest zeal expires. 
But when, alas ! unbodied, and unveil'd 
Of earth's false trappings, in the world of 

souls 
These gay companions of a feast and song 
Meet in stern truth, unmantled to the core, 
Hideously naked, to the very heart 



* These three lines describe an engraved illustration 
which accompanied the first edition of this poem. 



Discover' d, — how each mask of Self will drop ! 
And many a cheek, by radiant kindness 

clothed, 
Blacken with hate, with horror, or revenge 
Infernal : friendship now is ruin found ; 
And soft-mouth'd men, who seem'd, in time, 

so dear, 
Will each to each satanical appear 
And loathe, like fiends, their lost eternity ! 

But, cast your friendship into chaster mould ; 
Let genius, learning, or congenial taste, 
Or fellowship like what the Muses love, 
Refined as Lselius felt, or Scipio found ; 
Or, let Parnassus sing how poets loved, 
Whose lives and verses did together run 
And softly blend, like interwoven streams, 
E'en at the best, such earth-born magic dies 
Soon as dark shadows of the grave begin 
To pall the Present, and its passing joys. 
Then, all their sweetness and their strength 

depart ! 
Bred from the world, they, with the world, 

recede ; 
Friendship and flesh, together in one tomb 
They perish ; for, each lack'd that saving life 
Which makes immortal what we cherish here. 



CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP. 

But there is friendship pure as angels love ; 
Which trust, and truth, and tenderness create 
When two fond Hearts with sacred force 

embrace, 
By union deep, unworldly, and divine. 
Then friendship, like a school for mind 

becomes, 
Where act to habit may itself mature ; 
And Self, denied in little things, advance 
To show denial, which a world may bless 
And all the Churches with due plaudit hail. 
Here, faith with friendship can indeed concur ; 
Beyond mere temper, and accordant tones ; 
While reign those Principles whose charm 

outwears 
Sickness and sorrow, death, or cold neglect, 
With all the jarring dissonance which tries 
The force of feeling, in its wisest hour. 
But, whence are these, save from th' Almighty 

drawn, 
And, like Himself, unchangeably sublime ! 
Here is a friendship, perfect, calm, sincere, 
Above mutation, as beyond decay • 
A friendship, Lord ! whose archetype is Thine ; 
For, when on earth, Thy mortal life assumed 
Manhood, with each consummate trait adorn'd; 
And human Feeling may exult to view 
Laid on thy breast the much beloved St. John ! 



214 



LUTHER. 



Oh ! for a Friendship which outlives the sun, 
To last, when time hath faded, and when 

Flesh 
With all its burden, is a baseless dream. 
It drops a balsam in the wounded breast, 
Soothes the torn mind, and soul-dejection 

heals ; 
'Tis heart to sympathy and hand to love, 
Can charm the wisest, or the feeblest worth 
Uphold, and makes the poorest rich indeed. 

Man forms the foe, but God alone the 

friend, 
If friend he is, with truthful love endow'd, 
And graced with those prerogatives of mind 
Eeligion sanctions. Then, what kindred bliss, 
What sweet affinities of thought and taste ! 
The Janus-temple of a jealous heart 
That shuts, or opens, as the door demands, 
Is here unwitness'd ; all is frank display 
Which scorns pretence, and scatters each 

disguise 
By sun- clear verity, whose shining force 
Copes with all clouds of accident, or change, 
And ever beams on Friendship's cordial brow. 
Here is an amity our noblest wants 
Delight to welcome, as their true supply : 
With active force the intellect it feeds, 
The heart enlarges into loftier swell 
And, in the counterplay it gives and asks, 
Finds equal pleasure, when the echo sounds 
Sincere and manly. But affliction most 
The high-born friendship of heroic minds 
Illustrates : then the sacrifice of Self 
Devoted, prompt, impassion'd as sincere, 
By sorrow, substance, or by costly life, 
How godlike is it ! how resembling Him 
The soul's Philanthropist, creation's Friend 
The world enriching, by Himself made poor ! 
Friendship like this, the seal of God confirms, 
Who cast our nature into social mould 
And bade it seek for brotherly response, 
Or bosom-counterparts in bliss, or woe : 
And thus, whate'er his rank, or high renown, 
Man needs an echo, whose responsive charm 
Doubles himself, by feeling's prompt reply ; 
To rich enjoyment adds a height'ning zest 
Untold ; and when misfortune's east-wind 

blows 
Or cutting blasts of cold ingratitude 
Sweep the lorn bosom, by the world betray'd, 
Softer than dews from Hermon's sainted 

height 
The tones of Friendship, dropt in feeling's ear 
For comfort ! Mine be thus some heaven-made 

friend, 
And I will clasp him, with the heart's embrace 
For ever ! Morning with its radiant blush ; 
Noon with its glory ; Twilight with its trance ; 



Or balmy Night, with all the stars awake 
In beauty walking o'er their midnight-round, 
How are they each, when friendship's echoing 

heart 
Throbs near our own, with added charm 

endow'd ! 
Yea, all those homilies of love and might 
Appealing Nature to the pensive reads 
Down winding lanes, or paths of vernal bloom, 
Or rustic haunt where rambling Boyhood loves 
To stray, and linger, — how some tasteful friend 
Can, with ourselves, interpret all their tones 
In strains of poetry and inward peace, 
When souls are mingled, and Creation greets 
The hearts who love her. Nor does faith deny 
That, e'en in heaven ethereal friendships bring 
Their calm addition to celestial joy : 
For Truth is social, in the highest orb 
Of her dominion ! God Himself is not alone, 
But in deep light, Tripersonally throned, 
In plural Godhead His perfection holds. 



UNION IN THE CROSS. 

So Martin Luther and Melancthon felt. 
For them, religion was no lifeless creed, 
But living virtue : faith and friendship blent 
Their pureness, and together nobly grew 
In the rich soil of their congenial breasts. 
And when we learn what this rare friendship 

did, 
How gratefully will Faith her God adore, 
Who so ordain' d, by councils plann'd above, 
That Men like these, in place and time should 

meet, 
Blend their brave hearts, and with united 

hands 
The fabric of the Reformation build 
In rising glory ! Each that structure claim'd : 
And as some builder first in mind conceives 
The mansion, which external Art reveals, 
And models only from a type within, 
So, from His pattern of eternal thought, 
The Architect supreme His will expressed 
In that vast work the Reformation rear'd : 
And not a stone to form that fabric rose, 
Nor human workman there his building hand 
Devoted, but from God directly came 
Some guiding impulse. Glory, then, to Him ! 
Who thus in hallow'd unity combined 
Two hearts distinct, as those twin Leaders bore 
That ransom'd Israel from Egyptian chains. 
Their's was a friendship, more than Nature 

forms, 
Fancy begets, or genial tastes preserve : 
The one, like thunder ! arm'd by daring soul 
Breathing defiance with a lion-voice ; 
Tempestuous often in that mental storm 



FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 



215 



Which heaved his temper by o'erflowing 

wrath, 
With rage unbounded : but the other, mild 
And chasten'd, passionless and curb'd ; 
A halcyon man of holiness and zeal 
Whose heart was quiet in its deepest hour. 
Or, Nature's imag'ry may thus depict 
Their true distinction, in her world of types ; 
Intensely burning, like a tropic noon, 
In one the character of heart appears : 
The other, like a placid twilight-scene 
Bathed in serenity of softest dews, 
With stars down looking on the lovely whole. 

But yet, through many a shock unmoved 

they went, 
And stood united, when all else dissolved 
Around them. 'Twas The Cross, and that 

alone, 
Which so cemented with abounding grace 
Two Hearts, that else were utterly unlike. 
Here was a centre; round this changeless 

point 
Of God for glory, and of truth for Man, 
They met, they mingled, with harmonious love 
In concord perfect : but in tones of taste 
Agreed to differ with delightful ease. 
Contrast with them, like two magnetic poles, 
Their hearts attracted, and by secret love 
Each into each with soft concernment drew 
The closer ; union their distinctness proved. 
But more than this, may grateful wonder see ; 
For each to God's mysterious cause supplied 
Some fitting element, or power defined, 
Which, wanting, would have left His work 

unsafe, 
Or tott'ring. Thus, Melancthon's classic toils 
And tasteful culture nourish'd growing minds 
In progress ; while, from Luther's boundless 

zeal 
There went a spirit of sublime attack 
That shook the Popedom, like a thunder-blast, 
Making it tremble down to falsehood's depths 
Of darkness. Thus, two Hands distinct they 

were, 
Each for his task appointed, and prepared, 
And both by Wisdom wielded from on high. 



FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 

Theiu work is done, their deathless toil 

complete ; 
And they are gather'd to that spirit-realm 
Where all things tend, as to their final home, 
Which are in time and consciousness reveal'd. 
But is that friendship, incorrupt and bright, 
Effulging from the radiant fount of Love 
Celestial, is it in yon heaven absorb'd, 



There swallow'd, in some Infinite of bliss 
Which now enfolds them ? Are those ties of 

heart, 
Broken on earth, no more in heaven renew'd 1 
If here below our fondest cravings prove 
Affections make the vowels of the mind, 
And, like a consonant, when left alone, 
Man without love seems unpronounced and 

mute, 
Will yearning Manhood in the skies be lone 1 
Alas ! if nothing save what Earth inspires 
By us be worshipp'd ; then, as time concludes, 
And from eternity rise spectral Woes, 
And shapeless Horrors worse than guilt 

forebodes 
Hover in view, like flashes in the dark 
Our earth-born friendships will at once go out 
In blackness ; better had they never been ! 

But when two Hearts, heroic, brave, and 
pure 
Like Luther's and Melancthon's, nobly throb 
Through years of trial with responsive beat 
Unfalt'ring, can we think the upper-World 
Where men redeem'd the nearest circle form 
Of radiant worshippers, who round The Lamb 
Hymn golden numbers from their lyres of 

light 
For ever, can we think, that Souls like these, 
Will ever there in single glory chant 
That song, united which on earth they sung 1 
No ! from a heartless creed, for pagans fit, 
Our aspirations, dreams, and winged hopes 
At once recoil, unsocial heaven reject, 
And prove it pagan. If below the bonds 
Of sacred amity, by grace refined, 
'Mid the dark waste of sin-degraded hours 
And all th' exacting selfishness which tires 
The bosom, yet themselves inviolate keep, 
How will such bonds, from imperfection freed, 
Gather new strength, and nobler charms enjoy 
In that blest Meeting-place of Minds above ! 
Then shall each excellence, whose winning- 
form 
Though varied, held the heart's accorded throne 
So firmly, shine with far intenser ray 
Than earth experienced. Thus, ascending- 
Thought 
May cleave the firmament on wings of faith, 
Outsoar the stars, beyond the planets rise 
And leave creation far our flight behind, 
And there, within the heaven of heavens, 

behold 
Immortal Friends in one immortal home. 
From the same Fount of never-failing bliss 
Their blending spirits drink responsive joy 
Unspeakable : and there in God embower'd, 
What once made prayer, is now with praise 
enjoy'd ; 



The past of earth in heaven a present forms 
And gives eternal Consciousness a theme 
For wonder, worship, and augmenting love. 



SUBLIME OF HISTORY. 

Nothing is little in this world of ours, 
Because, whate'er the dim-eyed sceptic dream, 
In nothing rarely can we act alone. 
Built like that fabled roof, whose finest parts . 
Each into each by interwoven skill 
So exquisitely play, with poised effect, 
That touch but one, and lo ! the fabric all 
Shakes into movement with recoiling shock, — 
So is our world by its Great Builder plann'd. 
Thus, the first glance which God's forbidden 

tree 
Drew from the eye of earth's frail Mother, 

forms 
With our last sin a fatal union now ! 

No fact is isolate, no feeling lone ; 
Entangled are we by perpetual lines 
Of moral net-work, infinite and fine, 
With magic influence all around us drawn, 
Which makes our conduct endless, — by the 

thrill 
And tone of feeling that it often strikes 
On the deep chord of ages, yet to come. 
Nothing is little, where a moral lurks : 
The last vibration of The Saviour's lip, 
Expiring, more of deity involved 
Than all the gorgeous universe contains. 
Though mean the wood, which then Messiah 

bore 
In bleeding glory, while the planted Cross 
Lifted Him up a sacrifice for sin, 
That sacramental Type a focus form'd 
Where the vast councils of Eternal Love 
Concenter'd all their wisdom and their wealth 
In action ! — though a point in space, The Tree, 
From out it, as a salient centre, spring 
The hopes immortal of our world redeem'd. 
Not might of scene, not magnitude of space, 
Nor aught of majesty which Sense admires 
Or Time can value by his vulgar hours, 
To truth a character, or creed a strength 
Can give : for Principle a glory hath 
Beyond the limits of defining man ; 
Enthroned in sempiternal light, it reigns 
The Alpha and The Omega of all 
In love stupendous, or in law severe. 

Thus round that moment, when the Saxon 

monk, 
Bold as some rock which breasts the main 

alone, 
Lifted his brow, and faced his gather'd foes, 



What centuries of undevelop'd truth 
And change, were secretly encounter'd, then ! 
To eye of sense, mere Spectacle it look'd 
Of men and minds ; or, where a rebel stood 
Undaunted : but, Another Form there was ! 
Sightless amid the loud conclave, Who watch'd 
Each word that breathed, and master'd all 

which moved 
And thought, but was Himself unseen, unheard, 
And unimagined : lo ! The Lord was there 
Supreme Director of that scene august, 
Where Luther triumph'd, and the Bible rear'd 
Its signal far above all thrones of earth, 
Untorn, untarnish'd, and untouch'd by man, 
The badge of faith and banner of our souls 
To be, beyond the rage of Earth, or Hell 
To baffle, or resist ! And we, who gaze 
Back from the heights of purer worship now 
On that gone period, when th' imperial host 
Fierce in the hall of unforgotten Worms 
Mutter'd, and raged round Luther's dauntless 

form, 
May well that crisis of the World admire ! 
And think, how from the crystal walls of 

heaven 
Spirits were gazing ; or on balanced wing 
Hung o'er the chamber where the host 

convened, 
Viewless ; and watch'd each mental shade 

which cross'd 
Thy features, while They drank with blissful 

ear 
Each tone majestic, thine unconquer'd mind 
By truth inspired, from scripture then awoke 
To perish never, — noble-hearted Monk 
Of Wittemberg ! Nor let the mocker doubt, 
His yes, or no, the wheel of ages turn'd, 
And balanced Europe on a single breath ; 
Since what he felt, the World is feeling still 
In heart eternized ; Luther is alive 
By influence ; and each living word of truth 
In Worms that sounded an immortal note, 
Intones our Churches with some cadence now. 

Oh ! 'twas a scene, where hist'ry grows 

sublime 
And unsurpass'd ; save when the fetter'd Paul 
Lifted his eyes of light and brow of truth 
Before Agrippa, till that prince of lust, 
Under the sway of his resistless voice 
And bold denouncement, quiver' d, like a tree 
Shook by the night-blast. From the hills of 

Rome 
The Vatican in vain its thunders roll'd ; 
And thy huge palace, dark-wall'd Pleissenburg ! 
Witness'd the brave defender, when he fell'd 
Those Anakims of intellectual might, 
The proud Goliaths of theology. , 
But, now, at length, the very Man of Sin, 



MORAL RESULTS. 



217 



And crown'd blasphemer who travesties Christ, 
Himself upon his Throne of lies shall start 
And shiver ! " Pile for pile shall kindle now, 
Bull, Law, and Canons, and Clementines, all, 
Shall in one sacrifice of flame expire ! " 
So spake the monk undaunted ; and the blaze 
Redden'd, and rose beside yon eastern gate 
Of Wittemberg, above that papal mass 
Of fictions mould'ring, and impostures vile ; 
While by a shout, which should for ever ring 
The heart of Europe with responsive tones, 
Applauding thousands that bright witness 

hail'd 
"Whose keen reflection scorches Popedom, now. 

But, there He stands ! in superhuman calm 
Concenter'd, and sublime. Around Him pomp 
And blaze imperial ; haughty eyes, and words 
"Whose tones breathe tyranny, in vain attempt 
The heaven-born quiet of his soul to move. 
Crown'd with the grace of everlasting truth 
A more than monarch among Kings he stood : 
And while without, an ever-deep'ning mass 
Of murm'ring thousands, on the windows 

watch'd 
The torchlight gleaming through the crimson'd 

glass 
Of that throng'd Hall, where Truth on trial was, 
Seldom on earth did ever sun go down, 
Or evening mantle o'er a grander scene. 
There Priests, and Barons, Counts and Dukes 

were met, 
Landgraves and Margraves, Earls, Electors, 

Knights, 
And Charles the Splendid, in the glowing pride 
Of princely youth, with Empires at his feet ; 
And there — the miner's son, to match them all ! 
"With black robe belted round his manly waist 
Before that bar august he stood serene ; 
By self-dominion reining down his soul. 
Melancthon wept ; and Spalatinus gazed 
"With breathless wonder on that wondrous 

Man ! 
"While mute and motionless, a grim array 
Of priests and monks, in combination dire, 
On Luther fasten'd their most blood-hound gaze 
Of bigotry; but not one rippling thought 

disturb'd 
The calm of heaven on his commanding face ! 
Meek but majestic, simple and sublime 
In aspect, thus he braved the wrath of Rome 
"With brow unshrinking; and with eyes that 

burn'd 
As if the spirit in each glance were sheath'd : 
And then, with voice which seem'd a soul in 

sound 
Made audible, he pled th' Almighty's cause 
In words almighty as the cause he pled, 
The Bible's ! God's religion, not the Priest's 



By craft invented and for Lucre preach'd, 
For This, life limb and liberty he vow'd 
To sacrifice ; though earth and hell might rage, 
Not Pope, nor Canon, Council nor Decree 
"Would shake him ! From the throne of that 

resolve 
By fiend, nor angel would his heart be hurl'd ; 
Truth and his Conscience would together fight, 
The world 'gainst them — and they against the 

world ! 
And then, with eyes which flash'd celestial fire, 
Full in the face of that assembly breath'd 
The fearless Monk those ever-famous words, 
" God help me ! Here I stand alone ; Amen ! " 



MORAL RESULTS. 

And let all ages that "Amen" repeat, 
For it is worthy. Angels might the word 
Have welcomed, and th' Eternal arches rung 
An echo, as it roll'd from Luther's lip 
Solemn and deep, and with celestial might 
Impassion'd, since the Truth was then uplift, 
The Cross defended, and the Bible crown'd 
With vict'ry, when alone the monk of God 
Rallied his spirit into high resolve ; 
And 'gainst the pope, the devil, and The world, 
Terror and time, and man's ingratitude, 
Fearless like Stephen, when that martyr stood, 
Firm as The Rock on which his faith was 
built. 

But not for this, will Persecution's fang 
Be blunted. Hark ! beneath that vaulted roof 
Of Worms' cathedral, rise the chanted hymns 
Round the high Altar, while pale incense- 
clouds 
Float their soft fragrance through the aisles 

immense 
Of yon grey temple. There, at Charles's feet, 
Haughty, and with imperious rancour stung, 
Yile Alexander, on his knee, presents 
An Edict, dooming Faith and Luther's soul 
Together, under ban and blast to be 
Unceasing ! " since the Monk was fiendish 

man, 
And all of heresies by heart conceived, 
By Satan loved, or damning falsehood dreamt, 
Hath Hell epitomised in him, at last ! " 

Now drops the curtain on the Drama's view ; 
Strangely and suddenly the scene's o'erveil'd 
By myst'ry ; human actors are withdrawn : 
Inaudibly, along a darken'd stage 
Of wonders, moves the lone Almighty now, 
Himself evolving what His love decrees 
Inscrutable, by boasting man unshared. 
And e'en like Philip to Azotus rapt, 



218 



LUTHER. 



Sightless, or lost, shall Luther for a while 
Appear; and safe in castled shade retire, 
That God alone may God's true champion be ; 
Nor finite agency presume to claim 
For effort mortal, what the Hand Divine 
Shall consummate, in secresy unveil'd. 
Yes ! Man shall vanish, that the Cause may rest 
Ark'd in the wisdom of Jehovah's will, 
Shelter'd and safe. But he, the hope of all, 
Far in the forest of Thuringa hid, 
E'en in that hour when most the dazzled scene 
Had hail'd him Hero of all prayer and praise, 
At once is banish'd ! There shall Luther find 
A teaching solitude, where Faith may learn 
Meekly to suffer, and with flesh contend ; 
Or, with some Angel of mysterious gloom 
Sternly to wrestle, till the break of day, 
The morning-twilight of a better mood 
Dawn on his mind, in radiant peace again. 
Down his own spirit he shall learn to gaze 
Through many a pangful grief, and sorrowing- 
prayer ; 
And, like his Lord, that mystic Ladder climb, 
Whose steps are suff 'rings, but whose top in 

heaven 
Through glory reaches ! Chasten'd thus,, and 

calm'd, 
The Monk may gather up his soul for God 
And learn that faith he taught the world to 
love. 



SYMPATHIES OF NATURE. 

Thy beauty, Nature, hath a chorded spell 
Eesponsively for tones of feeling tuned, 
In moments deep of myst'ry and of mind. 
How often when the human world looks harsh 
And loveless ; when no eye reflects the ray 
Of sorrow, beaming mildly from our own ; 
When, darkly girdled by a zone of thought, 
Apart, and voiceless in our souls we move, 
Thy scenes of calm, thy solitudes profound, 
Like mute interpretations, seem to wear 
An outward mirror of the mood we feel ! 
Then silence to the soul of thought appeals 
With more than language ; thy maternal hush 
Upon the heart's strange fever falls, like dew. 
Sublime in thy sublimities we grow, 
And lose the littleness of earth and man 
Amid the vastness of those speaking Forms 
Of grace, and Grandeurs which Thy throne 

surround. 
Soon may the mind, by such entrancement, 

soar, 
And from the vileness of this vexing world 
Awhile set free, imbibe a nobler life, 
Holding dim converse with all shapes and hues 
Which body forth the Beautiful and Bright 



Within, or image forth the mood Ave feel. 

How eloquent the everlasting Hills 

Will oft appear ! proclaiming with their peaks 

Majestic, Him whose fiat bade them stand 

Like monuments to Ages long no more : 

Or haply, in the heart's deep-thoughted hours 

Musing beside an immemorial Sea 

On some poetic shore, while wave on wave 

In hollow thunder lisps th' Almighty Name, 

How strangely does electric nature thrill 

Through forms of matter on the feeling mind ! 

As though the elements, by love inspired, 

Interpret what our mental dream enjoys. 

And did not He, a beauteous symbol trace 
Between the gladness of his free-born soul 
And Nature's jubilee of sun and breeze, 
Heaven-guarded Luther ! on his homeward 

track 
From that proud Diet, where a miner's son 
O'erawed the princes in their Hall of pride, 
And sent the arrows of resistless truth 
From God's own quiver through the heart of 

Rome ] 
The crystal radiance of a vernal noon 
Around him deepen'd ; hark ! from forest- 
boughs 
Amid whose branches play'd the truant breeze, 
A quiring populace of birds resound 
Their tuneful joy ; or, jubilant with life, 
Hymn wild hosannahs in Creation's ear ; 
And, high o'er all, th' imperial Lord of day 
Eyes, like a parent, the rejoicing earth 
Beneath him basking, in a sleep of smiles. 
'Twas thus, the countenance of Nature gave 
A beaming welcome, bright to Luther's heart. 
All elements his counterpart assumed ; 
Meadow and tree intelligently wore 
An aspect, touch'd with some respondent hue 
To all within him. In that mood intense, 
His rapture was religion,* while the mind 



* "Of the tune, which also is by Luther, we have 
no copy, and only a second-hand knowledge. To the 
original words, probably never before printed in 
English, we subjoin the following translation, which, 
if it possess the only merit it can pretend to, that of 
literal adherence to the sense, will not prove un- 
acceptable to our readers. Luther's music is heard 
daily in our churches, several of our finest psalm- 
tunes being of his composition. Lutber's sentiments 
also are, or should be, present in many an English 
heart; the more interesting to us is any of the 
smallest articulate expression of these." "Luther 
wrote this song in a time of blackest threatenings, 
I which, however, could in no wise become a time of 
despair. In those tones, rugged, broken as they 
are, do we not recognise the accent of that summoned 
man (summoned not by Charles .... but by God 
Almighty also), who answered his friends' warning 
not to enter Worms in this wise, ' Were there are as 
many devils in Worms as there are roof-tiles, I would 



SYMPATHIES OF NATURE. 



219 



Kevell'd in radiance, like a lark which sings 
In sunshine, or a bee that hums in bloom. 

His joy was God experienced ; and himself 
In heart, was living scripture, for the glow 



on : ' — of him who, alone in that assemblage, before 
all emperors, and principalities, and powers, spoke 
forth these final and for ever memorable words: — 'It 
is neither safe nor prudent to do aught against 
conscience. Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise. 
God assist me. Amen.' The song is entitled in 
German, ' Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott ; ' and the 
writer now quoted observes, that 'it is universally 
regarded as the best of Luther's Spiritual Songs, and 
indeed still retains its place and devotional use in the 
psalmodies of Protestant Germany.' On Luther's love 
of music some remarks are offered in the sequel, but 
there are few who will not cordially unite in sentiment 
with the observations of the able writer above quoted. 
It is this feature, among others, in his character, 
which has made him the Hero of the people to this 
day in Germany. His memory is as much beloved 
and venerated by his countrymen as it is execrated 
and anathematised by the papists. But we need not 
be surprised at the resentments of the latter. He 
smote the objects of their idolatry 'under the fifth 
rib;' a peasant — a miner's son — gave them their 
mortal blow." 



' Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott, 
Ein' gute Wehr und Waffen ; 
Er hilft uns frey aus aller Xoth, 
Die uns jetzt hat betroffen. 
Der alte bose Feind, 
Hit Ernst er's jetzt meint ; 
Gross Hacht und viel List 
Sein grausam' Rustzeiig ist, 
Auf Erd'n ist nicht sein's Gleichen. 

' Hit unsrer Hacht ist nichts gethan, 
"Wir sind gar bald verloren : 
Es streit't fur uns der rechte Hann, 
Den Gott selbst hat erkoren. 
Fragst du, wer er ist? 
Er heisst Jesus Christ, 
Der Herre Zebaoth, 
Und ist kein ander Gott ; 
Das Feld muss er behalten. 

' Und wenn die Welt voll Teufel war, 
Und wollt' uns gar verschlingen, 
So furchten wir uns nicht so sehr, 
Es soil uns doch geliogen. 
Der Ftirste dieser Welt, 
Wie sauer er sich stellt, 
Thut er uns doch nichts ; 
Das macht er ist gericht't. 
Ein Wortlein kann ihn fallen. 

' Das Wort sie sollen lassen stahn, 
Und keinen Dank dazu haben, 
Er ist bey uns wohl auf dem Plan 
Hit seinem Geist und Gaben. 
Nehmen sie uns den Leib, 
Gut', Ehr', Kind, und Weib, 
Lass fahren dahin. 
Sie haben's kein Gewinn, 
Das Beich Gottes muss uns bleiben. 



And gladness felt, were letters turn'd to life, 
In calm almighty through the bosom breathed. 
Hence his free soul, by cheering grace inspired, 
Rose like a sail before the gallant wind ; 



TRANSLATION. 

"A safe stronghold our God is still, 
A trusty shield and weapon ; 
He'll help us clear from all the ill 
That hath us now o'ertaken. 
The ancient prince of hell 
Hath risen with purpose fell, 
Strong mail of craft and power 
He weareth in this hour — 
On earth is not his fellow. 

"With force of arms we nothing can, 
Full soon were we down-ridden; 
But for us fights the proper Han, 
Whom God himself hath bidden. 
Ask ye, Who is this same? 
Christ Jesus is his name, 
The Lord Zeboath's Son, 
He, and no other one, 
Shall conquer in the battle. 

"And were this world all devils o'er, 
And watching to devour us, 
We lay it not to heart so sore, 
Not that they can o'erpower us. 
And let the prince of ill 
Look grim as e'er he will, 
He harms us not a whit, 
For why? His doom is writ, 
A word shall quickly slay him. 

"God's word, for all their craft and force, 
One moment will not linger, 
But, spite of hell, shall have its course, 
'Tis written by his finger. 
And though they take our life, 
Goods, houses, children, wife, 
Yet is their profit small, 
These things shall vanish all, 
The city of God remaineth." 

" Such is Luther's hymn, written immediately after 
his noble appearance at the Diet of Worms, and before 
he left that city. It evinces feelings and dispositions 
worth a thousand arguments ; it shows that religion 
regulated his conduct, and guided him in his perilous 
enterprise ; it shows, in a word, that he was a truly 
good as well as a truly great man. There is some- 
thing in it, whatever may be the opinions formed of 
it as a poetical composition, ' like the sound of Alpine 
avalanches, or the first murmur of earthquakes, in 
the very vastness of which dissonance a higher unison 
is revealed to us.' How strongly is his character 
contrasted with his popish enemies ! Departing from 
the Diet to his peaceful habitation at Wittemberg, 
while he knows that an edict is to be published 
against him, he says in his native German, 'Ein' feste 
Burg ist unser Gott ' — ' A safe stronghold our God is 
still ; ' while his adversaries are anxious for his assas- 
sination, urging the emperor to violate solemn pledges 
and declarations. Well might Luther exclaim, while 
he likened the popedom to the 'ancient prince of 
hell,' 

' On earth is not his fellow. ' " 

Lawson's Life of Luther. 



220 



LUTHER. 



Though papal Bloodhounds for his spirit yell'd, 
A peace beyond disturbing fiends to mar, 
His conscience bosom'd : while the tempest 

raged, 
The swelling purpose of his mind, unmoved, 
Daunted each danger ; as the perill'd bark 
Bounds into harbour through a battling sea 
And in calm sunshine dries its dripping sail. 



ASSOCIATIONS. 

Thus, safe is he, against whose life abhorr'd 
The dooming blast of Rome's relentless ire 
By fell edict was thunder'd ; till at eve, 
As dew-drops thicken on Thuringa's boughs, 
And bird and breeze, on folded wing retired, 
Sit brooding, back to Eis'nach's boyish scene 
The Monk is wending. -But as near he comes, 
His brave heart, softer than a willow bends 
Beneath the magic of remember'd days ! 
For now, that local air again he breathes 
Where once, a foodless child of woe, he fought 
With iron hardship, and with cruel want, 
Bathing the crust reluctant Mercy gave 
With drops of anguish, from his harrow'd soul 
So often wrung. And now, in dreaming calm, 
His true heart echoes what reviving hours 
Are back restoring to all scenes, and spots, 
What once they took of character or tone, 
Of stern, or mild, of melanch'ly or strange ; 
And so, most gently doth the man subside 
Down to the boy. For e'en as infant smiles 
Transmute the aged, till their features old 
With infantile expression learn to gleam 
In softest answer, may experienced mind, 
Touch'd by the spirit of life's early scene, 
Reply serenely to the haunting charm 
Of vernal fancies • or, of vanish'd hours 
Which waken round us, when maturer life 
Down the green windings of gone youth 

descends. 
Hence, all the poetry of peaceful thought 
(For men live poems in their purest hours, 
But write them, when the heart-song overflows) 
Made holy, lulls him into inward prayer. 
Oh, had they seen him in his softer mood 
Unmantled what a loving heart was there ! 
Guileless, as that which throbb'd on Jesu's 

breast 
Those cowl'd automatons of monkish cells 
Whose frequent worship was but ritual wires 
In heartless, mindless, unimpassion'd play 
The man evolving, Luther then had taught 
By the fond gushes of this feeling hour, 
That true religion was a manful love, 
A Godward motion of believing soul 
Panting for heaven, but yet with earth at peace, 
And not ashamed Life's ruling spell to own. 



RETROSPECT. 

Thus might we, like the travell'd monk, proceed, 
And backward to the home of childhood wend, 
How much of elemental heart and mind 
Would then return, to whence of old it came, 
Helping to fashion the unfolding Man ! 
For character is combination drawn 
From time and scene, from circumstance and 

spot. 
The brooks which prattled in gay Boyhood's 

ears, 
Or on whose wavelets sail'd our tiny boat ; 
The haunted tree ; the path we loved to wind, 
The cowslipp'd valley or the hawthorn-bloom • 
A widow's cottage, or some thatch'd abode 
Where dwelt the vet'ran of our native vale, 
Who smoothed our head, or tapp'd our rosy 

cheeks 
With ancient humour, — all, with shaping charm 
Secret but sure, that Being help to build 
Which Manhood in its moral structure shows. 
For, there is nothing which we feel, or see, 
Admire, or welcome, but a forming power 
From thence proceeds, and moulds the plastic 

mind. 
Sunrise and sea, and solemn-vested night 
When mute creation God's cathedral turns 
For Nature's worship ; with all social things, 
The hand you grasp, the hearts your own 

selects, 
The sigh re-echo'd, or the teardrop shed 
Responsive, — none wield unavailing sway ; 
But secretly some inward tone impart, 
Hereafter in your complex manhood felt 
Or found. And, like as our sepulchral dust 
Howe'er transmuted by organic change, 
Under the blast of Death's awaking trump 
Back to the Person, by attractive law 
Shall rally, and a perfect body form, 
So, may the structure of our moral frame, 
Completely, from such causes manifold, 
The after-finish of its Form educe. 

But now, from scenes where childhood's 
dark-wing'd years 
Had bleakly wafted his unfriended life 
Through many a storm, to Mora's rustic wild, 
Onward behold the dauntless trav'ller speed. 
In that calm village, where a lowly sire 
Drew the first breath, his genial soul partakes 
The deep o'erflowings of affection's tide, 
Tranquil as tender : placed amid kind hearts 
Which beat fond echoes to his faithful own, 
What peace he finds ! what purified repose ! 
Not his the bosom cold, or shut, or stern ; 
Nor mock philanthropy, which makes a World 
Its giant fav'rite, while domestic chords 



NIGHT IN THE WARTBURG. 



221 



Are unallow'd to vibrate through the breast, 
And distant love proves mere neglect at 

home ! 
Fresh on his soul the dews of feeling lay, 
Lovely and bright, as youth's unwither'd prime 
Had witness'd ; in the man remain'd the boy : 
And they who wonder'd, when the hall of 

Worms 
Erect and moveless saw the Hero stand, 
Might here have seen him with a graceful stoop 
Bend to the lowly ; and with winning smile 
Attractive, clasp the humblest child who came, 
And all his glory into shade recall. 
Simplicity alone was greatness here ; 
And, in the hush of this ancestral vale, 
High on the wings of meditative bliss, 
In psalms, and melodies of hymning joy 
Mounted his heart beyond the rising gloom 
Beneath him, o'er his earthly future spread. 
Like some gay bird, which oft at golden noon 
Soaring and singing, to the gates of Light 
Wings its loved way in ecstasy and song, 
Yet soon as earth's low atmosphere it tries 
Drops the glad plume, and songless grows 

again. 



FRIENDLY CAPTURE. 

But this calm Eden of domestic hours 

Is brief, as blest. Again, his forward course 

Through the green twilight of Thuringa's 

woods 
Behold the man of God in peace renew, 
Under the balmy flush of May inspired ; 
Till lo ! at length old Glisbach's hoary fane 
Glooms on the air ; and, girt with feudal walls, 
Altenstein glimmers from its castled height 
Serene, but stern. But see ! in golden calm 
The Day is gliding down the gorgeous west, 
Where the red Sun his farewell-pomp arrays ; 
While round about him, as for royal sheen, 
Banners of crimson lustre wave, and wind, 
Till the far clouds, with sympathetic hues 
As in the blush of radiant sleep they lie, 
Mirror bright meanings, from his burning face 
Reflected. Soon the forest-boughs begin, 
In the tranced quiet of a sunset-hour 
To hush their waving ; then, the languid breeze 
Drops its gay motion ; and the insect-hum 
Low in the grass delights a pensive ear ; 
While the glad wings of home-returning' birds 
Flap on the air, with audible advance, 
Which bids you track them to their pine-built 

nest 
With eye pursuant. But, amid this peace 
Of nature, deep as if with conscious depth, 
Hark ! tramp on tramp ! with ringing hoofs 

that rend 



The air before them, while the riven trees 
Tremble, as if a sudden whirlwind tore 
Their tangled umbrage, horse and horsemen 

arm'd 
Plunge into view, in panoply complete, 
And mask'd : then, swift and silent, ere a 

thought 
Can think protection, Luther, from his steed 
Dismounted, by some mailed horseman grasp'd 
And cloak'd, and on a charger rudely thrown, 
At once is captured, as by Magic chain'd ! 
And in a second, hark, the sounding hoofs 
Ring the deep forest with their hollow clang ; 
Then onward through its beechen wilds and 

woods 
Plunge the mask'd riders, with a trackless 



And, Luther ! where is now thy destined 

home 1 . ■ 

Who can forecast what God, or man, intends'? 
Or, tell what dungeon, stake, or crushing wrong- 
Awaits thee, when a day of brightest hope 
Ends in the shadow of so strange eclipse ! 

But Night hath deepen'd; and her shrouding 

veil 
Garments the woods, which now with blacker 

gloom 
The mountain-heights of lone Thuringa fringe ; 
And yet the Horsemen, with a voiceless flight 
Hurry their captive through untrodden paths 
Till the Moon rises, and her silv'ring gleam 
Pale on the fortress of the Wartburg sleeps, 
Which yonder dim and melancholy stands, 
Calm as the clear cold heavens which o'er it 

spread 
Their arch of silence. There the Horsemen 

pause, 
Wearied and worn ; and, list ! the bugle sounds 
A waking challenge in the warder's ear ; 
Drawn are the bolts, and down the drawbridge 

falls ; 
On iron hinges, ponderous and slow, 
Opens a gateway to the midnight-Troop ; 
And mask'd and mail'd, around thee in yon 

court, 
High-wall'd and barricaded, there they stand, 
For, Luther, lo ! thy Patmos greets thee now. 



NIGHT IN THE WARTBURG. 

Deep trance of Night ! a mystic power is 

thine, 
Which sanctifies creation with a charm 
Beyond what day-beams in their brightest 

glow 
Can emanate, whatever scene they gild. 
But oh ! if ever into heart of man 



222 



LUTHER. 



The Midnight like a mute religion sent 
Her spirit, surely, when the captured monk 
Down the dim chambers of the Wartburg 

paced, 
Thy genius, then, in solemn glory reign'd ! 
There, by his window-turret, lofty, bleak 
And lone, unharm'd in holy peace he mused, 
The past revolved, and o'er his future pray'd. 
But moments rise in this unfathom'd life 
Of ours, beyond revealing prose, or rhyme 
E'er to unveil ; so charged with secret might, 
They into voiceless sentiment transform 
Our being ; like a cloud, we seem to float 
In formless dreams, with visionary shapes 
Confounded ; till at length, calm'd nature feels 
By truth replenish'd, and distinctive thoughts 
Melt from the heart, pathetic, soft, profound, 
Like tears of pity in a good man's eye. 
Then, all we have been, are, or hope to be, 
Blends in wild softness; and the soul o'er- 

sway'd 
Throbs with the spirit of unbreathed prayer. 

All that we have been, yes ! the night 

restores : 
Form after Form we loved, or knew, or fear'd, 
Moves o'er the platform of a summon'd past ; 
While dead eyes open, and familiar smiles 
Fall on our hearts ; or household- voices ring, 
Till the soul echoes with remember'd tones 
Sweeter than music, in its tranced excess. 
And all we are, oh ! Night can this 

expound ; 
And self to self beyond all preachers show 
In truthful plainness, making conscience start, 
As sin on sin, which cov'ring daylight hides, 
From the dim back-ground of our Being comes 
To awe conception. Then, the future's doom ! 
Oh, how the spirit of a midnight-hush 
To That, significance and shape imparts, 
As depths of possibility untold 
Open beneath Imagination's eye, 
Fearful, and fathomless, and full of God ! 
'Tis then we soar ourselves beyond, and reach 
The skirts and shadows of a higher State 
Yet to be master'd. Or, may Thought presume 
Thus to imagine, that as embryo life 
Hath latent inlets ere the breath begins, 
And dormant senses undeveloped powers, 
So may our Spirit in the flesh perceive, 
Faintly and feebly, some prelusive state, 
Or, preconceptions of Hereafter feel 
Which antedate a nobler life to come 1 



And did not Luther, at this dreaming hour, 
His great heart yield to more than words 

depict ] 
Bathed in the ether of divinest calm 



As there he mused, and from yon window'd 

tower 
Greeted the heavens, with planets jewell'd 

bright % 
A holy calm adown the harrow'd depths 
Of his vex'd bosom, solemnly was breathed ; 
While feelings, tinged with supernat'ral awe, 
But tender, round him cast their mingled 

spell. 
Like starry gleams, in evanescent play, 
Glances of truth upon his spirit dart 
But vanish, ere perceiving sense could grasp 
A bright suggestion for the soul to read. 
Worldless the hour, but how intense the 

scene ! 
For never, since in Roman prison clank'd 
The fetter'd Paul his honourable chain, 
And haply, through his grated window watch'd 
The arch of midnight, hath a finer Soul 
Look'd o'er yon sky, than that which gazeth 

now ! 
Mute as a cloud, the time-worn Castle stands 
Of Wartburg, through the glassy moonlight 

rear'd 
In outline black, colossal and abrupt ; 
Beneath him, wrapt in motionless array, 
Thuringa's forest spreads a gloomy wild 
Soundless ; and so becalm'd in dewy sleep 
That e'en the leaflet, when some quiv'ring air 
Throbs for a moment, like a lip in dreams 
It vibrates, but no vocal murmur makes. 
Creation, hush'd in her most holy trance, 
Sinks on the soul like one vast sentiment ; 
From the high moon and melancholy stars 
Around her, to the stirless grass beneath, 
How mute is nature ! how intensely fill'd. 
With life, with meaning, and with sentient 

awe ! 
As if the Earth were conscious that her God 
Commanded silence, and she/e?£ it rise 
Deeper and deeper, from Creation's heart, 
And all things binding with religious spell. 

But now, the glory of this moonlit-scene 
Melts through his being, till each spirit-chord 
Thrills to the magic, with responsive tone. 
Lo ! the large tear-drop on his eyelid hangs 
And quivers, like a half-unspoken prayer 
Which on the balance of expression moves. 
For God, and Truth, and Luther, now 

commune ; 
And Midnight hearkens, as the monk adores 
The Christ Eternal, in His glory sphered 
High o'er yon heavens, beyond conception 

raised, 
And yet by soaring adoration reach'd 
Which climbs that region where His radiance 

dwells, 
And thrills the Saviour on His very throne ! 



SPIRITUAL LONELINESS. 



223 



PATMOS. 

Sublime of privilege ! to be alone, 
And hold communion with celestial Grace 
In the hush'd temple of a hallow'd mind, 
Where thought is worship, and Religion wants 
No liturgy, save what the heart inspires. 
In pensive solitude our God unveils 
Those charms almighty, which a sordid love 
Of this vex'd world is all too vain to prize ; 
Then truth ascends our being's mental throne, 
To rule and regulate the life within ; 
While round us shades of man's Hereafter steal 
Till awful conscience, with prophetic eye, 
Rehearses what the Judgment-Day will be 
To men, and angels. Now, from sense with- 
drawn, 
The pious Soul at length presumes to gaze 
Down her own deeps, and there a grandeur 

finds, 
A depth in depth unfathomably retired, 
Of consciousness, which makes her more 

sublime 
Than all the gorgeousness of glitt'ring worlds. 
A single mind the universe outweighs ; 
A thought than worlds is more stupendous far; 
And yon proud stars, which populate the sky 
In dazzling multitudes, are less divine 
Than the pale forehead of some pensive man 
Beneath them watching, from whose lifted gaze 
Outshines divinity ; whene'er he thinks ! 

And this we learn, because in this we live, 
When from the perill'd life of passion freed 
Within ourselves we dare at last descend : 
There, truths unvoiced may thoughtful hearts 

perceive, 
And dread predictions, by no language shaped, 
Thrill through our conscience with majestic 

force 
And hint the Being men are doom'd to know. 

But, solitude a softer mood enjoys; 
The past revives ; the tombs of time unlocks, 
And in the heart's sad resurrection calls 
The dead to life, the dear to love, again ! 
For when this halcyon o'er the spirit broods, 
The chain of life, electrically touch'd, 
Link after link unwinds, and leads us back 
From manhood, with its false and fretting 

cares, 
To childhood, basking in maternal smiles. 
Soothed into softness, now the stern can weep ; 
And shamed ambition from itself recoils 
To think how basely, on the World's false shrine 
The hopes and aims, which heaven alone can 

meet, 
Our life hath squander' d, with a fruitless zeal. 



Ye dreams of Virtue ! oft in vice exhaled ; 
Ye hopes of Greatness ! oft in ruin sunk ; 
Ye full-wing'd Energies ! which cleaved your 

flight 
High o'er the vault of young Ambition's 

heaven, 
Reality, the stubborn, and the true, 
To airy nought, hath frown'd ye all away ! 

Still, may we profitably mourn ; and muse, 
When Memory o'er tombs of buried time 
Bends her pale brow, and placidly recals 
The spring-like radiance of exulting youth. 
For what, though blasting disappointment 

sear'd 
The buds of promise on our tree of Hope, 
And few have actualized the heart's fond 

dreams, 
Yet, contrast is our teacher : and we know 
The truth, by trial only as we live ; 
And man who sins, by suff 'ring must be saved, 
While God, through disappointment, makes 

him wise. 

Then hush'd for aye, let all rebellions be : 
But welcome, Solitude, however drear, 
And come, Reflection ! with thy charms august, 
And Mem'ry ! oft our deeper yearnings wake ; 
Be to the husband, all the wife appear'd 
In the chaste beauty of her spousal morn; 
Be to the orphan, what the mother was 
When by her knee he knelt, a dimpled boy 
Lisping bis little prayer ; or, on her breast 
Pillow'd his head, as if the world were peace : 
Act all within, that life without has been, 
And from the grave, where dead and dear ones 

lie, 
People our homes with forms true hearts 

revere ! 



SPIRITUAL LONELINESS. 

And not unlike, in moods of thought intense 
To this, was that experience, which the soul 
Of Luther gather' d, while for ten lone months 
By friendly capture in his Patmos hid. 
Here did he muse ; and watch, or weep, or pray, 
Enter himself, and down the mind's abyss 
Take many a deep and undescribed gaze ; 
Till forms of terror, phantoms of despair, 
And dread emotions, meaningless, or vast, 
Throng'd into power, and haunted him like 
hell! 

Meet was the spot for high-wrought feeling's 
hour. 
Within were chambers, long, and large, and 
roof'd 



224 



LUTHER. 



With fretted stone-work, dimly worn by years, 
Where the glad sunbeam caught a pensive tinge 
Paler than twilight ; and the tread of feet 
Fell like a sound, which ought not there to be : 
While from their ancient walls the stern-brow'd 

Dead 
Look'd on the living, as with sad rebuke, 
Or solemn warning. From a window-niche 
The eye might witness hills of forest-wood 
In green confusion, stretching far away 
Into wild distance ; while to Fancy's ear 
The pleasing anthem of perpetual birds 
Made the huge Forest with their concert thrill. 
And here, in myst'ry and in mournfulness, 
Shrined in the solitude of his own soul 
How much of Deity might Luther learn ! 
Ascending oft the mountain-peaks of mind, 
The Alps of thought, far up the Godhead 

ranged, 
To talk with his Eternity to come. 

How like a poem must his life have read, 
Where fiction's self by fact had been surpass'd, 
When now, by retrospection's quiet gaze 
Unroll'd and re-perused ! To boyhood's prime 
And young experience, when the miner's cot 
Roof 'd his sad hours of struggle and of sin, 
Down the strange past, through all his soul 

endured, 
Dark conscience felt, or prescient fancy dream'd, 
Remembrance flew ; and now, in castled pomp 
Behold him exiled ! far from Rome's dread 

eye 
Which glared with hunger for his mangled 

form. 
And well might he, when thus the past 

renew' d, 
The present acted, and the future brought 
Prophetic influence into vivid play, 
Seem by intensity transform'd, and fired, 
Till Unrealities around him throng'd, 
And Phantoms, which derision loves to mock, 
Fever'd his life with supernat'ral force 
Till Matter's self a form of Mind assumed, 
And feeling suffer'd all which fancy shaped. 



REACTION. 

From vast excitement, to the voiceless depths 
Of this weird solitude at once transposed, 
Who wonders, that reaction like a curse 
Besieged him 1 or, with arid weight o'erhung 
The beatings of his brave and free-born heart 1 
Till, in such blank and barren waste of things, 
He sank, and melted into mindless tears ; 
Or sigh'd, as if the very soul was worn 
And weaken'd down to senselessness, and woe. 
Oh ! there came moments, when a fiendish gloom 



A lurid darkness not of earth begot 
Enwrapt him, like a shrouding agony ; — 
A stifled pain, a suffocating pang, 
A grief benumbing with torpedo-touch 
All the warm currents of his healthful blood, 
Till life itself one long compunction grew ! 
Thus did he suffer : while the brain o'erboil'd 
With madness, and his soul was set on fire ; 
And then, rebukes from some sarcastic Fiend 
Would ring around him with disdainful tone, 
To mock the little, and to make it less, 
Which He and Truth together did, and dared, 
When back recoil'd from their combined assault 
Popedom and Pope, with all their banded 

powers ! 
Nor let the bond-slave of the senses ask, 
Why Luther, tempted in such gloom, believed 
That ghastly mockers, bodiless and black, 
On soundless wing and immaterial tread 
Inaudibly around him came ; and cursed 
And grinn'd, in all the ghastliness of hell, 
To shake his spirit from that throne of 

trust, — 
The Word almighty ! Yes, when rolling 

storms 
Yell'd in loud rage ; or night-wing'd tempests 

burst, 
And howl'd along the wind-rock'd battlements 
Of Wartburg, oft did spectral Forms appear 
Shading the room with imag'ry of life 
And motion; mutt'ring Fiends his couch 

besieged, 
Till Luther shudder'd out his soul in prayer ! 
But e'en by day, when black depression came 
And, like the nightmare of the mind, o'erhung 
All faith and reason, in one fell attack, 
No flaming death his Flesh could so appal 
As this dark anguish did the blood o'erpower ; 
The pang, without the peace, of death was 

there ! 



TOIL AND THOUGHT. 

But, like an eagle from his chain unloosed 
Darting aloft to his blue home of skies 
And sunshine, soon his panting soul escaped 
From this dread bondage into purer life. 
He pray'd, and open'd Heaven itself by 

prayer ! 
Attracting downward some responsive grace, 
Or balm, which heal'd him like the hand of 

God. 
Or haply music, as the lyre of old 
Tuned into magic by the sweeping touch 
Of David, when he charm'd the fiend from Saul, 
Besoothed the spirit; till o'er all his frame 
A lulling softness exquisitely crept, 
And soul was cradled in the charm of sound. 



TOIL AND THOUGHT. 



225 



His exile, now, no barren rock became 
Where thought must wither into wintry blight ; 
But rather, grew a bower of mental peace, 
An isle of calm amid the sea of life, 
A Patmos, where the harbourd soul retired 
From earth's loud shock, to feel the hush of 

heaven. 
Soon, like a giant from his sleep refresh'd, 
Up rose the great Reformer ! and awoke 
The drooping thousands, whose dejected hearts 
Pined for one accent of his cheering lips. 
But, how he wrought, and with what noble 

bursts 
And outbreaks high of eloquence, and truth, 
He pour'd his spirit over man, and mind, 
Omniscience only can on high explain ; 
For, souls like Luther's multiply and make 
More change within, and character without, 
Than mere chronology to men unfolds. 
Down to the roots of conscience dived his 

words 
With daring energy, and drew to light 
Those hidden workings, and that dark unrest 
Which haunt our being: or, on guilt and 

gloom 
The thunderbolt of just rebuke he hurl'd, 
And through the provinces of mind career'd 
On bold excursion's theologic wing, 
And wafted light, where'er his wisdom came. 

But, in thy castle, Wartburg ! chief o'er all 
The monuments which mind up-builded there, 
Let grateful Rev'rence long that work admire, 
O'er which a Seraph's wings might shake 

with joy, 
By Luther, with colossal power achieved. 
There, was the Word Almighty, from the 

grave 
Of buried language, into breathing life 
Summon' d, in sainted glory to arise, 
And speak to souls, what souls could 

understand ! 
Oh ! to have seen him, in that toil august, 
Lifting to heaven his meditative eyes 
Radiant with wonder, as the words of Truth 
Eternal gave their hoary secrets up, 
While God's own language into Luther's pass'd 
With prompt transition ; till, behold, the Yoice 
Of Jesus out of classic fetters came 
And, like its Author, to the poor man preach'd. 
Noble, beyond nobility to match, 
Hero of heaven ! was thine achievement 

here. 
To free the Bible, was thy God to throne 
Firm on the conscience of adoring man ; 
And hence, by this supremacy divine 
To limit tyrants, should they dare profane 
That seat of awe, where none but Godhead 

rules. 



But, intervals there came of lovely calm, 
Mild as the languish of a summer-even 
Around the poet, by some dream entranced, 
When Nature, like a conscious Meaning, acts, 
And through cold matter preaches grace to 

mind. 
Then, student of the Spirit ! walk with fear 
The halls of nature ; nor, with pagan eye, ' 
The meanest of Her solitudes and shrines 
Inspect thou : ministries of mind are there, 
And more than mere philosophy forebodes 
Fills the fine atom which a step destroys. 
Angels and Spirits may unseen preside, 
And nature's beauty be a Seraph's work ; 
Behind the Yeil which meets our sensual view 
Myriads of Powers may ply their noiseless 

hands, 
And each live function of this breathing Earth, 
Serve but to type a Ministry unknown. 

And not ungenial to that high-toned mood 
When feeling soars, and poetry is born, 
In sun and silence Luther wander'd forth ; 
Perusing earth, or reading air and sky 
As one great manuscript, where God had 

pennd 
Some letter'd outlines of His secret Name. 
For, though creation felt the curse's fang, 
And beauty from the beautiful hath fled, 
And glory from the glorious, — still, the wreck 
Is haunted with magnificence and might, 
Making the universe a Temple seem, 
Whose priestess is the God-revealing Soul 
Of man, and worships Him in earth and sky, 
Or in the stars, whose bright pulsations throb 
Like thrills of glory trembling through the 

skies. 

And, deep the hour, delicious was the calm 
When Luther, in some dream, would oft accost 
The speaking loveliness of fruits and flowers 
Around him scatter' d, o'er the castled hill. 
To him they were with more than beauty 

touch'd, 
And seem'd like orphans of dead Paradise 
Which smiled upon him, with a mournful 

grace. 
Thus, hues and harmonies of Eden throng'd, 
In sweetest union, round his loneliness, 
While faith, by rapt imagination raised, 
In prayer for those millennial glories pined, 
Which God hath promised, and His poets 

sung, 
When spousal Earth her bridegroom-Lord shall 

greet 
Returning, on Creation's throne to reign, 
Till every atom of this world redeem'd 
Blooms in His breath, and sparkles by His 

smile. 



226 



LUTHER. 



But, Nature hath her sad and silent moods, 
Her solemn counterparts to serious man. 
And oft at sunset, when pale Autumn sigh'd 
Like a lone Spirit, wailing through the woods 
Of Wartburg, Luther mourn' d 'mid falling 

leaves, 
And flowers dejected, till the dew-fall 'gan 
To glisten round him ; and his boding mind 
Took from the season types of man within. 
And thus, at midnight, when the Moon 

commenced 
The inspiration of her pallid beam 
O'er plain and mountain, from his harrow'd 

sleep 
The exile rose ; and, through the window-grate 
Of his high turret, o'er yon dew-white fields 
And cold earth, slumb'ring in the glassy air, 
Gazed mournfully, through many a sleepless 

hour; 
Or wander'd o'er the skies in prayer and praise, 
Till to his dream-wrapt eye those heavens 



A scripture bright, whose oracles are stars 
Of promise, beaming with prophetic truth, 
And high intelligence for holy man. 



DARKNESS IN THE HOUR OF LIGHT. 

The saints of thoughts, the seraphim of mind, 
The sole archangels of our sinful world 
Who make, or magnify the page they fill 
With moral prowess, what colossal pangs 
Were theirs ! and what fierce martyrdom they 

faced, 
In bringing forth those Promethean fires 
Which lighten Centuries with their living ray ! 
But, never yet hath Truth had monuments, 
Whose sculptured immortalities of praise 
Could half reveal, what lion Hearts have 

braved 
In the great agony of being great ! 
For what, though history weave its laureate- 
words 
Around some trophy of consummate toil ; 
Or chant the glory of those giant thoughts 
Which grasp'd all ages, with redeeming force ; 
Result is praised, but not the process told, 
Nor the deep racking of those downcast-hours 
When darkness, like a fiendish nightmare, sat 
Heavy upon them ; till the gasping soul 
Grew effortless, as if by doubt struck dumb ; 
While truths, which once like inspiration 

nerved 
The heart for battle, e'en to blood and flame, 
Melt into nought, by spiritless eclipse. 
And, when have earth's high Benefactors felt 
That martyrdom, beyond all fires to make 1 
Not when the clash and combat fiercely rang 



Around them, and the World its weapons drew 
To daunt their progress, or dispel their aims : 
For then, that eagle of unstooping mind, 
Young Energy ! could lift itself for flight, 
And mounted bravely through the blackest 

cloud, 
Cleaving all tempest with unbaffled wing. 
Danger and death were talismanic sounds, 
Which from the heart drew forth a secret fire. 
Effort was theirs ; and mastery sublime 
O'er scene and circumstance their faith 

evinced, 
Till lo ! the perill'd cause in safety smiles, 
And History for its coronation waits. 

But in the gladness, and the glow immense, 
When hope's millennium seems at last to 

bloom ; 
When the calm jubilee of conscience rings, 
And Principle its heaven-toned paean chants 
For peaceful triumph, then, while good men 

pray, 
And great ones, in a hush of wonder, pause ; 
If, in such hour of golden promise, all 
Fades into formless vanity, or vice, 
And fell Reverse a sudden ruin frown, — 
Alas ! the Heroes of the heart are left 
Unpraised, unsoothed, unlaurell'd, and unsung, 
The rack of racks alone to face, and feel, 
When virtue's cause a suicide becomes 
And stabs itself to impotence, and shame ! 

But, such the crisis, that with sudden might 
And sweeping darkness round tried Luther's 

soul 
Came, in the very noon of noble hopes, 
When the bright future cloudlessly began 
To open, and in peace and prayer to reign. 
Height after height victoriously was scaled 
Of priestly bulwarks, and papistic lies ; 
The Bible, into living freedom loosed, 
From cot to palace circulated truth ; 
The majesties of buried mind began, 
Clothed in the radiance of regen'rate power, 
The grave-clothes of the monk to throw away : 
While, chief o'er all, that Mammon of the 

priest, 
The aping Mass, where bleeding Love is 

mock'd, 
Was banish'd ; and Emmanuel's truth began 
As Lord of conscience, from all hearts to hurl 
That crown' d Melchisedek, whom Rome anoints 
Both head and front of Christendom to be. 

When lo, at once the anarchy of change ! 
And Luther, palsied as by dread alarm, 
Around him hears fanatic Madness yell, 
And the hot Ate of excited hearts 



Through flame and fury to rebellion SAveep. 
And now, the Pang ! the concentrated pang, 
Which dire, and dark, expressionless and deep, 
Heaved in no sigh, and by no tear pourtray'd, 
Sank on his soul with adamantine crush. 
For all seem'd ruin, and revulsion here : 
While leagued Rebellion, with its brazen 

throat, 
Its blasting eye-glance, and its bloody mien, 
And mingled yells for murder raging loud, 
From the black forest of Thuringa rush'd ; 
While He Himself an incarnation seem'd 
In principle of all perversion did, 
That Madness loved, or Murder long'd to do ! 
The People cursed him,— for he cursed their 

cause, 
And call'd rebellion but the child of hell. 
The Princes cursed him, — for the yoke of 

Eome 
His arm had broken from the nation's mind. 
Bereft, in solitude of soul apart, 
A ruin among ruins, thus he stood 
With heart all bleeding, and with spirit bare, 
One living agony of gloom, and tears. 
And well might Luther, like his Master, feel 
Desertion, in that night of nights profound ! 
For Heaven's own cause fanatically lay 
Trampled, and torn beneath a hoof of lies, 
When Munzer, and his host by hell inflamed, 
Shouted "The Spirit!" and to blood blas- 
phemed 
Both God and Bible, with insanest breath. 
Each to himself a Holy Ghost became, 
And all his madness to th' Almighty gave ! 
And He, who was on earth the living Type 
Of holy Order, and consummate Law, 
Both first of Subjects and the first of Kings, 
Upon the banners of Rebellion found 
His Cross a symbol of destruction made ! 
E'en common feeling from the roots was torn ; 
Till all affections, motherly and mild, 
Which form sweet nature's consecrated spring, 
]S"ile of the heart ! whose undiscover'd source 
Deep in the bosom of the Godhead lies, — 
Were parch'd to nothing in that burning 

waste ; 
When heroes mad, for demigods mistook, 
Mangled their thousands, by a hellish creed, 
And christen'd Murder with the name of 
Christ ! 

" But fear thou not ! " a Voice within him 
cries ; 
" Forward ! for I am with thee, man of God ! 
On to the rescue of My truth ! and fight 
With weapons all resistless, as divine !" 
And forward went He; with a burst of zeal 
Faith from her cloud of black dejection breaks, 
And Luther is himself, in soul, again ! 



While hope, that rainbow of the weeping mind, 
The Iris out of tears by passion wove, 
Smiles through the sunshine of prophetic calm, 
And his heart palpitates with silent prayer. 



MENTAL RESURRECTION. 

True liberty, God ! Thy Spirit makes ; 
For, the vast doctrine of redeeming Love 
Holds in itself the majesties of man. 
Freedom and faith our twin inspirers are, 
The healthful source from which pure greatness 

springs : 
All fine immunities of sense, and soul, 
All deeper actings of divinest thought, 
All morals, motives, aims, and bold designs, 
And aspirations for the Good unseen 
In man's free conscience find their perfect root. 
For liberty within, forms light without, 
And grace the spirit of salvation is. 
Whate'er of polity just freedom lauds, 
Whate'er of life domestic love reveres, 
Whate'er of mind heroic wisdom haunts, 
Or, in the temple of essential Truth, 
All which our adorations prove divine, 
From grace, in principle, directly flow. 

The Reformation thus the Mind redeem'd ; 
The swathing bands which superstition cast 
Round the chain'd spirit, were at once dis- 
solved; 
And, lo ! a mental resurrection smiled : 
A golden dawn of intellectual day 
Already round the clear horizon glow'd, 
And faintly shined on Europe's rising heart. 
See Luther, and Melancthon, all inflamed 
Ardent as eagles, in their sunward flight, 
From truth to truth victoriously advance ! 
Instead of Masses, mark the Holy Feast, 
The mystic Supper of Incarnate Love 
Dispensed with beauty, primitive and plain. 
The Visible its hallow'd claim advanced, 
And Ideality a form assumed ; 
While the young Church her pristine features 

wore. 
Thus, rites external, for external sense, 
And truths internal, for internal soul, 
By fitness due the wants of nature met ; 
Since, mere Abstractions angels may perceive, 
But men embodied must by Forms be led, 
And rites are reasons, when by God approved. 

Still, not o'er temple-rites alone was 

breathed 
That order Principle from Scripture draws ; 
But through the heart, by reformation clear'd 
From papal mist, the common mind was 

touch'd, 



Q2 



228 



LUTHER. 



And the pure founts of intellect unseal'd 
From lofty plans see Education stoop 
To ply the humblest with appropriate skill ; 
While cloister'd Learning, from her cells 



Comes to the peasant-home, the people's 

heart ; 
Till mind is no monopoly for priests, 
And classic Thought in sacerdotal rust 
No more lies with'ring ; but, at Luther's word, 
Walks through the world of feeling, and of 

faith ; 
And ye, the symbols of our inner sense, 
Types of the Beautiful we cannot reach ; 
Ye adumbrations of diviner Grace 
Than ever seen, when most Invention lifts 
Her glad Eureka ! round enraptured souls, 
Ye Arts ! which make imagination's heaven, 
By shape, or hue, or melody reveal'd, 
Soon from the sacred Eeformation caught 
A new intensity of noblest power. 
For Music rose, seraphical, and pure, 
And revell'd in a paradise of sound, 
To hymn the Prince of glory, and of peace. 
And Painting, from Apostles imaged forth 
Forms of fair virtue, in sublimest mould : 
While Piety and Painting blent their powers, 
Taking a cast from Beauty's very soul 
In lines of love, and lineaments of heaven. 
And She, the charmer of celestial moods, 
High Poetry, the heart's young Priestess, 

came, 
And on the altar of melodious hours 
Laid the soft incense of devoutest song. 



IDEAL RAPTURES. 

And hence, amid the harmony of things, 
Awhile, as on the brink of heaven restored, 
Rejoiced the grateful Luther. Who can tell, 
The Promised Land of hope's perpetual dream 
How greenly-bright before him, then, it 

smiled ! 
The passion and the principle of song, 
With full intensity his being fired : 
'Twas thus, the poetry of peace and joy 
Each fine pulsation of his nature thrill'd ; 
And all without, from life internal, took 
Some answ'ring tone of sympathetic love. 
Through walks, and woods of Wittemberg he 

roam'd ; 
Or gave his spirit to the mountain-breeze ; 
And in the carol of rejoicing streams, 
The leafy warble of the forest-boughs, 
Or lyric echoes of the laughing wave, 
In sound, or scene, and all which nature 

show'd, 
A charm responsive to himself he found. 



Nature and man in fine accordance met : 
Their smiles and tones reciprocally play'd ; 
Her forms of matter to his shaping mind 
Embodied meaning ; and a moral grace 
From all Her symmetries appear'd to flow. 
Now was the halcyon of the heart ; awhile 
Bosom'd in peace, the bright-soul'd Monk was 

blest. 
The past was praise, for all that vict'ry won ; 
The present prayer, for all which Mercy gives ; 
And o'er the future his prophetic heart 
Glow'd with entrancement, as Isaiah did, 
When his lyre trembled with exulting tones 
Millennial over crown'd Messiah's reign : 
Till oft, in rapt Imagination's dream, 
Amid the universe of happy worlds 
This earth appear'd creation's loved St. John, — 
Safe on the bosom of redemption's Lord 
Reclining there in glory, and in rest. 

And, like th' apostle of a church reform'd, 
Who has not, in the harmony and heaven 
Of some high mood of meditative calm, 
As opes the flower its scented breast of bloom 
To welcome there each beautifying ray, — 
Yielded his spirit with expanding joy 
To Nature, in her eloquence of scene, 
As if to consciousness he then appeal'd ] 
Till all creation grew personified, 
And the touch'd earth, to fancy's tender dream, 
His living counterpart of joy became. 

As by some harp, when exquisitely strung, 
A vulgar breeze to music's voice is turn'd 
When o'er its chords the airy tremor floats, 
In subtile magic, so, to mind intense, 
The coarse realities of sense and time 
Change, as they touch the intellectual powers, 
To meanings beautiful, and mental types. 
The prose of earth to poetry of heaven 
Is thus transform'd, for faith's perusal, there ; 
And oh, ye scenes, ye splendours, and rich 

sounds, 
Like inspirations, lo ! at once ye act : 
All sacramental charms of earth, and air, 
All signs and symbols of redeeming grace 
Steal into view, with eloquent surprise ! 
Till the pure eye of sainted Thought conceives 
The dust to overflow with teeming spells, 
While all things, into sacredness refined, 
Make parables which prove redemption's plan. 

Thrice happy they, who thus, by heav'n 
empower d, 
Can find a gospel in the flowers, and leaves ! 
Creation's book then fancy's bible forms ; 
And faith poetic, by the Spirit led, 
All nature calls a comment on the Cross. 
In this let holy Love our teacher be ! 



AFFECTIONS MADE FREE. 



229 



A love perpetual, — for in that supreme, 
The sabbath's God Himself no sabbath keeps. 
And then, what great proprietors we are ! 
E'en on His throne the Uncreate is ours 
By covenant, from everlasting made ; 
And under it entire creation works 
All good and glory for the church redeem'd. 

Many have much, yet all desire a more ; 
But less than infinite, to man is nought : 
The more must be almighty, or 'tis none ! 
But who hath Christ, has God by God 

bestow'd, 
And vast Eternity becomes his friend. 
Then still, thou Sun ! Emmanuel's image be, 
And like a shadow of His glory burn ; 
Thou Moon ! His mystic bride on earth, reflect ; 
Planets ! that with prophetic radiance gleam ; 
Thou paragon of elemental powers, 
Myst'ry of waters, never-slumbering Sea ! 
Impassion'd Orator ! with lip sublime, 
Whose waves are arguments which prove a God ; 
Ye Woods ! that with tempestuous anthems 

ring; 
Ye Winds ! whose allelujahs tongue the storm 
With music's deep magnificence of tone ; 
Ye Mountain-altars ! which from earth to 

heaven 
Serenely lift your consecrated steps, 
While the soft grandeur of the silent hills 
Sinks on the heart like music low, and sad, — 
Long in your magic each, and all, abide, 
Some teaching mystery of Christ to show : 
That hence, in all things, with an eye of praise 
And heart of prayer, true Faith may ever find 
By nature, as by grace, her God express'd ; 
And in the temple of creation greet 
Perpetual glories which His Name enshrine. 



AFFECTIONS MADE FREE. 

If ever, since the pulse of feeling play'd 
In the quick breast of God-created man, 
Companionless, in isolation pure, 
The full revealings of his nature might 
Themselves in moral harmony have shown, 
'Twas when the young creation heard him 

crown'd 
Her living monarch ; while the lyric stars 
ChaDted a birth-day ode, and angels lined 
The s^ver battlements of Heaven above, 
To see a masterpiece of human mould 
In sinless purity from dust evoked, 
And stamp'd with features from the Hand of 

God. 
Then was the hour, if ever such might dawn, 
When echoless a mortal heart might throb 
And still be happy, in itself complete, 



By woman's smile unwelcomed, and unwed. 
But, not when paradise within made peace, 
And paradise without, responsive joy, 
Was human loneliness by Heaven approved : 
" It was not good that man should be alone," 
And so, a female counterpart was framed 
In oneness sacramentally * profound, 
From his own being moulded, and educed ; 
And Woman thus to Adam's bower was 

brought ; 
There the first marriage by almighty hands 
In stainless Eden was perform'd, and seal'd ; 
And the first miracle Messiah work'd 
To Wedlock gave the glory of its power : 
Hence, life monastic came from man alone ; 
But life domestic is from God derived. 

But she, the Murd'ress of emotions pure, 
The vile Creatress of mistaken good, 
Both law and love in nature contravened ; 
And dared, with hand of sacrilegious force, 
From the young Bosom, where soft feeling 

dwells, 
Expunge all instinct, and the soul uproot, 
To plant, and place it in a coarser soil 
Blighted and bare, with chills unmanly 

cursed. 
But Nature proved an unmonastic Thing ! 
And when in light, the monk of God arose 
To stay the famine of the soul for truth, 
The heart was hung'ring for its food of love. 
Pining, and pent, in passionless remorse 
It wither'd, by a torturing fetter bound 
To vow itself to suicidal gloom. 
Yet, few had fester'd in o'er-righteous chains : 
Though canons frown'd, and convent-law 

decreed 
Death to each heart, by female hearts enticed ! 
And thus, in self-revenge, the blood o'erboil'd 
In fires of feeling ; ruffian passion raged ; 
And homes, which might have been like 

heavens of bliss, 
Had holy AVedlock lit the vestal flame, 
Grew hells impure, unmentionably vile, 
Where powers of darkness turn'd to priests of 

lust 
And Satan saw himself in Rome secure. 

But he, who brought the buried Scripture 
forth 
From tombs of silence, and monastic death, 
The bright Restorer of domestic bliss 
At length with dreadless vigour dares to be. 
Affections are the food of hearts which feel : 
For such pined Luther ; and in Ketha met, 
Fresh in her maidenhood of life and love, 
That feeling sympathy fond nature sought. 



* See Eph. v. 32. 



230 



LUTHER. 



For what, though all around grew black and 

drear, 
And the wild echoes of the peasant-war 
Rang loud in Europe's ear ; while reek'd the 

blood 
Of thousands, on Thuringa's hoof-worn plain : 
Yet did the Word about him cast a shield, 
While o'er him hung the canopy of heaven. 
The God of marriage was the God of man ; 
Here, on this rock, the thunder-blasts of Rome 
Sank powerless, as the lisp of summer-winds ! 
Better by far, that flesh and blood should quail, 
Or, all creation be annull'd in gloom, 
Than One majestic truth of God be harm'd ! 
In heresy our God Himself we lose ; 
And the big universe a bubble seems, 
Weigh'd in the balance of a single word 
Dropt from the lips of His almighty Love ! 
But that was with him, sealing woman's love 
As heavenly-bright, and by the Saviour blest : 
And therefore, not by this a Cause sublime 
Was perill'd ; nor the Reformation's ark 
In danger, when the monk of Wittemberg 
Rose, in the freedom of a fervid soul, 
To rive the fetters of monastic vows 
Asunder, from his heaven-instructed mind; 
And, lifting his pure conscience in the light 
Of scripture, up to majesty and truth, 
Look'd on the world, a husband not ashamed ! 

And round that scene, where his devoted 
heart 
The wedded Luther to his Ketha gave, 
Eternal Wisdom cast approving smiles, 
And heaven its hymeneal blessings shed. 
For then was Private Life from priestly lust 
Deliver' d ; peace conjugal back restored, 
And wedlock in its sainted charm enshrined; 
While Rome another and a ruder shock 
Experienced, from the soul of Luther sent ; 
For now, affections, nerved with sudden life, 
Together with deep principle combined ; 
Till both concenter'd, back to Nature gave 
A creed which conscience could avow, and act, — 
To guide the faith, to guard emotion pure, 
And brighten homes with honourable love 
Where prison'd Feeling, passionless and pale, 
Languish'd alone ; or, lewd Corruption came 
To look the Angel, with a demon's heart ! 

And thus, within the haven of a home 
Luther, at length, his care-toss'd spirit found 
Anchor'd in peace, and matrimonial joy 
Secure. And where do Love's fond annals tell 
A home of heart, more exquisite than his 1 
The once cowl'd Monk, who trod the cloisters 

dim, 
And made his melancholy footsteps ring 
With cadence long and lone, was now become 



A glowing husband, and a gladden'd sire. 
And, lovely was it, when his mind, unrobed 
Of all its panoply of public state, 
Reposed in sunshine, and, at home retired, 
Sparkled and play'd around his infant boy ; 
Or else, in laughing sweetness echo'd back 
The tones of glee, and truths of gay delight 
Which Ketha from her glowing spirit sent ; 
Or smiled approval, when his portrait rose 
Under the magic of embroid'ring Art 
Featured, and form'd. And so, when sombre 

night 
Mantled his dwelling with sabbatic peace, 
Seldom have Angels, as they waft their flight 
From home to home, on voiceless errands 

wing'd, 
A fairer landscape of domestic love 
And life beheld, than Martin Luther made 
Around him, with his wife and infant smile. 
Nor haply, upon heaven's memorial page 
The meek hosannahs of more thankful minds 
Have they recorded, than the chants they 

heard, 
When sang the great restorer of the Truth 
Hymns of the heart around his household- 
shrine. 



LUTHER MARRIED. 

A monk was married ! how the priesthood 

raved ! 
But God was with him ; and His word approved 
A deed that shook all Popedom to its base, 
The convents oped, the Yatican alarm'd. 
And push'd the world by matrimonial law 
A century forward into fearless paths 
Of light, of liberty, and spousal love. 
And Scripture canonised the act : but, powers 
In nature also with approval smiled ; 
For imaged wedlock, in the vital bonds, 
The unions pure, the harmonies profound, 
The loving sense and sympathy of things, — 
His fancy by poetic vision saw. 

And let the hard utilitarian smile, 
Building religion on a sensual base. 
A Faith there is, which, like to Luther's, loves 
The adumbrations of a deeper life 
Beyond the sense, in Matter's self to trace. 
Christ and His Church, — for these the world 

was framed ; 
And thus to souls, with sight divine endow 'd 
The Spirit's Kingdom on this earth to see, 
Creation glows with poetry for Christ, 
Through forms of matter unto faith reveal'd. 
All pangs, all pleasures, faculties, and powers, 
The hearts of God's elected race can find, 
Or feel, or suffer, may from Nature draw 



POWER OF PRAYER. 



231 



Tones of respect, and touches of regard, 
Or something which resembles sympathy. 

Nor let the worshipper of venal gods 
Pronounce this pure Imagination's dream ; 
Since, haply, thus the myst'ry may unwind, 
And what the poet sings a saint admire. — 
When this fair World to conscious being rose 
With beauty, and with vernal radiance clad, 
Why were her forms, her symmetries, and 

scenes 
Touch'd by a spell which can the mind pour- 
tray, 
And by such true analogies reveal 
An image dim, but exquisite and deep, 
Of much the moral universe combines ? 
Such forms of nature with the facts of grace, 
Why do they so responsively apply, 
That each with each in harmony coheres 1 
Or in that region, where the feelings dwell, 
Why does our spirit from the sounds and 

scenes 
Of Nature, catch a mute intelligence, 
As if with consciousness of man and mind 
The speaking magic of her aspect smiled ] 
The festive jubilee of summer-winds ; 
Or soothing descant of a far-off sea ; 
The storm's loud wail ; the ocean's sullen roar, 
Noon with its sun, and midnight with the 

stars, 
The Spring, with her sweet family of flowers, 
Or, widow'd Autumn, with consumptive leaves, 
And pale-faced Winter in a frozen vest, 
Why do they all intelligibly bring 
Hints to the heart, and harmonies for mind 1 
Is this repty, which all Creation gives 
To human feeling, but the fancy's mock] 
Or, is not earth a parable divine 1 
And poets, when their inward eyes discern 
Meanings that flow from matter into mind, 
Priests of creation, may they not be call'd 1 
For Thou, Christ ! art universal King : 
By Thee, and for Thee, were not all things 

made? 
So, when the Spirit on the mass new-born 
Of nature brooded, then, with mystic Seal, 
All matter for Thy Glory was impress'd 
With types peculiar, with expressive laws, 
Thy church to show, Thy symbols to expound, 
And thus preach gospel to our very sense ; 
Till Nature act the orator for Grace, 
A nd all creation one gigantic type 
For Christ and Christianity becomes. 

And such the creed Imagination holds, 
When the vast glories of this earth appear 
But shadows from the Saviour's beauty cast. 
And seldom hath poetic Sense replied 
To Loveliness, with more impassion'd glow 



Than Luther's, when ideal moments reign' d, 
And his full heart, with purified excess 
Of sympathy for life's unbounded range, 
O'erflow'd all nature in one gush of love ! 
Yet, moods of preternatural calm there came, 
With might of thought, and majesty of dreams 
And a deep awe beyond all words to voice, 
Under the mute and melancholy heavens 
As oft he worshipp'd, in his window-shade 
At starry moonlight. Then, th' unpillar'd 

vault, 
By viewless Energy for aye upheld, 
Harangued him like a holy Sign,* which 

spake 
How like that arch of glory God sustains 
The Church elect, by bleeding merit won. 
Or when the moon through some black cloud 

emerged 
In radiant victory from a brief eclipse, 
To him a symbol of refulgent grace 
It seem'd, of how the Reformation's cause 
From the cold darkness of imperial frowns, 
At length, would glide to glory and to peace. 



POWER OF PRATER. 

Yet, not from nature, solitude, or night, 
Nor wedded life, with all its household-sweets, 
The sober quiet or the sterling joy, 
His force to grapple with infernal Arms, 
Wisdom to guard or prudence to restrain 
The lawless plunges of impassion'd will, — 
The brave Reformer drew : below the skies 
No charm was found which could have 

moulded him : 
From One high Source both cause, and courage 

sprang. 
And that, divine ! — from spirit-breathing 

prayer 
Hour after hour communing with His God. 

He loved the Bible ; and he lived it, too ; 
Till each bright promise to experience turn'd 
By faith transmuted, or by love enjoy'd. 
The source of Luther was a strength of Prayer 
Frequent, and full, and fervidly inspired, 
As oft the castled gloom of Coburg heard. 
Though loud the Reformation-battle grew 
And empires as with moral earthquake heaved, 
Throned was his spirit in Elysian calm ! 
But, where man wonders, faith can all explain. 
'Twas God within, made Luther great without ; 
Whether, against that triple-crown'd Pretence, 
The mitred Antichrist of Rome, he hurl'd 
His thunders ; or, on sacerdotal crimes 



* This alludes to a memorable passage in one of 
Luther's "Letters from the Wartburg." 



232 



LUTHER. 



Pour'd the just vengeance of his free-born 

words, 
Prayer was his panoply; the shield and 

strength 
That arm'd him for the fight, and kept him 

there. 
With this, the World, the Arch-fiend and the 

Flesh 
Combined, he nobly fought, and bravely 

fell'd. 
And we inherit what his prayers procured : 
For, light in conscience, liberty in creed, 
And the pure freedom of our British faith, 
How much to blessings, drawn by Luther's 

voice 
From the high sanctuary of heaven, they owe ! 
Yea, half the glory living Empires boast 
Springs from that mercy which the monk pro- 
cured, 
When Godhead listen'd to a Luther's prayer ! 

And round a privilege august as this 
Less than inspired no language can entwine 
The wreath, how due ! of evangelic praise. 
Prayer from eternity true riches gains 
To make the poverty of time less poor ; 
Heaven down to earth, and earth to heaven it 

brings, 
While Love with Deity by faith confers : 
And mark ! through nature, providence, and 

grace 
What miracles hath mighty prayer achieved ! 
The kingly Elements their thrones have left 
To bow before it, and obey, though vast, 
Its high dominion : Flood, and Sea, and Fire 
Have soften'd their severity of force, 
Suspended by it ; Sun and Moon have paused 
In wonder, on their cars of wheeling flame, 
As if arrested by th' Almighty's touch ; 
And the wild brute, which not a world could 

bend, 
Meek as a lamb, before a Saint has crouch'd 
Harmless and mute, when it beheld him pray ! 
Heroes in heart, in principle, or power, 
Hath prayer alone with high perfection 

crown'd : 
While saints, and martyrs, and the men of old, 
Giants in grace, who grappled with the Fiend 
Or threw him bravely in the spirit's fight, 
By valiant prayer their elevation reach'd : 
And earth's Emmanuel, in His day of flesh 
Outwatch'd the midnight with His mountain- 
prayer ; 
And from the deep abyss of Godhead drew 
His faith intense, his fortitude divine : 
And all, who love the cause eternal, must 
Like their pure Master, fight the world with 

prayer, 
And strike for God, by God himself inspired ! 



DOMESTIC LIFE, AND WEDDED LOVE. 

From out the Bosom of paternal bliss 
When came the Second of th' almighty Three, 
And God, in human image bodied forth, 
Alighted on man's world of sin and death 
As Prince of peace, and Purchaser of life, 
How lived, how spake, this Archetype of all 1 
E'en like his Person, did His life appear, 
Divinely human, with coequal grace : 
In Godhead, — never sunk the God beneath ; 
In Manhood, — never raised the man above ; 
To each extreme symmetrical and true, 
Believer ! there, thine own Emmanuel hail. 

How awful was He ! when the cloud of flesh 
Gleam'd with the lustre of indwelling God. 
Thy steadfastness, vast Nature ! from the sleep 
Of twice two thousand years, by Him was 

moved; 
For all those laws, by Science so revered, 
Their changeless glory to His changing will 
Yielded, like vassals by their king o'erawed. 
He look'd — Creation by his glance was thrill'd ; 
He spake — the Elements each word obey'd ; 
Earth, Sea, and Air their royal sceptres threw 
Down at His feet, and fell before their Lord ; 
While shrinking, as with conscious dread 

commoved, 
Back from his word the rushing Storm recoil'd, 
Soothed its mad roar, and like an infant 

smiled 
Itself to sunshine and soft peace again. 
Blindness, at His command, the sun beheld ; 
And Deafness heard Him when the fiat came ; 
Disease was Health; and Lameness felt her 

Limbs 
With miracles of energy to move, 
While the dead body from the bier uprose 
Beneath the resurrection of His word ! 

And, awful was He ! when the curse was 

borne : 
While His bow'd Head was crimson'd o'er with 

blood, 
Then shook the Earth, and shudder'd as the 

groan 
Of Christ appall'd her ! while a deep eclipse 
Dropt like an eyelid o'er the flaming Sun, 
Dreading to gaze on God incarnadined ! 
But, in that syncope of mortal hopes, 
That pause tremendous in our human fate 
When sepulchred Messiah, cold and pale, 
Seal'd in the rock a dead Redeemer lay, 
While Nature seem'd as if with stern revenge 
To triumph o'er Her pallid victor there, — 
How awful was He when His grave-clothes 

stirr'd ! 



COMMUNION WITH NATURE. 



233 



When the rock trembled with an earthquake- 
pant, 
Till the stone, radiant with angelic touch, 
Roll'd from His sepulchre ; and, rising up 
In perfect majesty of might, behold 
The Saviour gather'd to a God again, 
Martyr at once, and Master of the tomb ! 

But, gentle was He ! with all grace of man 
Completely, as with charms of Godhead 

crown'd ; 
For He who came, by Love eterne inspired, 
From heights celestial, with a pitying stoop 
The low horizon of our world to meet, 
Not in the costume of corporeal flesh 
Alone was found ; but, Fellowship with man 
The life of Jesus bodied forth, and breathed ; 
The accent of created love He caught ; 
The sunshine of created joy He shared ; 
The sorrow of terrestrial sighs He heaved ; 
And with the tenderness of mortal tears 
Moisten'd his eyelids, when a sister wept. 
His form was human, and His feelings, too ! 
Thus, Manhood there in archetype may see 
Each moral beauty which a life presents 
When holy ; where affections crowd the scene, 
And heart and home a mingled Eden make, 
While virtue follows where the Saviour went 
Through haunts of love, and bowers of social 
bloom. 

And thus religion, like her Master, glides 
With touching glory, or with tender grace 
O'er duteous walks of Life's diurnal round. 
For, while on wing celestial faith can waft 
Up to the Throne a meditative soul, 
Down to the actual with a graceful love, 
Where plain Humanity in humble guise 
The man develops, can Religion stoop, 
And o'er it cast her consecrating smile. 
So, from the gaze of public life retired 
'Mong shades domestic, where Affection blooms, 
And feeling all its happy foliage sheds, 
A Hero now, whom death nor dungeon awed, 
Serene and simple as a peasant lives. 
No lofty, loveless, and disdainful looks 
Around him here, severest judgment finds. 
But, frank and free, with apostolic mien, 
And full-toned manhood in its perfect type, — 
A husband in the great Reformer hail, 
Like Martin Luther and like nothing more ! 
No stern pretension, borne with saintly pomp, 
Mere actor made him. In the walks of home 
Lord of himself, His individual mind 
Free from the fetters of o'ermastering fame 
He kept : his life was freedom to the last, 
Stamp'd in the mould simplicity admires. 
The Man was never in his Name absorb' d, 
Chain'd like a captive to his own renown. 



Framed in the homeliness of cottage-worth, 
A racy humour, and a rough disdain 
For mock supremacies for mean effect, 
For little greatness and for large pretence, 
Were his : and he who held all Rome at bay 
And bulwark'd nations by his brave appeals, 
Looks he less lofty, to those hearts which love 
The sterling and the true, when playful seen 
In the mild sunshine of a married state 1 
There, could he sparkle round the social board, 
As romp'd the infant on his rocking knee ; 
While the glad mother, sat with glowing face 
And sunn'd her feelings in the father's smile. 

Yes ! beautiful, behind the scenes to gaze, 
And there no mock attempt, whose aping 

pride 
Would play the Hero in ascetic gloom, 
To witness ; but that solid worth of sense, 
And healthful sanctity, whose fervid power 
The christian fulness of o'erflowing heart 
Betoken. Lofty in his bosom beat 
The pulse of principle, and great design : 
But not alone, or frowningly aloof, 
A frigid, stern and adamantine Thing 
Whose life in passionless contempt retires 
From warm reality's most welcome hour, — 
Not thus, the avenger of the Bible lived. 
In faith a hero, but in heart a man, 
With him the simple and the great combined, 
And both together made a blended charm 
Beyond the drama of affected life 
To feel, though play'd with Art's consummate 
guile. 



COMMUNION WITH NATUEE. 

And Nature, through her world of types 

appears 
Simplicity in grandeur thus to teach. 
Expressive mountains ! from whose massive 

forms 
The dread Almighty speaks Himself to man 
By eloquence, which hearing mind translates, 
How often, underneath their shade august, 
Or in the hollows of some green descent, 
The tiny flowers in tenderness and bloom 
Wave their young beauty ! or, infantile plants 
Bow to the breeze their unresisting heads, 
While the faint lisp of dropping leaves returns 
A murmur'd echo to the rippling stream 
Which runs beside them, with loquacious play. 
And thus, methinks, beneath that mental 

shade 
The tow'ring giants of the mind produce, 
Simplicity in loving calm delights 
To watch the flowerets of affection bloom ; 
And see those lilies in the heart arise 



234 



LUTHER. 



Which make the garden of our spirit green, 
Breathing mild fragrance o'er affection's world. 

And hence, admire we with revering gaze 
True Greatness, when it lays all thunder by, 
Till the soft childhood of the heart returns ; 
And solemn wisdom, sparkling into wit, 
Can gild the heights of intellect with smiles. 
But chief from music came the master-spell 
Which Luther, like a spirit's echo loved ! 
To him it seem'd a charm divinely framed, 
An earthless magic, out of mystery born, 
And so with heaven instinct, that Satan fled 
When Harmony her spells began to breathe, 
Or sank o'er passion, like a healing dew 
Pure from the fount of freshness in the skies. 

'Twas thus the poetry of private life 
Around him, with an unresisted reign, 
Gather'd and glow'd. But oh ! ye quiet fields, 
Where, lost in sunshine, sang the soaring 

birds 
In wing'd delight and ever-warbling song, 
How would he listen to your choral joy, 
Till the gay summer of his spirit smiled 
With loving answer to the scene it loved ! 
And often, when some fever hot and harsh 
From human outrage, wither'd him with pangs 
Of weary anguish till the spirit wept, 
Didst thou, meek Xature ! with maternal smile 
Look through his soul and laugh the cloud 

away. 
To him thy shrines, thy solitudes profound, 
Thy hues and shades, and harmonies perceived 
Brought more than feeling to his heart of faith. 
And so, the very flowers seem silent hymns, 
And, by their aspect of persuasive bloom, 
Eemind him oft of Eden long no more ; 
Or, bid him muse on what the world may be 
When second paradise again shall dawn : 
Since all which fell by Adam's guilty fall 
From outward glory into penal gloom, 
And all of kingship which the soul enjoy'd 
When man, as Monarch of creation, ruled 
And, as anointed Priest of paradise, became 
The mouth of [Nature and her mute delights, — 
To pristine splendour shall once more arise, 
Till crownless Manhood wear a crown again ; 
Or earth redeem'd, Messiah's palace be, 
And shine, as round His central throne it rolls, 
The loved metropolis of sumless worlds. 



PARADISE RESTORED. 



And who, amid some holy trance of thought 
On destined man, as prophet, priest, and king, 
Hath never vision'd how his primal soul 
In the bright mould of innocence was stamp'd, 



When lord and master of this living world 
The Ancestor of human kind was crown'd ?• 
Who hath not ponder'd, or profoundly sigh'd 
In the deep hush of some diviner mood, 
O'er the dead glories of that regal scene 
When all Creation, by bis lip baptised,* 
Look'd in his face as King on nature's throne 1 
For what is Science, but a shadow cast 
From the pure substance of primeval Mind ) 
A reflex dim, indefinite and deep, 
Of light departed in the gloom of sin 1 
Or, what is Justice, but our priesthood felt, 
The moral echo of supreme desire 
That God and conscience may in one combine ? 
Or, what this appetite for boundless sway, 
This hunger of the heart to rule, and reign, 
But sense of kingship in our soul alive, 
A royal longing for a vanish'd crown ] 

By law of mild association led 
From nature's step-stones, to ethereal heights 
Of Things that shall be, thus the heart ascends. 
A mute theology all nature makes : 
The very ground no vain religion breathes, 
Where thorn and thistle, blent with fruit and 

flower, 
Both cross and curse by intimation teach. 
And, when from feeling unto faith we mount, 
What fine accordance doth Eedemption show 
Between the ruin and the rise of man ! 
For, in thy Person and thy Spirit, Lord, 
A re-production of those Trinal Powers, 
Or threefold state of majesty entire 
When priesthood, prophecy, and kingship 

crown'd 
The Man consummate, Faith's adoring eye 
In dim rehearsal, or in dawning grace 
May witness. Hence our Being, at the best, 
Is but an embryo of the life to be. 
Philosophy a mere precursor looks ; 
All high attainments but its preludes are ; 
And science but presentiment appears 
Of Power which Manhood, when redemption 

brings 
The primal glories of our birthright back, 
In full millennium shall at length enjoy. 

Behold a Centre ! for our yearnings form'd. 
That oneness, where all aspirations blend 
When o'er the ruin of ourselves we roam ; 
And not from nature up to nature's God, 
But down from nature's God, look nature 

through. 
'Tis here, the meaning of their mystic strife 
Passion and Principle alone explain. 
The hell we merit, or the heaven we make, 



* "Whatsoever Adam called every living creature, 
that was the name thereof." — Gen. ii. 19. 



CATECHISM. 



235 



The poet's Eden and the painter's dream, 
With whatsoe'er creative Genius cites 
By shaping vision from her scenic world ; 
Together, with all temples and all shrines 
A ritual heart instinctively erects, 
These, by their secret unison of aim, 
In blind concurrence to one Centre tend, — 
E'en to regain what Sin's vast forfeit took 
From earth of beauty or from man of bliss. 

And what an Eden to prophetic mind 
Predestined Earth by sight and sound unveils ! 
Oh, Avise, beyond the learning of all books, 
And learn'd, beyond the learning of The 

Schools, 
And rich, beyond creation's gold to give, 
The man, who thus by deep communion binds 
His heart with Nature's, in maternal bonds. 
A great proprietor of glories he ! 
Monarch of inward happiness at home, 
And with the Universe a sharer deep 
In all the march and movement of a life 
Without embodied, or within inspired. 

And what though Age, with shaded brow 

and cheek, 
Or eye made solemn by a sense of death, 
ISTo longer, in the wild and wildering glow 
Of new-born passion, looks on nature's scene 
As once impassion'd Boyhood loved to do, 
Gay as the sunbeam gambolling at his side, 
Or headlong as the breeze that round him 

play'd,— 
Still, not the less, may life's autumnal dreams 
Be touch'd with beauty ; and, not seldom, find 
Meanings which melt, and mysteries that thrill 
The musing heart which Nature's lover owns. 
Through earth, and ocean, sky, and breathing air, 
The ever-ancient and the ever-young 
Creation, by persuasive charm, appeals 
To youth and age, when genially inspired ; 
And by her moveless laws a symbol gives 
To fleeting life, of permanence and power ; 
Till haply, in the hush of higher moods, 
We mount aloft on meditation's wing 
To Him, the Changeless ! in Whose present 

thought 
Both past and present make perpetual now ; 
While all the ages of unreckon'd time 
Are but the pulses of Eternity 
Around Him throbbing, on his dateless Throne. 



CATECHISM. 



Far as Imagination's wing can roam 
Or free conception take its daring flight, 
We love to image an Almighty power 
Unfolding boundlessness of life, and love 



For ever. Throned in secrecies of awe, 
Unfathomably within Himself retired, 
We vision worlds, as creatures of His will 
Around Him summon'd : but the stooping 

grace 
Of Love creative, when it moulds a flower, 
Or makes an insect happy, thrills the heart 
Like tearful music, and attunes within 
Anthems of silent wonder. While the great 
In Godhead magnifies adoring mind, 
In His minuteness how we greet His name ! 
Since in the circle of an atom's range 
Dwell the same Attributes which made and 

move 
A universe, with all its breathing worlds ! 
If God, in great things, be supremely great, 
To feeling, looks He greater still, in small : 
For, when the Worker and His work appear 
To human sense in harmony combined, 
Eeligion, then, is reason at its height : 
And our imagined Infinite is graced 
With attributes, where just proportion reigns. 
But, when some particle, or pulse, infolds 
A Mind which makes eternity its home, 
And through the chambers of immensity 
Moves to and fro, creatively divine, 
Then, dazzled reason into faith absorb'd, 
Worships the Mystery ; and with wonder glows 
To watch the working of our God complete, 
In all things center' d — nowhere circumscribed ! 
Yes, while He wheels ten thousand worlds 

along, 
In the same instant, lo ! He stoops to count 
The tiny populace a sunbeam holds, 
Time the quick beating of an insect's heart, 
Or close the eyelids of a babe for rest : 
As if nought else eternal Thought embraced 
Each atom feels the concentrated God ; 
While our protection, by its grandeur, proves 
All mercies waft th' Almighty on their wings ! 

And thus, if bold Analogy may dare 
The human with divine to parallel, 
With touching grace a moral sight appeals 
To saintly Virtue, in the heart enshrined, 
When he, who storm'd with supernatural force 
Round the vile Popedom, till its pillars shook, 
Sank to the level of a simple child, 
And won frail childhood to the creed he 

framed. 
The son of thunder, soften'd to a breeze, 
Behold him shroud the lightning of his soul 
In shading meekness ; while the hand which 

hurl'd 
The false Decretals to devouring fire, 
Plies o'er some little book, or teaching page 
Where infancy may learn the name to lisp 
Of Jesus ; or its budding mind unfold 
In faith and freshness, to the call of heaven. 



236 



LUTHER. 



His was the heart that glow'd with all the 

grace 
Which pure compassion for the spirit breathes. 
One living soul, from sin and hell redeem'd, 
He weigh'd it in the balance of that Blood 
Whose every drop with Deity was priced ! 
And thus, behold him, with paternal smile, 
And graceful stoop of his gigantic mind 
Bow to the task, a creed for youth condense, 
In language artless as the lisping mouth 
Of Childhood could pronounce, or read, or pray. 
While reason's light through fancy's prism falls 
In lines of error on the proud man's view, 
Luther himself a child with children knew, 
That Cross beneath, where nature must again 
Be born. He felt, to know he nothing knew, 
Was knowledge, passing what the world calls 

wise : 
And so, if mysteries, like the mountains, cast 
A shadow deep'ning as their truths advance 
Nearer and nearer to the kindred heaven, 
He left them, in the glory of their gloom, 
Untouch'd by reason with its carnal gaze. 

And like him, may we learn to pause, and 

pray; 
Nor argue down the glory we deny. 
If Grace hath spoken, 'tis for Guilt to hear 
And learn by rev'rence more than mind can 

reach : 
Since God unshrouded, would be God no more ; 
Eemove the mystery, and the Almighty's gone ! 



HUMILITY WITHOUT FAITH. 

There is religion in the reign of night, 
When earth entranced, and heaven ethereal 

grows, 
And planets orb'd with palpitating beams, 
In radiant eloquence to man reveal 
Their sacred beauty ; while the loving Stars 
Unseal their eyelids, and with vestal gaze 
This world salute, till our attracted souls 
Responsively their looks of love return. 
'Tis then the energies of mind escape 
From sordid fetters, and, like eagles, sweep 
The dazzling firmament of Thought divine, 
Sparkling with truths unnumber'd as unnamed ; 
Till, earthward dropping on exhausted plume, 
Like the awed Psalmist of the night, they feel 
A soft religion from the sky descend, 
A charm'd humility, which preaches thus : — 
"Say, what is Man, when paragon'd with 

Worlds? 
How mean a speck, how miserably small. 
Minute, beyond minuteness to pourtray, 
The orbit where he walks, and weeps, and dies ! 
And He, the Architect, Whose fiat call'd 



And will'd this universe of worlds abroad, 
Where is the Temple that can hold His praise, 
Or mind created, which can worship Him 
From whose dread glory not one ray would 

melt, 
Were all this bright magnificence to fade ] 
For if deep Ocean, with her sumless waves, 
Not less in majesty of water rolls 
If haply some expiring billow sink ; 
Or forest huge, whose patriarchal trees 
Their wild luxuriance to the winds present, 
Not less o'erawes us, though some leaflet die, 
Then would no countless throng of worlds, 

though dead, 
Or stricken by some everlasting blight, 
One shade on His supernal glory cast 
Who makes and unmakes, moulds, and masters 

all, 
But in Himself consummate God abides ! " 

And may not thus our lesson'd being lie 
Low at the footstool of this felt Immense, 
To learn humility from all it finds ] 
A contrast wise, comparison profound, 
Nocturnal splendours may they not inspire 1 
When from the fever of his day- worn life 
At length escaping, pensive and alone, 
Oft may some Mystic of the heart delight 
To soothe excitement, in that sainted calm 
Breathed from thy presence, oh, ambrosial 

Night 
Of solitude, serenity, and stars ! 
Thine is the hour for poetry, and prayer ; 
Searchings how deep, and soarings how divine 
Are then experienced ! Time and earth 

depart ; 
The shadows of exterior life recede 
Like cloud-mist from a morning vale uproll'd ; 
And on the Infinite we seem to gaze. 
'Tis thus, beneath the overawing heavens 
Man sinks to nothing ; and his world becomes 
An atom, twinkling in eternity, 
And Life, — the scintillation of a soul 
Eadiant, but restless with its tiny gleam, 
That sparkles into suff ' ring, and expires ! 

But here, Perversion, by its with'ring breath, 
Would blast humility with chills of doubt, 
And Christ from his created world expel 
By logic, from our littleness educed 
And call'd transcendant : " Can this puny ball 
Of Nature, this revolving speck of earth, 
Seen like a glow-worm 'mid the gorgeous 

blaze 
Of suns, and systems, be a proper world 
For Deity in Flesh to seek, or save]" 

And yet, this argument, so base and blind, 
Philosophy and faith alike o'erthrow 



ANGELIC CONTEST. 



237 



With swift prostration. Sceptic ! pause awhile, 
Nor dream that thus from orphan'd earth 

recedes 
Redemption, since in nature's volume lies 
The principle of thy profound rebuke. 
Bend to the dust a microscopic gaze, 
There God in atoms, e'en as God in worlds,* 
Witness ! and worship with believing awe. 
To Him no magnitude as great appears, 
And no minuteness, as the small can be ; 
Gradations all in Godhead are absorb'd 
And vanish ; languor cannot Him relax, 
Nor low, nor lofty, vast nor various, bring 
Distraction o'er Him. Hence, we rev'rence 

God 
When the frail wonders of an insect-wing 
Or radiant orbits of revolving worlds, 
The traces of consummate mind reveal. 
Jehovah, while vast Heaven His word upholds, 
And life and matter, motion, space and time 
Form but the channel where His will evolves, 
Can note and number all whom earth contains ! 
Observe the monad in minutest play, 
Robe the soft leaf, the choral winds attune, 
Direct a sunbeam to its shining toil, 
Or guard frail infancy on tott'ring feet 
From death or danger ; or, at balmy night, 
The silken eyelids of young Sleep bedew 
With slumber, watching o'er unconscious 

breath ! 

Thus may Philosophy and Faith sincere 
Their creed unite ; and when on high we view 
Yon great epiphany of glorious worlds, 
And echo back with thought's devoutest tone 
The starry hymns by Fancy heard to roll, 
We sink not, by immensity appall'd ; 
But in the sacred glory of our creed 
Can call our Lord, the Master of it all ! 

Moreover, God-reflecting Mind is ours 
Though faint, and feeble ; nor can Truth deny, 
A single thought more deity involves 
Than all the beauty of yon blazing orbs, 
If mind be absent. Therefore, while we own 
The sad Palmyra of our ruin'd state, 
And what a Tadmor in the desert-soul 
Humanity on this soil'd earth presents, 
Yet hither, from the heavens all heavens 

above 
Descended, by paternal Glory sent, 
Divine Emmanuel ! Here His feet have trod ; 
Around His awful head our sun hath shined ; 
This air His breath of purity inspired, 
And here the music of His lips was pour'd 



In speech, and doctrine ; miracles illumed 
His mission ; and each element confess'd 
The bleeding glory of that Saviour's wounds 
Whose heart for sin on Calvary bled and 

broke ! 
And thus, not all unfelt, nor all unknown 
This orb minute, by God in flesh redeem' d, 
In time or in eternity can be. 
Rather may reason, when by faith enlarged, 
The charter'd empress of all worlds pronounce 
An earth so ransom'd, with such Blood restored; 
And in the form of God incarnate see 
How human Flesh outsoars the Angels far, 
And mounts, in Jesus, an almighty throne. 



* St. Augustine touches on this deep subject, in his 
52nd Sermon, thus — "Ubique invisibilis atque insepa- 
rabiliter adest, non in parte major, in parte minor, 
sed ubique tota, nusquam drvisa," &c. &c. 



ANGELIC CONTEST. 

Hence, wisdom does not back with doubt 

recoil, 
By reason's name made reasonlessly proud, 
When told that Man a mystic platform proves 
Where clashing angels, for contested souls, 
With, or against, the dread Creator fight. 
Here, Attributes eterne their cause have 

staked ; 
Here, Character divine itself unfolds ; 
And from it men and angels wisdom learn, 
While all untouch'd by accident, or change, 
Divinely perfect as their nature is, — 
How love and Law in harmony prevail. 

Thus from the Bible heaven-taught lore 
perceives 
The true position to our earth assign'd. 
For, though embedded in a brilliant mass 
Of worlds on worlds beyond all number vast, 
Like some mean province, where ephem'ral dust 
Shaped into men to nothing hourly dies, 
It hardly glimmers, — thinking Angels see 
In pardon'd myriads of immortal souls 
Glories which render heaven more glorious 

stm ! 

Since for their adoration Christ reveal'd 
A new Apocalypse of God to man. 
Thus they who once unwither'd Eden walk'd 
With man, a human paradise to share, 
Now when the banner of a Fiend has waved 
Defiance, yet on our dismantled earth 
Of sin and treason cast a yearning gaze ; 
And watch, and wonder, worship and admire 
Unfolded secrets of forgiving Love 
Developed here. And when some lurid 

gleams 
Lighted, perchance, the features of the lost 
Archangel, with a hope that ruin'd Man 
With God unreconciled must ever be, 
And all His attributes to crisis brought, 
How did their wings ecstatically wave, 



238 



LUTHER. 



And loud their endless gratulations sweep 
The arches of eternity with praise, 
God's masterpiece of perfect Grace to hail ! 
While he, the Anarch of temptation, sank, 
To plot in darkness for his own despair. 

Thus Fiends against, but Angels for, our souls 
Are now contending : on the Cross sublime 
Their fix'd and fascinated eyes they bend, 
Which glisten o'er its glories ; while they cry, 
" Depth within depth, God ! how deep art 

Thou, 
Ark'd in Thyself, unvision'd and unshared ! " 
The councils of divinity they scan 
Nor fathom ; yet such vast revealings flow 
From our Emmanuel, that this world becomes 
A focus, where redeeming Wisdom brought 
The fulness infinite of Love to bear, 
And taught the Seraphim a song, how new ! 



FALLEN ANGELS. 

Yet while angelic bosoms heave with love, 
And Watchers bright from heavenly mansions 

glide 
Down to this earth, the prodigal of worlds, 
And with the elder love of sinless Truth 
Bend o'er our doom, with ever-breathing care 
Of pure compassion, are we not beset 
By fatal opposites ] by fiendish Hosts 
Curtain'd in secrecy of hate and hell 1 
Shapeless, and sightless, round all hearts and 

hours 
Inaudibly they steal : in joy, or gloom, 
Present alike to poison or pollute 
Man's being. Sin their fascination forms, 
And hell in man, for their lost heaven atones : 
So deep the horrors of infernal hate ! 

And what experience have the fiendish band 
Who haunt creation with their spells accursed, 
From human mind and misery derived, 
As, age on age, to murder souls they watch, 
And dog them to the very gates of heaven ! 
Six thousand years of study and of sin 
Have deeply, through the labyrinthine heart 
Instructed Satan how to wend his way, 
Unfelt, unfear'd, deceiving as he goes. 

Him Luther imaged, with an awe-struck 

mind 
As God of this world, howsoe'er disguised, 
In moments shaded with satanic gloom 
And hours of harrowing darkness, when the 

blood 
Ran wildly, aud his heated brain was worn 
By fev'rish over-task. And, is the Fiend 
A power impersonal, by shapeless awe 



Summon'd around us, when the soul is weak 1 
Not thus did Luther into names abstract 
E educe the Devil ; but a Person own 
The Archfiend, such as fearless Paul unveil'd, 
And, like his pattern, made high reason bow 
Before the majesties of truth inspired, 
Believing firmly what his Bible spake. 
As fact to thought, or law to will is framed, 
So scripture to his faith a reason was : 
And he who shrunk not from Satanic foes 
Mitred, or sceptred, but by zeal inflamed, 
High o'er the heavens could wing his dreadless 

flight 
To scorch the angels with a scathing curse, 
If other than the gospel-truth they preach'd ! — 
To fight the devil God's own armour took. 
Mail'd with the Spirit's panoply of prayer 
Thus was he taught with ghastly fiends to fight, 
Weapond by grace to lead infernal war. 

And was he feeble, while his faith was 

strong ] 
Or rather, from his creed heroic might 
Derived he not ] Simplicity was strength, 
In that deep mystery, whose unfathom'd 

glooms 
And paths untrod defy adventurous mind. 
Here, God is reason to Himself alone ; 
To us, mere revelation, and no more, 
He deigns to be. Still, o'er forbidden ways 
By Him foreclosed, its undisturbed flight 
The pride of Reason in her pagan dreams 
Presumes to wing; but drops abash'd, at 

length, 
Down to th' horizon whence conceit arose. 
Oh ! for a heart as docile, and as deep 
In things divine, as that Immortal show'd, 
Whose genius round the sun, and mystic stars, 
And through the cycles of immensity 
The march and movement of eternal Laws 
Interpreted ; and track'd each orbed maze, 
And, like a Priest o'er planetary worlds 
Presiding, taught us how the spheres revolve. 
And yet that Solomon in starry lore 
Unrivall'd, whose pervading spirit read 
Creation's secrets, with untroubled eye, 
The Light anatomised to separate hues 
By clear dissection, and with steady hand 
Felt the tide-heavings of great Ocean's heart 
Throbbing for ever with a billowy pulse, — 
Sat like a pupil down to Nature's page ; 
And from her canons all that creed educed 
Which makes him seem an oracle of mind 
Devout : who, like th' apocalyptic saint 
Of Patmos, hath for earthly science shown, 
What he for heavenly, — God behind the veil ! 

And let the worshippers of bright result 
Forget not, thus impassion'd Luther won 



GOD OF THIS WORLD. 



239 



The bloodless laurels his brave memory wears, — 
E'en by adherence to substantial Faith. 
Simple as Newton, who could soar and pray, 
Building philosophy on fact alone, 
Luther in faith could Luther's self renounce, 
And, like the scholar of the Holy Ghost, 
Learn hallow'd science from the lips of God. 

And, deep the knowledge which his spirit 
drew 
From Heaven's own page, of devils and of 

men. 
A stern arena, where a sightless crowd 
Of Fiends and Angels in dread conflict ranged; 
Or battle-scene, where strangely -awful Powers 
Muster and mingle, and their arms unsheath 
For good or evil, — did our world become 
To him, who saw it in eternal light. 
For, just as when some Empire's outraged 

heart 
Big with emotion, swells with surging zeal, 
If but a subject by his slaughter'd life 
For Her be fallen, and around his grave 
Pours the rich life-blood of Her dearest sons, — 
So is our earth, though dismal and depraved, 
And darkly mean with vaster worlds com- 
pared, 
A centre where the Chivalries of heaven 
Marshal their forces, and with fiends engage. 
The terror of their arms, eye cannot see ; 
The rushing of their plumes, we do not hear, 
Nor view the motions of their mystic flight ; 
But yet, the contest is for countless Souls, 
While for the royalties of heaven they strike ! 
And who, save those who fetter with the 

bonds 
Of clay all faculties of finer scope, 
In some rapt hour when mind is half 

unearth'd 
Like Luther's, have not felt the fight unseen, 
And through each dim transparency of sense 
Vision'd a battle, which the soul surrounds 1 



GOD OF THIS WORLD. 

So felt the man, whom Superstition fear'd, 
And Satan ever with a savage watch 
Haunted, and down to his own hell desired 
By dark temptation of the soul, to bring. 
And hence to him, thus tempted, tried, and 

torn, 
No mere abstraction, impotent as vain ; 
No vile creation of monastic gloom 
The arch-Fiend was ; nor, to his hell confined : 
But here, on earth, in dark unrest employ'd, 
And round the axis of infernal guile 
Revolving ceaselessly his cruel plans, 



Luther beheld him ; such as God asserts, 
By will, and intellect, and power endow'd, 
In living personality array'd 
Of being actual ; Lord of souls undone, 
Maker of death, and monarch of despair ; 
Who would the universe to cinders blast, 
Undo redemption, all our mercies blight, 
And hear a jubilee in Earth's last groan ! 

And must we, to some lacerating dream 
Such agonies as rent th' undreading heart 
Of Luther, in our sceptic age refer ] 
Was it with Phantoms of a brain diseased, 
Or Actions, out of gloomy thought evoked 
Fanatical and false, that saints of old 
Contended] Or, by dismal clouds o'erveil'd, 
Did Prophets only with the air contend ? 
Were brave Apostles, when their spirits bled, 
By Satans of the mind alone convulsed 1 
Or, did the God-man, in His day of flesh 
Tempted like men, no thrilling combat face, 
But simply, by internal vision tried, 
Fight with black Nothing in the form of fiend] 
Let dread Gethsemane to this reply ! 
There, while the bloody sweat from Christ was 

wrung, 
As round Him, in His human weakness, rush'd 
With eyes which hunger'd on his pangs to feed 
And wings that flutter'd with a fiendish joy, 
The Hosts of darkness, — let the sceptic ask 
If that be air, which made Emmanuel shake ! 

They mock the Devil who obey him most : 
But hearts made simple by a power divine, 
Believe the combat, and partake it too. 
The Friend of sinners was the Foe of sin, 
And therefore, saints with Satan must contend 
As did their Captain for His cross and crown. 
Such was the creed our Saxon hero held. 
Yes ! that brave Spirit, who in public stood - 
And calmly watch'd the papal furnace heat, 
Prepared to battle with its sevenfold fires, — 
Prostrate and pale, with agonising tears 
Bound in the blackness of temptation's night 
Behold him, like a reed of sorrow, now ! 
And they, whose wisdom faith and fear 

produce, 
Touch'd by no common awe, will come to view 
A martyrdom, beyond what fire inflicts 
In the torn depths of Luther's tortured breast 
When Satan fell'd him; and the shades of 

Hell 
Frown'd on his heart their horrible dismay ! 

Oh! there seemed moments when th' Al- 
mighty frown'd, 
When Sinai over Calvary hung its cloud 
Till legal thunders struck the Gospel dumb, 
And Jesu vanish'd into viewless air ! 



240 



LUTHER. 



Then, pardon'd sin unpardon'd aspect took ; 
While conscience like a scowling demon 

lour'd 
Full on the past : and e'en the Bible lost 
Its music ; till the melody of truth 
Turn'd to strange discord, where no tones of 

grace 
Or God were found ! Then, fiend on fiend 

began 
Between the Saviour and his soul to rush, 
In raging darkness ; while at times he shook 
In fancy o'er the flaming deep of Hell, 
And hover'd, as by grasping demons held. 

But he, who bled beneath satanic blows, 
Hereafter kiss'd the rod his heart endured 
And found it gilded with a Father's smile. 
For need there was, of educating woes 
To pierce him to the centre, till he pray'd, 
And the great Luther grew a little child 
Safe in the hands of his almighty Sire. 
Since much of darkness in his light remain'd ; 
And much terrene with his celestial mix'd ; 
And much of Adam with his faith there 

blent, — ■ 
Oh, what but Wisdom, in divinest force, 
Knew how to build a perill'd Luther up 1 
Hence, not a pang his inner being tore 
Which was not needed, and by Heaven o'er- 

ruled 
To tame that temper, whose volcanic fires 
So often rent him with outbursting rage. 
Luther was great, and God would keep him so, 
By proving in Himself all greatness lay, 
And there alone the Reformation stood. 



LIFE A SPIRITUAL CONFLICT. 

Reader ! the combat rages darkly still 
Around thee ; though an unrent cloud of flesh 
Shut from thy soul their movement and their 

march, 
And the dread soldiery by Hell array 'd, 
Yet, in the midst of Satan's host art thou 
Contending: were thy veiling flesh with- 
drawn, 
Full on thy spirit what a battle-field 
Where all the Chivalries of heaven contend, 
And the dread Sympathies of darkness fight 
For souls immortal — would at once outflame ! 
But not with garments roll'd in blood, or 

death; 
And not with weapons which our eyes per- 
ceive ; 
But sightless, these unbodied Hosts engage ; 
And therefore, Satan is the sense's mock, 
The sneer of science and the scorn of fools. 
But thy revealings, Faith ! are ever true 



And most tremendous, when the most denied. 
A Devil doubted ends in God disown'd, — 
Till the first glance a disembodied Mind 
Takes of the truth behind the veil disclosed, 
Looks on the Fiend, who made himself a lie 
To rock the sinner into damning rest. 

Reader ! believe, the combat rages still ; 
No pause, and no parenthesis of love 
Or pity for our world the Fiend allows. 
Darkness his throne, destruction his delight, 
Ruin and ravage his dominion make, 
And earthquakes seem the echoes of His 

tramp. 
But chief to battle with the sainted host, 
Fighting beneath the banner of their King 
Crimson'd with blood, and blazon'd by his 

cross 
Redemptive, does the Prince of Hell advance. 
Thus Luther felt : and thus shall ever feel, 
And like him in the spirit's fight, contend 
E'en to the gasp and agony of faith, — 
The heirs of Light and heroes of our God. 

" The Serpent's head the woman's seed Shall 
bruise ! " 
So spake the Lip almighty ; and to man 
Revolted then the Incarnation preach'd 
In promise, which by grasp prophetic spann'd 
Ages of conflict in the church to come ; 
Till time's worn clock his closing hour shall 

strike, 
And this phantasmal scene where Satan fights, 
This whited sepulcjire of sin and woe, 
This prison-house where dungeon'd nature 

pines, — - 
A thousand years of hallow'd rest shall have 
In one long sabbath of millennial peace ! 
But not till hurl'd by thunder-blasts divine 
Down to his pit, in chaining darkness bound, 
The mystic " Dragon " will from earth with- 
draw : 
But fiercely to the last, a fight maintain 
Implacable, against all truth array'd. 
So from the first imperial Rome he fired 
With Pagan fury; when that flame was 

quench'd 
By blood of martyrs, lo ! an Arian creed 
Flooded the church with desolating tides ; 
And when they ceased, Platonic visions came 
And round the Cross a dazzling falsehood 

wreathed ; 
Till papistry in full-blown horror rose, — 
The last perfection of satanic guile. 

Perpetual motion of a will depraved 
He was, and is, and shall for ever be 
As Prince of darkness, from his throne of 
death 



OMNIPRESENCE OF THE SPIRIT. 



241 



Dispensing ruin. Who his sway can meet, 
Or stretch the word to where his sceptre 

waves 
O'er time, and scene, and universal man ! 
For every wheat, he sows a rival tare 
In the vast field where faith and virtue thrive : 
Each ward of sin and selfishness he knows, 
And so, for each some fitting key he finds 
Wherewith to enter, and the heart possess. 
And let the mockers of the World unseen 
The solemn findings of experienced hearts 
In this believe, — that like the Saxon monk's, 
A life of faith is one long battle now, 
Beyond the passion of excited words 
To utter, when the heat of conflict comes ! 
As conscience preaches, so temptation tries 
By Him directed : hence, no mood is safe, 
No scenes are shelter'd, and no hours secure 
From art Infernal. Ask some thoughtful 

Mind 
How often, when th' inflated world hath 

shrunk 
With all its forms, its follies and its fears 
Down to a shade, before the solid truths 
And substance of eternity believed, 
How often then, when resolution winds 
Our being up, by tension most sublime, 
To heaven's pursuit and love's majestic toils, 
Back to the low and little we are lured ! 
Fever'd as ever, and with fretting pangs 
And noisome cares inexorably mean 
Again involved : as if this earth were home, 
And immortality below the skies ! 

No height in grace, no depth in guilt 

forbids 
Our dread assaulter. Attributes divine 
How oft he covers with deforming shade, 
Darkens for dread, or deepens for despair, 
Or softens down to sin's presuming dream 
Till God a Sentiment almighty grows, 
For weak indulgence ! Then, the Law he 

wields, 
Fangs its dread curse with everlasting fire, 
And on the gibbet of tormenting doubt 
Racks frighten'd conscience in perpetual 

gloom. 
For though in health, when light the blood 

appears 
And all looks bland which in Jehovah dwells, 
Sin like a trifle of the past becomes, 
Or vacant nothing, with a sounding name ; 
Yet when the dampness of the tomb bechills 
Our nature; when fierce retribution frowns 
Black on the spirit, from the bar of God, 
Then sin, which once a moral pigmy seem'd 
But scarce apparent, like a giant swells 
Upward to heaven, and with some horrid shade 
Beclouds The Infinite, on Whom it falls. 



And more than this, the arch-Deceiver 
dares ! 
For He eternity in time contracts 
And time to false eternity dilates, 
When cheated fancy to his wand replies ; 
And not one grace The Spirit's hand bestows, 
For which no counterpart in passion finds 
This dreadful Parodist of God to man ! 
But, chief that Book, where inspirations 

breathe 
And God in language human guilt accosts, 
He yearns to silence, contradict, or change. 

Still, praise to God ! His heroes do not fight 
In this fell combat, by their faith alone. 
The Lord The Spirit leads them to the field : 
And none can perish, o'er whose shielded 

heads 
Waves His pure banner of protecting grace. 
Safely through Him they grapple with the 

Foe 
By brave endurance, till the field be won ; 
When Angels, with a battle-shout of praise, 
Welcome to glory those heroic saints 
Who cut their way unwounded to the skies ! 
And thus, what girded Luther for his fight 
Doth each bold Gideon in the cause of heaven 
Apparel now, — an armour spirit-proof, 
Burnish'd and bright like that our " Captain " * 

wore 
When He and Satan for creation foua-ht. 



OMNIPRESENCE OF THE SPIRIT. 

Omniscient Teacher of regen'rate mind ! 
Yicar of Christ ! who art to men redeem'd 
Soul of their souls, and Light of light within, 
Yast in Thy sway but viewless in Thy strength, 
Thou o'er the chaos of the earth newborn 
Didst move, and print it with Thy plastic seal 
And inspiration. Beauty hence began, 
Order, and shape and symmetry arose • 
For Thou of all the Consummator art, 
In the green earth, or garnish'd heaven dis- 

play'd : 
Since Nature is Thine organ, and is moved 
By secret impulse from Thyself inspired. 
Her laws, her lineaments, and loveliness 
Are but expressions of Thy shaping will, 
The outward index to Thine inward Hand 
Creative : beauty is Thy vest Terrene, 
Grandeur and grace Thine intimations are, 
And second causes form but stepping-stones 
By which Thou marchest to Thy works, and 

ways. 

* " The Captain of our salvation." — Heb. ii. 10. 



242 



LUTHER. 



And o'er those waters of our human world, 
The ruder chaos of revolted hearts 
Still art Thou brooding, with Thy halcyon calm. 
For never, since pollution's blight commenced, 
And man apostate to his Maker turn'd, 
Hath sigh, or tear, or penitential groan 
To heaven ascended and God's welcome sought, 
But from Thy grace, pure Spirit ! it proceeds. 

Then, are we lonely in the war of life 
Terrestrial? Strengthless, are we doom'd to 

strive 
With foes of darkness and with fiends of death, 
Who round the heart, and in the heart, con- 
tend? 
Perish the thought ! The grace which Luther 

felt, 
Soldier of faith ! is prompt to succour thee ; 
Here is the haven for tempestuous woes 
And trials ; port of sabbath peace to souls 
W r hen the loud billows of temptation rise, 
And the heart trembles at their sullen roar. 

Oh, for a language, out of sunbeams made, 
In syllables of light Thy power to praise, 
Helper, and Healer of the heart alone ! 
Sustainer truly of the sinking mind, 
Sole Paraclete to all, for sin who weep ! 
Descend, and with the dewfall of Thy grace 
Our world refresh, a wither'd Church revive, 
And the hot fever of man's thirsting heart 
With healing balm of blessedness, allay ! 
Without Thee, creeds become a barren sound, 
The Truth is charmless, and the Bible mute 
To conscience, though to mental power it 

speak ; 
While all in morals, or in motive, gives 
But heathen polish with a purer name. 

And, where that shrine, the palace, or a 

throne 
From whence Thy secrets and Thy splendours 

flow ! 
Where shall our hearts those inspirations seek 
Which make all Christians echoes of their 

Lord? 
Wherever man and mind, and scene and space 
May act or mingle, there, Spirit ! Thou 
With solemn fellowship the soul canst meet. 
What, though the herald-stars no longer glide 
To light the Magi ; though no mystic Bush 
Burn with divinity in speaking fire ; 
And by no miracle made bare, or bright, 
An Arm Eternal from the heaven is waved ; 
Though shut the Yision, and the Witness seal'd, 
Nor Voice, nor Thunder out of glory rolls 
This earth to waken, — still, Thy love abides ; 
And the hush'd presence of the Holy One 
No bounds can limit, and no laws may bind 



From Hearts who seek Him, in their tempted 

hour. 
In cities loud, amid the hum of men 
He walketh ; or in loved and lonely haunts 
Shaded and secret, where Reflection hies ; 
On mountain-heights, by musing poets traced, 
In vales withdrawn, by melancholy shores 
Lash'd by the billows in eternal beat, 
In each and all God's whisper may be heard, 
And still small Yoice through listening con- 
science steal. 
Thus, heaven with starry eloquence inspired ; 
Earth with her scenes of grandeur, or of grace ; 
Home's gentle magic, infant's guileless laugh 
And mother's glowing smile, a charm may 

prove 
Or channel, where His unction can descend 
Through soft illapses to our spirit's depths. 

But in Christ's temple, there Thy palace is, 
Spirit of grace ! from Whom our glories come ; 
Where symbols, signs, and sacramental powers, 
Anthems august and hallelujahs deep 
Attend Thee, and Thy ministries attest. 
And Thine, too, is that living Word which 

breathes 
Of truth celestial, when by prayer perused, 
The Bible! there we hail Thee on Thy 

Throne, 
The Urim and the Thummim of Thy power. 

Reader ! thyself a God is reading now 
While thus this question of all questions 

peals, 
Art thou, like Luther, by The Spirit led, 
Or, art thou by some hidden Fiend seduced ? 
Whoe'er thou art, this truth take home, and 

think ! 
Two Spirits only for thy soul contend, 
The Good, and Bad ; but now, alone is Grace 
Imparted ; soon thy final sands will fall, 
And thou in moral nakedness shalt be 
To Devil, or to Deity, assign d 
Through endless ages ! Oh, that truth immense. 
This mortal immortality shall wear ! 
The pulse of Mind can never cease to play, 
But throbs with immortality begun, 
Eternal from eternity decreed ! 
Above the angels, or below the fiends, 
To rise in glory or in shame descend 
Mankind are destined, by resistless doom. 
A soul may perish, but it cannot die : 
Immortal essence, 'tis from Godhead drawn, 
And, like that Source, unquenchable endures. 
But thou, calm Spirit of celestial truth ! 
Thee may we supplicate our soul to save, 
And so renew it, till, resembling Thee, 
Our heaven commences ere the earth depart. 



PAPAL ROME. 



243 



PAPAL ROME. 

Three hundred years of beatific life 
Unbodied, Luther's living soul hath breathed, 
Since the last thunder-bolt of truth he hurl'd 
AVith hand, how fearless ! at the heart of Rome. 
There, in that world where ransom'd minds 

repose, 
Where priests, and prophets, and the kings of 

faith 
Are gather'd into glory, and await 
A pealing life-blast which shall rouse the dead, 
The monk of Wittemberg his Master sees 
And worships, waiting for his destined crown. 
But, hath the world from sacerdotal chains 
Itself unfetter'd % Is our faith the free 
And pure, and prompted by the Spirit's love 
And guidance, soul and spring of saving 

truth, 
Light of all churches, and the Bible's Lord 1 
Alas ! we slumber ; and a carnal rest 
Calmly around us lets the chain of Rome 
Wind its dark coil, with most consummate ease 
And falsehood. Bloated with our self-esteem, 
And panoplied with intellectual might, 
At ease in Zion are we ; while a Foe 
Remorseless, dragon-eyed, and unappeased, 
Wakeful as ever, watches for the prey 
Apostate weakness for Her fang prepares. 

We want a Luther, with a dreadless voice 
To front our modern antichrist, and face 
The Vatican, with all its veil'd array 
Of marshall'd doctrines or of muster'd lies. 
So might we bare the heart of blushless Rome, 
And rouse brave England's execrating voice 
Till back the priesthood to her dens recoil'd ; 
While pope, and pop'ry, with a palsy smit, 
And scared by scripture, would for ever shrink 
In coward gloom to convents, and to cells, 
Hooted by nature, and by freemen hurl'd 
A.t once from virtue's and from reason's 
throne. 

Oh! that our protest were as brave and 

pure, 
As saints and martyrs sent, in olden time, 
From their deep hearts against the Man of 

Sin. 
Oh, that in light from flames where Ridley 

died, 
Or Cranmer suffer'd his immortal death, 
The Church of England would her hist'ry 

read, 
And ponder as she. read, with eye of prayer; 
Till in that light her lethargy awoke 
And rising, like a giant from his sleep 
Enchanted, back the Romish chain would fall 



Dissever'd, from her limbs of glory dash'd 
In horror ! Then, again that trumpet-cry, 
That battle-voice magnanimously bold, 
The tocsin of a nation's truthful mind 
By heaven excited, would once more be heard 
Like moral thunder round the seven-hill'd 

Seat 
Of Antichrist, in peals of dauntless power, — 
No peace with Rome, till Rome make peace 

with God ! 

But that bold spirit, which in martyrs burn'd 
For truth and freedom, and our British name 
Laurell'd with ever-blooming praises, sleeps 
In dormancy most fatal. Thus the Beast * 
Apocalyptic, once again his head 
Of treason, and his horn of vengeance lifts, 
To smite the Nations, and our Church eclipse 
With papal midnight. Yet, his outward mien 
Is stern no longer ; smooth'd by modern hands 
To gentleness, his raffled hairs relax ; 
No savag'ry his watching eye reveals, 
And all his claws of cruelty are cut ; 
But still, the Beast is changeless ! for his heart 
Unsoften'd, throbs with blackest hate within 
Deadly, and dire as in the days of blood. 
Full well the Mother of deception suits 
Her face, her features, and exterior form 
Chameleon, as the atmosphere requires. 
And now, when learning, science and the 

Mind 
From dismal orthodoxy's Bulls of death, 
And blasts of excommunicating ire 
Shrink with disgust, sly Rome the hint receives ! 
Till, like the echo of all wants and wills, 
Behold her ! with the freeman talking free ; 
With tyrants, she at once can tyrant act ; 
And for idolaters gives idol-forms 
In saint, or Yirgin ! Whatsoe'er the creed . 
Political, she finds appropriate tones 
And flatters each with some obliging key. 
Thus for opinion, passion, low desires, 
All tempers, dreams, imaginations, thoughts, 
All moods, and morals, — whatsoe'er the man 
In learning, commerce, or in life be found, 
For each and all can Romanistic craft 
A seeming counterpart affect, or frame ; 
But, deep at centre, antichristian still ! 
So works the Myst'ry, and the world is won, 
And aspect changed for principle reform' d 
Is now mistaken. Hence, for time prepared, 
Rome meets all pressure from without enforced, 
By powers elastically prompt within ; 
Responsive always to each varied call 
From creeds perverse, or crisis which demands 
Her weapon'd skill, her wisdom and her guile. 



See Rev. xiii. &c. 



R 2 



244 



LUTHER. 



" And, why hath God, the merciful and great, 
Rome's vile burlesque of christian truth 

allow'd?" 
Perchance that Contrast may the earth instruct : 
And hence, when man and world have both 

been taught 
Their impotence; when Art, and Lore, and 

Skill 
Their powers have tried, all moral engines used 
To lift our nature from the gulf of sin, 
And tried in vain; when Reason thus hath 

learn'd 
No remedy from mortal wisdom comes 
The plaguing leprosy of sin to heal, 
And hearts apostate all their vileness know, 
Descending Thunders from the Lord Himself 
On Rome will burst, and ruin bury all ! 

Hence from the first, eternal war prevails 
Against " The Woman," and her seed elect ; 
And each high plan supernal Wisdom chose 
Satan hath mimick'd with his aping guile, 
Or art stupendous. But the master-piece, 
The dread hyperbole of daring skill, 
That great conception where his glory shines 
With blasting lustre, is the Roman mock ! 
There, falsehood in the garb of truth is found ; 
There, darkness in a dress of light appears ; 
And all the many-chamber'd mind can hold 
Of lies which lull, or sophistries that please, 
Is met, and answer'd by some prompt reply. 
No ! not a tone which Character can sound, 
Without an echo from some chord of lies 
Play'd by the master-hand of popish Art ! 
Till, that which blood and havoc could not do, 
When heathen Rome, or Arian butchers tried 
The Church to mangle and her creed to mar, 
This arch defection in canonic guise 
By Him erected, hath for cent'ries done ! 
No partial error, out of reason framed, 
Nor falsehood, from licentious will begot, 
Hath Satan, in the Man of Sin, achieved ; 
But one great bondage for essential Mind ! — 
A ritual net-work, where the soul is caught, 
And co-extensive with its evry power. 
Thus, all of tendencies, or truths which rise 
By man or time develop'd into sway, 
These, by a process of absorbing guile, 
Rome with herself in soft alliance blends ; 
Can with her cause incorporate, and mix, 
And thus transmute them out of social forms 
To fine activities, whose friendly sway 
Is won, and wielded for her own at last. 



A CHURCH BY INVERSION. 

But, whence the model for this curse immense, 
This boundless magic of a baseless creed 



For ages, like an incubus of hell 

O'er human spirit brooding ] Whence the 

power 
Bewitching, far beyond destruction's range ? 
Why, 'tis a counterpart ; a church reversed, 
A mock of Satan by a man inform'd, 
A mimic Show of what in very life 
And lustre, form and glory, should the Church 
As ground and pillar of the truth, have been. 
For, had she constant to her First Love proved, 
Binding on earth what God in heaven has 

bound, 
And witness'd boldly for her absent King 
A true confession, then would hostile Earth 
And Falsehood from her hallow'd mien have 

shrunk 
Self-blasted ! and this o'erawed world beheld 
The Saviour's Body arm'd with regal powers, 
Mitred, and crown'd, in majesty supreme 
Anointed Priestess of all grace to man. 

But Satan copies, where he cannot change ; 
And thus a parody in Popes contrived 
The IiOrd forestalling. Hence, the Fiend has 

framed 
A pageant hollow, where his plot can hide 
And act Himself beneath the Saviour's name. 
For more than haughty Rome assumes to be, 
By Heaven empower'd in privilege and grace 
Imperial, would the gospel Church have been, 
If holiness with apostolic charm 
Her shrines, her altars, and memorial rites, 
Her ministers, and members, all had crown'd. 

And here, (as ever) from the Plan Divine 
The lost Archangel hath, with fiendish craft, 
Directive elements of wisdom drawn. 
His model was Judaic : thence he stole 
Those adaptations for the sensuous mind 
He view'd there, organised in typic forms ; 
Myst'ries and rites, or ceremonial laws, 
And ritual pomps where Priesthood looks 

sublime, 
He found prevailing : these he studied well, 
Then caught the genius of the mighty whole, 
And made a copy for the papal Church 
Which pope and priest, levitically blind, 
Transcribed for ages, and is using now. 
Thus, the dead carcass of Mosaic forms 
By God deserted when Emmanuel died, 
Satan himself hath repossess'd, and fill'd 
Or quicken'd. Here, the Roman witchcraft 

see ! 
While man travesties what Messiah did, 
And writes "unfmish'd! " o'er His perfect Cross. 

Nor can our Age, though clad with self- 
conceit, 
And helmeted with intellectual powers, 



THE MAGIC CITY. 



245 



Produce the David whose predestined hand, 
With sling of scripture, and with stone of truth 
"Well-aimed, her brazen forehead might indent, 
Blasting her glory, with a righteous blow. 
And, where the signs, the symptoms of Her 

fall] 
Whence come the weapons Christian arms can 

wield, 
Wherewith the triple Crown to pluck, and 

dash 
Her high pretensions into baseless dust 1 
Alas ! our locks of strength are almost shorn ; 
Distracted counsels, or divided aims 
Impede fair union ; and that mystic Robe 
Which all unrent in perfect glory hung 
While on His cross the dying Saviour bled, 
Is torn to tatters, underneath His throne, 
By hands and hearts schismatical, and wild ! 
Is this an attitude for deeds sublime ] 
With Masters many, while our Lord is One, 
Our cold negations can no Church evince 
In act embodying what our creed affirms 
Of Union vast, and visible, and true. 
How can we thus, with uncompacted force, 
And mere abstractions, depthless, dim, or faint, 
Battle with Rome, or keep her priests at bay ] 

Alas ! expediency our Moloch was, 
And at Her feet our ancient glories fell 
Dishonour'd. Mute that mighty Protest, now, 
By martyrs thunder'd like a voice from Heaven, 
" Come out from her, my people ! quickly 

come :" 
Since base concession legalised her guile, 
And lo ! the Land, whose soil with sainted 

blood 
Is hallow'd, where burnt Hooper's ashes sleep, 
And lived the lion-hearted men, whose tongues 
Shook the roused Empire with their shout for 

God, 
For faith, and freedom ! there, the Papal 

" Beast " 
Is lodged, and in his den of lies secure ! 

Yet, to and fro, behold ! the many " run" 
And knowledge, as by Seers foretold, increase. 
Still, what though ocean, air, and matter seem 
A university for Mind become, 
Where Sense can study, Science take degrees, 
And Comfort all her sensual dreams enjoy, 
Is this protection from the spells of Eome 1 
Oh ! not in culture where no sacred germs 
Are planted; not by knowledge, where no 

peace, 
No pardon and no purity abound 
For conscience, not by these are empires 

great, 
A people glorious, or their welfare sure. 



VICTORY OF FAITH. 

Knowledge brings power; but Faith beyond 

it works, 
And out of heaven that promised aid procures 
Of mercy, whence alone true wisdom springs ; 
Till, through the heart's regenerated depths 
The mind it reach, and make that holy, too. 
To catalogue Creation's works ; the tides 
To balance ; all the stars peruse ; or scan 
The secrecies unveiling Science loves, 
This may enlarge, but not ennoble, Man, 
If man be measured by his noblest scale, 
By will, by conscience, and by perfect love, 
Love that is heavenly and by God begun ; — 
For so philosophy divine asserts : 
We find the lovely, and that thing we love ; 
But what God loves He thereby lovely makes. 

In these alone pre-eminently live 
Those elements which make our being great. 
But Things to master, abstract names to know, 
Their use, their natures, and their powers to 

wield, 
May serve the Body, not the Soul refine 
Or chasten. Thus, in vain would mental 

Power 
Self-deified, the world's redemption try. 

And how can mind, at best, a bulwark frame 
To fence corruption from the inner soul ? 
In central likeness all men meet, at last ; 
For there is conscience in the vilest left, 
With immortality, in each presumed ; 
And this stern Guardian on his throne of truth 
Wakens at times, to vindicate the Law, 
And preaches on eternity and doom 
Sermons, which sound like arguments from 

God, 
Prophetic, deep, and terribly divine ! 
And then religion, forced, or felt, or feign' d, 
The heart's convulsion and its craven guilt 
Alike demand : and where can earth produce 
A Creed so organised with subtle craft, 
To soothe the guilty, but retain the guilt, 
As the mock creed of pharisaic Rome 1 
And though at times, pure Reason may rebel, 
Shock'd into anguish by imposture's lie, 
Reason is bribed, and understanding bought 
When Lust is flatter' d, or the conscience freed 
From harrowing guilt, from darkness and 
• despair. 



THE MAGIC CITY. 



And thus, no energies from culture drawn, 
No arguments, by mental skill applied, 



246 



LUTHER. 



The Man of Sin can weaken, or o'erwhelm : 
Rome laughs at these, and she has laugh'd 

before ! 
And ev'ry realm progressive science haunts 
Pre-occupies, or masters at her will. 
Hence, what a paradox of wondrous crime, 
What miracle of permanence and power 
To men and angels, must Her hist'ry be ! 
For though a slaughter-house for souls she 

made 
The Church for ages, still, without a blush 
She lifts Her forehead in the light of Heaven : 
And though full often have the pent-up fires 
Of wrath around her, fierce with ruin flamed ; 
And Power hath tried, and Policy assail'd 
Her bulwarks ; battles and rebellions leagued, 
Tyrants and victors have besieged her walls 
And daring Intellect opposed Her well 
And wisely ; Truth and Science both have hurl'd 
The thunderbolts of their denouncing ban, 
While righteous scorn her hidden cheats 

unveil'd ; 
And from the bosom of the soul hath burst, 
Time after time, Humanity's appeal 
Charged with the wrongs of ages, to condemn 
The blackest outrage which can e'er abase 
Morals and mind, and all' which Man should 

be— 
The mystic Harlot, on her seven-hill'd throne 
In pomp and theocratic pride array'd, 
Reigns like a Priestess of the spirit still 
O'er crouching millions, in their souls struck 

blind ! 

And find we not a symbol in the fate 
Of Rome the city, hoiv the Romish creed 
All time would master, where the Caesars ruled 
In blood, or baseness 1 Babylon hath sunk 
Beneath the blast prophetic, and become 
A den of ruin ; Nineveh is nought ; 
The Persian perish'd in his pride of arms ; 
Assyria's dead, and Macedon no more ; 
The daughter-islands of the ancient Deep 
Once free and faithful, in their noon of fame, 
With Tyre and Sidon, and the classic isles 
Of Greece and glory, are but sunken things ; 
And Palestine, th' Almighty's home, remains 
E'en like a mother for her children dead, 
Wasted, and weeping in mysterious woe ; 
But Rome is mighty in her magic still, 
Like man's eternity by stone express'd 
Behold Her ! fated for a future doom, 
When Deeds by prophets sung, shall there 

achieve 
A destined ruin. Well may pilgrims trace 
In wonder, how august She yet remains ! 
With fountains, baths, and famous aqueducts, 
Arches, and catacombs, and hoary shrines ; 
While all the genius of dead Ages haunts 



Her soil with shadows, and her scene with 

spells 
That speak, though silent. Past and Present 

meet 
In high communion, and historic dreams 
Her tombs unlock, till colonnaded streets 
Move with stern Heroes, whose creative minds 
Yet bow the world with intellectual sway, 
Reigning like monarchs on each mental 

throne, 
Tyrants at once and teachers of the soul. 



THE MAN OF SIN. 

And as the City, so the creed endures 
Deathless in might, immortally depraved. 
Her aspect alters— when her power is weak ; 
Her plans are soften'd — when her foes are 

strong ; 
Her practice gentle — when the Age requires ; 
But Rome, in principle, is Roman still 
The changeless ever ! for her creed is one ; 
And that is, to absorb the blinded world, 
And on herself a faith almighty found 
As truth infallible, or God divine ! 

And what a miracle of matchless force 
She wielded, when the craven soul had sunk 
Down to that level, which her creed demands 
Like to some vision of unearthly gloom 
Shaped in the midnight of a dreaming brain, 
By horror featured, doth Her sway emerge 
Prom the gone ages, when the Gothic mind 
Bow'd at her footstool, as the throne of God ! 
Two Worlds she claim'd ; o'er both presumed 

to cast 
The priestly shadows of Her sceptred power, 
Moulding eternity, and mast'ring time ! 
Till in the glory of Satanic crime 
Her mitred autocrat almighty grew 
And challenged worship, such as God demands 
Heaven's attributes in libell'd form a Man 
Did thus array : and when his frown grew 

black, 
It shaded all things with submissive awe 
And silence ! On his lip creation hung ; 
The elements from him their course derived, 
And plague, and pestilence, his law obey'd : 
His names were natures ! and those natures all * 
Ambition wanted, or his will decreed. 
But when his excommunicating arm 
Was lifted, Heaven that ireful threat revered ! 
And Hell, with all its agonies and glooms, 
The motion watch'd : but when indeed it fell, 



* Bellarmine gravely argues, that if the Pope should 
decree virtues to be vices, or vices virtues, that moral 
transformation would at once be achieved ! 



HOPE AND HARP OF PROPHECY. 



247 



Empires turn'd pale, and palsied Kings recoil'd, 
And sackcloth'd Nations trembled into tears ! 

Yet had this tyrant but the body cursed, 
Made Cities mournful, or a province poor, 
Or, tax'd the Passions for an income base, 
Mankind were left some virtue, still, to save; 
But Nature, in her sacred ark of strength 
"Where man is man when all besides decays, 
The Pope, by impious sacrilege, profaned. 
And dreader far than famine, fire, or sword, 
Dungeons, and deaths, or all which martyr'd 

Flesh 
Can suffer, is what outraged Conscience feels 
When, like a moral suicide, the Man 
Himself must abdicate, the will destroy, 
And not a Person, but a Thing become ! 
Then rots the mind in servitude, and shame ; 
The faculty august of reason fades, 
And blinded Nature grows a base machine 
By craft inspired, to work a despot's will. 



HOPE AND HARP OF PROPHECY. 

But, sheathed for ever is th' avenging Sword 
Of Godhead ? Will it ne'er on Roman crimes 
And cruelty with flashing ire descend, 
Cleaving her bulwarks to their very base ] 
Oh, dare we think, that all the mangled host 
On Alpine mountains hunted, spiked, or slain 
By thousands, or by Marian hell-hounds torn 
To bleeding fragments, have in vain their voice 
Heroic peal'd along the heaven of heavens, 
Startling the angels on their golden thrones 
When the last anguish of their dying lips 
Came up before them ] Fruitless have they 

lived, 
Or preach'd, or felt, or suffer'd, who of old 
Gave to the world the glory of their death 
By wheel, or gibbet, rack, or fiery stake 
In vaulted cells of subterranean gloom 
By death-lamps lighted, where the lurid beam 
Faintly along some victim's quiv'ring flesh 
Glimmer'd, and lit his harrow' d features up ? 
Far otherwise may thoughtful bosoms feel, 
When grateful Hist'ry to their shrines of 

Death 
Resorts, where deathless Inspirations glow. 
The living dead ones are they ! and their 

words 
Ring round the heart like tones which never 

die. 
Beyond their sermons, preach their sorrows, 

still ! 
Their anguish is our glory ; for we feel, 
Who died for principle, for God yet lives 
To perish never ! "Where they bled, or burn'd, 
Corded, or chain'd, or rent by racking fires, 



Devils were taught how Man's enduring 

strength 
Can suffer, when by prompting grace inspired. 
And therefore, Martyrs ! of Britannia's church, 
That ancient plant of apostolic growth, 
We laud, and love ye with no cold delight, 
Who bled for conscience, and to Britain left 
A creed untouch'd, like Cranmer's heart, 

entire ! 
E'en from your tombs an eloquence proceeds 
Which champions Ages to repeat your worth : 
And never from our venerating hearts 
The deeds ye dared, the majesty ye show'd 
In the dread anguish of a godlike hour, 
Shall die ! All time your holy debtor is : 
And long as in our Church's veins endures 
The precious life-blood of protesting truth, 
Never can England from her mindful soul 
Cancel the debt, her glories owe to you ! 
Your pangs have her inheritance become, 
A wealth bestowing more than gold creates. 
Ye gave the Bible ! which your tortures won ; 
And shame terrific on our head alight, 
If what'the blood of martyrdom bequeath'd 
In black ingratitude we basely yield. 
Ye gave the Bible ! and that priceless Book 
Our blessings all in germ at once bestow'd. 
For, what is Science in her purest flights, 
With all those blending harmonies which rise 
From social nature, but the man evolved '] 
But, both the moral and the mental roots 
Of human nature, with transmuting sway 
The scriptures reach; and thus with latent 

force 
And vigour these the heart of Britain cleansed, 
Making her land the paradise of isles. 

Then, not in vain, though Rome be blushless 

still, 
And round her creed a Trentine darkness casts 
Cruel as ever, have the martyr'd hosts 
And hecatombs of peerless saints, who bled 
For truth, to God against their murd'ress 

cried. 
Beneath the Altar rise their mystic wails 
And enter, not unfelt, the ear of Heaven : * 
Since ev'ry drop their costly veins effused, 
With every pang their burning limbs endured, 
Have bright memorial in the Lamb's own Book, 
And shall be answer' d, when avenging Time 
Brings the dread hour by Prophecy decreed. 
Then shall The Lord in robe of fire descend, 
And with the breathing of His mouth shall 

smite, 
And with the brightness of His coming blast, 
And into cinders by His curse consume 
Earth's second Babel, antichristian Rome ! 



See Revelations. 



248 



LUTHER. 



Meanwhile, presuming man would fain 
achieve 
What scripture to The dread Eternal gives 
In plan and purpose, for His crowning work. 
Thus, all are prophets to themselves, at least, 
And preach perfection possible below. 
But can corruption to itself be cure 1 
If man be ruin, and rebuilt he rise, 
'Tis not by rubbish from himself produced, 
But by a means transcendant, as divine. 
The creed within forms character without, 
And God alone can educate the will ; 
But, will makes man, in all essential powers, 
And therefore must he, by regen'rate grace 
Beyond himself through heavenly love ascend, 
Or still be changeless, in his moral core. 
Thus, to the last, a leper will remain : 
The skin may whiten, but the blood is black, 
And burns in secret like a plague-spot, still. 



ROME SHALL FALL. 

And yet, 'tis written with a pen of light 
That Eome shall wither, and this Earth rejoice 
In the rich beauty of her bridal robes 
Apparell'd ; and beneath her reigning Lord 
Keep the long Sabbath of a thousand years. 
And hence, millennial is the heart of man, 
As if 'twere haunted by some primal grace 
Of vanish'd Eden, when the Earth was young, 
Sinless, and bright, without one scalding tear 
To wet her eyelids, or the cheek to stain. 
Creation groans for her sabbatic peace ; 
And echoing mind, in every age of thought, 
Eepeats the longing. This the poet's lyre 
Hath warbled, in prophetic strains of song, 
Caught from the harp of Scripture ; and the 

creed 
Of Aspirations, as they rise, and reach 
Their zenith, with this inward faith accords, 
That Earth shall bloom with paradise regain'd, 
And be unweeded of her thorny woes 
And thistles ; and our Age itself is big 
With expectation of some golden dawn, 
Or peaceful glories. But alas ! for earth, 
If no millennium save what science brings, 
Await her ! if those moral truths sublime, 
That reach the Everlastingness of man's 
Dread future, have no room for reigning 

here : 
For, sooner may the hand of Science think 
To bale the ocean from its boundless depths, 
Than drain corruption from the soul of man ! 

'Tis here the worshippers of Mind, seduced 
By science, in their dreams half pagan grow, 
Politely bow apostles to the door, 
Or gently hint the Bible may be wrong ! 



For carnal Knowledge to herself is true 
And constant ever ! — back from God recoils 
Behind the tree, to eat forbidden fruit, 
Lurking, like Adam, in a guilty shade. 
But oh ! Thou Spirit of celestial life 
And wisdom, teach them first Thyself to know, 
And, knowing Thee, themselves to feel, and 

find 
That man unchristian is embodied sin ; 
And though embellish'd, and by art subdued, 
But veil'd corruptions all his virtues form 
Till faith can touch them with a spell divine. 

But there are prophets, who for Rome 
predict 
A downfall, not by arms of earthly might, 
Nor yet by reason, though its powers expand. 
Far humbler they : in things divine as deep, 
Jehovah is their reason ; and they bow 
With faith compliant at that mental Shrine 
Where Deity, in human words, unfolds 
The future, and Himself to love expounds. 
And thus convinced, and by the Spirit taught 
That man with man can never right be made, 
Till right with Godhead will and worship be, 
Our true advancement by preventive grace 
Alone they augur. Well their natures know, 
That as the sun with his bright rays is view'd 
The living God with His own love we love. 

Hence in the organ-voice of Prophecy 
And chanted hymns by rapt Isaiah pour'd, 
They catch the music of Messiah's reign 
That in them warbles ! But a wail there is, 
Or ever thus the gladden'd Earth shall lift 
Her choral triumphs, yet from man to rise : 
From seers august, from Enoch's olden time 
To him of Patmos, all their voice unite 
In diapason terribly distinct ; 
Denouncing woes, beyond what Time hath seen 
Or this world suffer' d, ere apostate Rome 
Be ruin'd, or millennial splendours reign. 
And though, by ardency of hope inspired, 
The distant future in fond dreams we scan, 
Enraptured, and those sun-gilt peaks admire, 
Deck'd by the radiance of a blissful dawn ; 
Just as the mountains of our world appear 
In the blue distance, lined in lofty range 
And harmonised by one unbroken swell, 
With no dark gulf beneath them, — so may Hope 
Too often on the heights prophetic gaze, 
And merge, and melt them in soft unity ; 
Though black the gloom, and dreadful the 

abyss 
Of wrath and judgment that between them 

frowns. 

A bridge of ages in prophetic time 
Our Dispensation is, by heaven decreed : 



SEVENTH VIAL SOUNDED. 



249 



Inclusively between those seers 'tis rank'd 
Who first Emmanuel in His veiling flesh 
Predicted, stricken, cursed and crucified 
For our acquittal; then,— the Christ enthroned 
Crown d with the royalties of reigning pomp 
Millennial. Thus an intervening gulph 
The second Advent from the Church divides. 

And stern analogy this view confirms, 
When teaching ages of th' historic Past 
Instruct the Present, not for heaven to hope, 
But rather, that our Gentile sun will sink 
A bloody Occident in wrath and gloom ! 

And what a warning, would our ears attend, 
Nor deaf as adders from the charming voice 
Avert them, do the unforgotten scenes 
Where Churches, once which miracles endow'd, 
Apostles water'd, and the Spirit's grace 
Divinely freshen'd with celestial dews, 
Preach to the haughty Age we honour now ! 
Where have they gone, those Daughters of the 

sea, 
Smyrna and Sardis, and the Sisters five 
Whose "Angels" oft the loved disciple 

taught 1 
And by the shores, where oriental waves 
Chime their lone music to the Afric blast, 
How perish'd all Tertullian's page unfolds 
When Carthage made his apostolic crown, 
And martyr'd Cyprian into glory died ! 
While Hippo, where sublime Augustine 

mused, 
Hath melted down to miserable nought ! 

These give dread warning, if we wisely 
make 
The Past a preacher to our Present be. 
But, sick at heart, and in the head unsound, 
And sleek, and satisfied with all we do, 
The mountain of our majesty appears 
Immoveable ! our age, Augustan call'd, 
Our arts advanced, our science most complete, 
Our wealth enormous, and our wisdom vast, 
On land victorious and by sea the same, 
While on our Empire sinks no travell'd sun ! — 
Bloated with privilege, we thus predict 
Perpetual glory for the worshipp'd Isle, 
Above destruction, and beyond decay. 



SEVENTH VIAL SOUNDED, 

A Church elected, not a world renew'd, 

Here is the Centre for united aims ; 

And faithful round it, touch'd by solemn 

awe 
Meekly and firmly may we watch ; and wait 
Th' unfolding Drama of that hour decreed 



For vengeance, when the scarlet " Beast" shall 

fall ; 
When He, in whom all types of terror blend 
And blacken into one colossal Form, 
The dread Fulfiller of prophetic woes 
And wailings, shall at last Himself reveal ! 
The sin of ages into one condensed 
Shall thus be acted ; then the Church endure 
That Fiend in flesh, of whom all Scripture 

shows 
Faint Antichrists, who cast their shades before 
The coming substance of infernal Might 
By Daniel vision' d, and by David sung 
In song terrific. Then, a Day of blood, 
Of burning deaths, of blackness and despair, 
All Creeds shall test, all living Churches try, 
Purging the faithful, till their dross they 

lose, 
And purified from out the flames arise 
In radiant beauty, and by love bedeck'd 
With bridal vesture to receive their Lord. 

And signs abound, and symptoms which 
escape 
All but the souls who see with Scripture's eye, 
That dooming hour by prophecy unveil'd, 
When Gentile churches shall dissolve, and end 
Amid the crash of Kingdoms. Far and wide, 
From Thames to Tiber throng the shadows 

thick 
Of terrors, which predict those Latter Times 
Ripe for the harvest of almighty wrath, 
When God for glory reaps His vengeance due. 
Look where he may, a watching Saint discerns 
No sackcloth'd Empire on its knees at prayer ; 
No Kingdom bow'd in penitence, or tears ; 
But all is headstrong, haughty, and unchanged 
As ever. Vainly have revolving Years 
Dread sermons preach'd on anarchy and crime 
To banded nations, or benighted men : 
And though Earth rocks, and Nature's foot- 
steps reel, 
Full on the* buckler of Jehovah's wrath 
The Age is rushing, 'gainst His bosses dread 
To dash its forehead, and endure the death 
Of Treason. Soon, perchance, may come 
A dark catastrophe, which closeth all 
That fearful Drama, which this fallen world 
Is now enacting on the stage of Sin. 
The ancient Dotard of the triple Crown 
Is yet a mocker, and the Bible hoots 
Madly as ever ; while absorbing Rome 
Beneath the banner of her witchcraft draws 
All warring opposites in creeds which rise, 
To swell her potency and aid her charms. 
Discord, and crime, and brutal passions rage ; 
And Lust, and Rapine, in delirium steep'd, 



Job xv. 16. 



250 



LUTHER. 



Weaken all truths, and let their lies abroad 
In lawless havoc over hearts and homes. 

And thus there rally, from the regions where 
Disturbing elements of mind can mix, 
All Powers and Principles, to final war. 
And by such phalanx, which a Fiend might 

lead 
To battle, when the world is well prepared, 
And leaven'd to the core with lying spells ; 
When Faith, the bond of all cementing bliss 
'Tween man and man, Her social life withdraws; 
And no religion to the Throne eterne 
Binds with a golden chain this earth below, 
Then may that Hour, by Luther's prescient eye 
Foreshadow'd, and by tragic Seers foretold, 
Come to a head, and Antichrist be scorch'd 
To cinders, by the thunder-blast of God ! 
The Vials six have all been emptied now ; 
The Trumpets six their peals of woe have blown, 
And of the Seals apocalyptic, six 
Their fated truths unfolded and fulfill'd : 
But when that Vial, for the seventh decreed, 
Its curse shall empty ; when the closing Trump 
Hurtles its thunder through the mystic heaven, 
Then may this world an Incarnation see 
Infernal : such as never, from the deeps 
Of utter Darkness hath permissive God 
Allow'd upon our palsied earth to stand. 

But whatsoe'er this shape of Hell appears, 
As Wicked, Wilful, or the Lawless one, 
Myst'ry in flesh, or Man with fiend combined, 
Papist, or Heathen, Jew, or Pagan he, 
If not in name, by nature he shall prove 
Son of Perdition ; who himself shall dare 
To magnify beyond all worshipp'd gods, 
Or Saint, or Angel, on his temple-throne ; 
And rob the Infinite of glory due 
By lying wonders. Come whate'er He may 
In form, or fashion, faith in this exults, 
That in the wine-press of almighty wrath 
Trampled and torn, beneath avenging Christ 
The final Antichrist is doom'd to fall ! 
For when awhile, on Satan's seven-hill'd seat 
The nameless Anarch hath his wine-cup drugg'd, 
And crush'd his compeers, till beneath his flag 
All Shapes of evil shall themselves enlist, 
Dilated, darken'd, and by deep excess 
Made terrible, beyond what terrors dream ; 
When thus, fell Antichrist himself proclaims 
A new almighty on creation's throne ! 
Then shall that Fight, whose dismal pomp arrays 
Full many a Vision with prophetic awe 
And many a promise with its glory fills, 
And many a verse with battle-music storms, 
Be hasten'd. Lo ! the bright Avenger comes 
In panoply of dreadful glory sheathed, 
And blasting ; till the disenchanted Earth 



Again shall smile, and with responsive joy 
Partake millennium in the Church's peace. 



ANTICHRIST. 

Yet, who can gaze, with spirit unappall'd, 
On the vast outlines of this coming Doom 
When all, which now in prophecy looks dead, 
Leaps into life and acts the part sublime ! 
And this great Battle of Almighty God 
By visions pictured, lyric poets sung, 
And with whose muffled roar the Bible rings, — 
Who can presume its awfulness to paint ] 
Then the Last Head of desolated Rome 
Under his banner, with his Kingdoms ten, 
And rebel Nations rallied at his cry, 
Shall, front to front, the God eternal meet 
For battle ; and beneath the blast Divine 
Down the deep hell of darkness and dismay 
Descend for ever to his doom accursed ! 

Dungeon'd in fetters, for a thousand years 
There shall He writhe; and in the racking 

curse 
Of judgment holy, shut and seal'd by wrath 
Resistless, magnify the Son of God, 
By this endurance of avenging doom. 
But yon bright Angels, who did faithful stand 
When He, the primest of their Splendours once, 
Fell in proud treason, by confirming grace 
In heaven to worship and on earth to wait 
Are destined ; and their golden harps shall ring 
In unison with choral saints, who now 
Circle The Lamb triumphant and enthroned. 



MILLENNIAL VISIONS. 

As some pale Bard from fever-dreams awakes, 
Haunted by shades and shadows undefined 
Yet fearful, making dark imagination shrink, 
Once more to look upon a heaven of stars 
Through the high lattice beaming, and to 

bathe 
His wearied temples in the fresh-wing'd air 
Exulting, — so from these stupendous glooms 
And themes of awe, where Reason stands 

abash'd, 
Back to the brightness and the bloom of earth 
We hasten. Here, what living glories throng, 
Prophetic numbers might indeed rehearse ; 
And vision scenes o'er which the harping 

Seers 
Enchanted roll'd their richest strains of song ; 
And in some lulling dream of Latter Days 
For this world destined, 'feel what Luther felt, 
On Pisgah-heights of prophecy enrapt 
As oft he mused, and hail'd millennial times. 



TIME AND ETERNITY. 



251 



But, now, expressionless the heart recoils ! — 
Under a weight of glory melt all words 
To muteness, when that imaged Kingdom comes 
On earth to be, what thus the Bible types, 
And tells of Purity's celestial reign. 
Then shall Redemption's perfect work respond, 
And reach to all which revelation sings 
In forms of Matter, or in facts of Mind, — 
Yet to evolve. Creation's groan shall cease ; 
And life, and sense, and earth, and air, and 

sky 
The vast enthronement of their Lord reveal, 
By the felt magic of His reign inspired 
And hallow'd. Glory in the sun will beam 
With sevenfold brilliance ; and the placid 

Moon 
Glide through the mazes of her moving stars 
With lustre deeper than rapt David saw 
By midnight harping : not a fruit, or flower 
Which bares its beauty to the prying breeze, 
That will not in th' o'erflowing love and light 
Of Earth's millennial consummation share. 

And when Christ reigns, far more than Adam 

saw 
The Earth shall witness in this bridal hour. 
But oh ! if Matter thus resplendent be, 
Who can pourtray inaugurated Mind'! 
For if e'en now the Church our world instructs, 
Though in her weakness, — when with Christ 

she reigns 
Entire creation from That Church may learn 
Perfect instruction, in the things profound 
Of God. And as her Lord gradations knew, 
And to the heights of His predestined rank 
Ascended, so may God's elect advance 
By faint reflections of His threefold sway, 
As Prophets, Priests, and Kings of other 

worlds 
And systems ; and this inorganic earth 
A palace of material splendours prove, 
Where Beauty visible its throne shall set, 
And o'er all worlds our own as model shine. 

Thus, on the footing of God's Word 

inspired 
Our hope we plant, and there this promise 

find, 
That throned Emmanuel with avenging ire 
Proud Antichrist shall blast, and then consume. 
The Jew shall yet his bright Jerus'lem see, 
And draw salvation from the Sides he pierced 
When Christ on Calv'ry bore the bitter Cross ; 
While hymning Gentiles their hosannahs join 
The Lamb around ; and resurrection-saints 
Call'd from the dust to greet their living 

Lord, 
A thousand years of coronation-bliss 
With Christ in glory shall on earth partake. 



Till when at length, on sin, and Satan's host 
And earth rebellious, final Judgment sets 
That Seal tremendous, which for ever shuts 
The perish'd in their prison-house of Woe 
And wrath unutter'd, earth and heaven shall 

reach 
A beauty endless, in baptismal fires 
Recast, and shine with more celestial bloom 
Than Sense can dream or Inspiration tells. 

Hence all creation will Messiah bring 
To full perfection, in its brightest form ; 
And back restore it to the heart of God 
From whence it wander'd. There, his king- 
dom ends, 
And Mediation down its sceptre lays* 
When nought between us and the Godhead 

comes. 
Then face to face adoring man will view 
The infinite ; nor means, nor modes be used, 
Nor sacraments, nor teaching symbols cast 
'Tween God and soul their intervening shade. 
In Deity the Church will be enshrined, 
His Attributes her perfect temple prove, 
Till God in mind the mind of God beget, 
And life eternal be Himself enjoy'd. 



TIME AND ETERNITY. 

Between the living and the dead our life 
Throbs like a brief vibration ; and how soon ' 
This pendulum of anxious being stops ! 
E'en in a moment, by some touch or tone 
Arrested, lo, the life of sense concludes, 
And we are launch'd beyond the tracking eye 
To follow ; by the Infinite absorb'd, 
And in the secret of Eternity ! 

And yet, as though Reality were here 
Alone authentic, how the hollow show 
Of things, which eye, or ear, can apprehend 
O'ercomes, and with monopolizing charm 
Our cheated mind attracts, and blunts the 

edge 
Of fine perception, for the spirit-world 
To come ! And oh, how rarely hoping Youth 
Turns to the future a prophetic gaze, 
Beyond this earth of shadows ! Tomb on tomb 
O'er life's descending pathway throws a shade; 
And many a heart-ache to some fever'd brain 
Must pay sad homage, ere the mocks of time 
Be scatter'd, and our nobler dreams of soul 
Their reign commence, and teach the gay to 

think. 



* " The Son also Himself shall be subject unto Him 
that put all things under Him, that God may be all 
in all. "—1 Cor. xt. 28. 



252 



LUTHER. 



Then, throbs the immortality of thought 
Within us ! then, adown the gulf unknown 
Of Life's hereafter prescient fancy looks, 
By faith made holy ; while we learn to feel 
That body forms the prison-house of soul, 
And, out of it the dead indeed are free ! 

And such are round us, in ethereal hours 
When earth recedes, and through the rents of 

"Time 
Beyond the Visible we dare to gaze, 
And gather wisdom from a world unseen, 
Though not unshadow'd by foreboding mind. 
Thus may all clouds of Sadducean tinge 
Dissolve, and placidly our dreams recall, 
And the loved features of our dead, recast ! 
By lonely shores, by melancholy seas, 
At moonlight's trance, or sunset's dreamy 

close, 
Down vaulted aisles or churchyard's cypress- 
gloom 
Slow-pacing ; or, beneath pictorial forms 
By Art's eternity of hues preserved, 
How oft we ponder o'er some face beloved ! 
Till, by that resurrection which the heart 
Eehearseth, we can bid their cherish'd tones 
To wake, and hear their wonted footsteps glide. 

But, deep the truth omniscient Scripture tells 
And sanctions,- — not one pulse of conscious 

Mind 
The Will Divine hath ever caused to play 
In human being, hath a single rest 
Experienced, since the primal throb began ! 
The spirit-people of God's world Unseen, 
Millions on millions though their number be, 
Are conscious, more than when by flesh 

encased, 
And clogg'd in action. Not a soul's extinct ! 
Still Adam thinks ; still Alexander feels ; 
Ceesar hath being ; Cleopatra lives ; 
And those crown'd butchers, whom the world 

calls brave, 
Are feeling more than when they battles fought : 
Yes, all who have been, great, or good, or vile, 
Patriarchs, prophets, intellectual kings, 
Heroes, or warriors, and those laurell'd priests 
Of truth, the poets of Eternity, 
All are a living, though a sightless, race ; 
Each in himself a hell, or heaven, become ! 
For Mind is everlasting ; and the Man 
Is there in essence, when contingents die. 
Thus may the Dead a more than sermon preach 
To awe the living, and this truth impress, 
That as we die, for ever we endure ! 
The same in principle the heart abides : 
Since Morals in their root continue one 
And changeless, though the Soul hath taken 

wing. 



Hence two Worlds claim us, by a sleepless 

law; 
But one moves round us, palpably instinct 
With life and passion ; and, alas ! absorbs 
In the Avild vortex of its vain delight, 
What to the other, though unseen, we owe 
Of faith and conscience. Thus, for time Ave live 
As well as in it ; thus, our hearts deny 
The Infinite that waits behind the Veil ; 
And when the living from our gaze retire 
We talk as though they lived not, and were 

quite 
From Being parted, as to sight no more ! 
Yet this is madness in the garb of sense ; 
The blinding mock of necromantic dreams, 
Dilating time into eternity 
And which eternity to time contract. 
For faith and reason in this truth conjoin, 
The dead are living, but their life unheard, 
Unfelt, unknown, beyond ideal thought 
To image, seldom can that man inspire 
Who walks by sense, and worships but the same. 



PARADISE OF THE DEAD.. 

Yet, thought has moments, when deep souls 

exclaim 
" Where are the Dead ] the Minds who once 

look'd forth 
In light from eyes, in language from kind lips, 
And by the daring of immortal deeds 
Breathed on our own, like inspirations % Where 
Where dwell the Spirits, who once felt, and 

fear'd, 
Who dream' d, desired, or acted, like ourselves 1 
Where have they fled ] In blank absorption, 

lost? 
Merged in the Infinite, engulf 'd, or gone ?- 
Melted to nothingness 1 Is this their doom?" 
Oh ! wait awhile : for e'en as wintry earth 
By the green outburst of some glorious spring 
Secrets of heavenly power in Nature's breast 
Developes, so may this material Scene 
With hidden radiance of celestial life 
Be clad hereafter ; since the reign of Saints 
Shall yet be witness' d, ruling over all 
Conspicuous, with a glory undescribed. 
The shell of Matter shall at once remove, 
Like a strange dream the Visible depart, 
And lo ! at once the "quick" on earth will 

stand 
By angels circled, and by saints enthrong'd, 
And in the midst incarnate God appear ! 

Meanwhile, the Bodiless in secret live 
Till all be rife, for this predestined form 
Of sudden, swift, and strange Apocalypse. 
Holy of Holies ! in thy shrine august 



FAREWELL. 



253 



High o'er all heavens, ethereal, and unreach'd 
By man's conception, dwell the Dead 

redeem'd. 
There, the saved myriads of the seal'd First- 
born * 
Present with Christ, from Him perchance 

acquire 
Truths which on earth Experience did not gain. 
Patriarchs, who dimly on the distant Christ 
Gazed in a promise, now with clearness look 
On Him they long'd to worship. Prophets, too, 
The meaning and the majesty of strains 
Mysterious, can by perfect thought expound ; 
Types are resolved ; and shadowy rites unveil'd ; 
The mystic Lamb, on typing altars laid, 
And Gospel, by Aaronic priesthood taught, 
Their great Original doth here unfold 
And proves Himself sole archetype of all. 
While they, who died in dimness or dismay, 
Haunted by fears, and harrow'd to the last 
By many a tremor, in restoring beams 
Of comfort, look upon their Lord, and live. 
And there, is Concord ! those conflicting notes 
Of human dissonance, which now destroy 
The solemn harmony of sainted minds, 
These can the Lord by melodizing grace 
Attune to oneness, till all souls agree. 
Hence, may that World where parted Spirits 

meet, 
A school of saintship for the Church elect 
Be found : there, The Lord His priesthood act, 
And God's magnificence of truth unveil ; 
Or, more and more the merit of His Blood 
Teach the bright Spirits, who around Him 

throng. 
And thrill they not, from Christ Himself to 

learn 
His wounds, how deep ! His mercy, how 

divine ! 
Till round that Saviour rapt hosannahs rise, 
And in the minstrelsy of heaven we hear 
" Worthy the Lamb ! for He was slain for us," 
Through the deep ages of eternity 
Swell like a torrent of melodious praise. 



FAREWELL. 

And to this world, around whose vision'd scene 
Our thoughts have trembled, Luther's wearied 

soul 
Advances ; soon will that tried heart repose 
In peace, beyond the loudest blast of time 
To ruffle. Twice some thirty years have delved 
Deep on his open brow their wrinkling trace ; 
And often hath he died in thought, and pray'd 



See Revelations. 



At home with Jesu in yon heavenly clime 

To have his welcome ! Hopes, beyond man's 

world 
To wither, far above the earth have borne 
His spirit ; in the balance of the truth 
Its visions and its vanities he weigh'd, 
And found them wanting ! Warn'd by heaven, 

he waits 
A kind dismissal to his last long home. 
For there, how many have before him fled, 
And seem to hail him from their thrones of 

grace 
Celestial ! 'Tis not, that proud murmurs rise 
From out his noble spirit ; but the hue 
Of Life's pale sunset, whose foreboding charm 
O'ershades the present with prophetic gloom. 
Youth with the living loves gay converse 

bright ; 
Age with the dead can high communion hold, 
Nor calls it mournful, when the graves 

unclose 
Their treasures, or departed friendships rise ; 
While votive Mem'ry drops the tear intense 
By Feeling gather'd in some aged eye ! 

And such, perchance, within the pensive 

gaze 
Of Luther glisten'd, when in hoary eld 
That home he enters, where a foodless boy 
Through Eisleben from house to house he 

sang 
For bread ! and dropt unseen the bitter tear 
Which moisten'd it, when cast from churlish 

hands. 
There, at his window, on the wintry heavens 
Bleak with the blast, and white with flaking 

snow, 
Dejectedly a thoughtful gaze he fix'd, 
While heaved his spirit with a swell of prayer 
By man unheard, but audible in heaven, 
Where thought is utt'rance. On his frame 

o'erbow'd 
Chill age was falling; and both languid 

nerves, 
And feeble sense, a boding symptom gave 
How soon with him the silver cord would 

loose, 
And bowl be broken at the fountain-head ! 
But not for this repined he : for the Church 
He sorrow'd ; and her doom with tearful eye, 
Foretold, as witness'd in the war of Creeds 
Around him raging. Thus, an autumn-tinge 
Sadden'd his future with prophetic shades 
Of woe and weakness; till, at times, he 

long'd 
Like Simeon, now in solemn peace to part, 
And on the bosom of his Lord expire. 
His work is done ; his warfare is complete ; 
And from eternity there seem'd to sound 



254 



LUTIIKIt. 



A bugle-note, that summon'd his retreat 
Home to the heaven salvation's Captain won. 

And what a world of undeveloped thoughts 
That moment of mysterious calm contain'd ! 
As in the centre of all boyish dreams 
And hours departed, there he mused, and 

pray'd ; 
Or the long windings of his wondrous life 
Haply with tears retraced, with sighs renew'd, 
And God in shade and sunshine equal saw, 
Guardian, and Guide, and Glory of his days 
Perpetual ! Like a fated life had been 
The vast experience of his varied course, 
From lowly nothing to that Alpine height 
Of fame and influence, where his manhood 

climb'd, 
And age was resting : scarce had patriarch's 

dream 
Or prophet's vision more of strange and 

stern 
And awful, in the things of God beheld 
Or suffer'd, than the Saxon monk endured, 
From faithful Enoch down to fearless Paul ! 
For, when had God His imprimatur put 
With brighter proof, than on the boundless 

Work 
Which now o'er kings and kingdoms, Man and 

Mind, 
Breathed of brave Luther, wheresoe'er it 

camel 
Sinful, indeed, before That Eye he felt, 
In Whose bright ray the heavens unclean 

appear ; 
But faithful to his Lord, and creed, and 

cause, 
Mercy had kept him ; and to Him he gave 
The crowning merit of the mighty Whole. 

'Twas thus a charm of retrospective peace 
Besoothed him, when he felt no dread reproach 
From craft, or compromise, o'erwhelm'd him 

now. 
Firm had he lived, and faithful would he die, 
In life unblemish'd and in death the same ! 



CHAMBEE OF DEATH. 

And if the chamber where the humblest 

yield 
The burden of their being up to God, 
Down to the roots of tenderness awakes 
Affection's nature ; if the feeblest Saint 
Who hovers on the precipice of time, 
When beetling o'er Infinity below 
Takes to himself some attributes, which speak 
Of awe and grandeur, can we gather round 
The bed of glory where a Luther dies, 



Nor feel an inspiration 1 Can Ave mark 
That eagle-spirit, from its chain unbound, 
In light and liberty o'er this dim world 
Escaping, nor a solemn thrill partake 
Speechless, but how expressive ! There he 

lies ! 
Pale in the swoon of swift-approaching death : 
But mind is yet majestic ; and his eyes 
From the dark lustre of their burning depths 
Yet flash with meaning, and the soul express 
Conscious, and clear as ever ; while the lips 
Move with that verse, which on Messiah's 

once 
Quiver'd in peace, when David's words of faith 
Wing'd His worn spirit to the Breast of God. 

Deeper and deeper now the shades of death 
Around him close, while drop the fainting lids 
O'er his sunk eyeballs ; thickly heave and fall 
Those panting breath-gasps, while the ear of 

Love 
Drinks with delight some shatter'd tones, or 

sighs 
Of Bible-promise, or those falter'd notes 
Of Faith, which tell the spirit-life within. 
The strife is mortal, but the strength divine 
That meets it ! Death all stingless, and the 

Law 
All dreadless, — neither can from Luther's 

heart 
Hurl the high confidence a christian seats 
There on its throne of evangelic truth. 
Around him friends, and mourners, each with 

sob 
Half-stified, and with tears which hang unshed 
On the still'd eyelids of revering love, 
Are group'd ; while bands of waiting Angels 

watch 
That mighty Spirit into glory pass ! 
Cold is the damp which dews his whit'ning 

brow, 
And pains convulse him with continuous 

rack ; 
But underneath that palpitating flesh 
Calm lies the soul ! in peace celestial bathed, 
Though clay and spirit sunder. Hark ! again 
The last weak cry of ling'ring nature lifts 
A dying homage to the Truth Divine, 
And then, on yonder kneeling forms and 

friends 
Before him, falls one faint and farewell gaze, 
And, — all is over ! while his features fix 
Their pale expression into placid trance. 
No sigh is heard ; nor groan, nor shudder 

comes ; 
But wordless, and with hands devoutly 

lock'd, 
And mute as monumental Prayer, he lies, 
A dead Immortal deep in glory now ! 



DEAD, YET SPEAKETH." 



255 



How hush'd, how holy, how intensely rapt 
As though the blood would listen as it flow'd, 
Till the brain rocks, and check'd emotion 

reels, 
That moment is, when first mysterious Death 
In full development his form unshrouds, 
Solemn and stern ! And there, yon reft ones 

bend 
Moveless, and pale, like shapes of sculptured 

Woe 
O'er breathless Luther : each, by curb of 

thought, 
The big sensation from outbursting cry 
Restraining ; not a tone of anguish breaks 
The silence; speechless on his brow they 

gaze ; 
So still, that breath most audibly intrudes ; 
And each can hear the living heart-beats play 
O'er his beneath them, pulseless, and at 

peace. 

Behind our veiling drapery of Sense 
Baffled we are from darting forth one glance 
Of mental knowledge ; or the heart, methinks, 
Might dream, when Luther's disembodied 

Soul 
Pass'd from the flesh to join the spirit- 
throng, 
The inner- world some vast impression felt ; 
While the high Dead, by heaven-born instinct 

moved, 
Rose from their thrones, to give him welcome 

due 
When first He enter'd their elysian scene. 

Tears are the litany of weeping hearts 
When heroes vanish to their native heaven ; 
And let them consecrate an hour like this, 
For there th' Elijah of the Gospel lies ! 
And rarely to the spirit-clime hath fled 
From this low earth, a loftier soul than he, 
The lion-hearted Luther ! Never more 
That princely mind with gen'rous pang shall 

bleed : 
He sleeps in Jesus, but he wakes to Gcd 
Chanting in heaven the song on earth he 

sung, 
" Worthy the Lamb ! for he was slain for 

me!" 
The race is o'er ; the goal immortal reach'd ; 
Servant of Light, and vassal of its Lord, 
Him hath the Master with the host above 
United, call'd, rewarded, and resumed 
Back to the Bosom whence his graces flow'd. 

And let the pope and priest their victor 
scorn, 
Each fault reveal, each imperfection scan, 
And by some fell anatomy of hate 



His life dissect, with satire's keenest edge ; 
But still may Luther with his mighty heart 
Defy their malice, though it breathe of hell. 
If soul majestic, and a dauntless mien ; 
If faith colossal, o'er all fiends and frowns 
Erect ; if energy, which never slack' d, 
With all that galaxy of graces bright 
Which stud the firmament of christian mind, 
If these be noble, with a zeal conjoin'd 
Which made his life one liturgy of love, 
Then may the Saxon from his death-couch 

send 
A dreadless answer that refutes all foes, 
Who dwarf his merit or his creed revile 
With falsehood. Far beyond them soars the 

Soul 
They slander ; from his tomb there still comes 

" forth 
A challenge, which rebukes them by its power ; 
And the brave monk who made the Popedom 

rock 
Champions a World to show his equal yet ! 



"DEAD, YET SPEAKETH." 

Luther is dead ! and like the Church's 

knell 
Sounds the sad tale in Europe's startled ear : 
Princes are thrill'd with consternation's throe, 
And trembles now the Reformation's ark ! 
But, turn we most to see Melancthon's tear 
Sacred as ever dropp'd from friendship's eye. 
Nations alone the great Reformer knew, 
But he the Man had loved, and mourn'd him 

thus 
As David over Jonathan bemoan'd, 
Passing the grief of woman! 'Twas th' 

eclipse 
Of earth's best sunshine, when his Luther 

died : 
For years had tried them with severest test, 
And at each close, more fervidly in faith 
Had left them : therefore, what but soothing 

Heaven 
The dismal tumult of his harrow'd mind 
Can hush, and soften into sacred calm 1 
Theirs was a friendship, which no earthly soil 
Can generate ; from heavenly seed it sprang, 
And bloom'd unwither'd, 'mid the blight and 

blast 
Of cold earth's changes. Each to each a grace 
Imparted, which, apart, they did not wield. 
Their light was varied but their love was 

one; 
And the mild discord of commingled souls 
In friendship made the harmony more sweet : 
While o'er the failings of their mutual hearts 
A garment of sweet charity was thrown, 



256 



LUTHER. 



To hide them. Thus, harsh Luther in some 

mood 
Tempestuous, when a lawless rage ran high, 
From mild Melancthon forced no bitter tone; 
For soon that tempest of a moment sank 
To loving silence ; forth the rainbow smiled ! 
And rich good humour cast its rosy gleam 
O'er the brief gloom a frowning word begot. 
And thus 'twill ever be, when hearts are true 
As tender : frankly bold, and freely plain, 
'Tis not in nature when by Christ endow'd, 
A smile forgiving from a fault confest 
To hide, since love is here our holy creed : 
And kindness forms a talismanic key, 
Opening the heart well-lock'd to all beside. 

Luther is dead, and lone Melancthon weeps ;* 
And, reader ! hast thou no responsive tear 



* Luther died early in the morning of the ISth of 
February, 1546, at Eisleben, his native place. The 
Counts of Mansfeldt -wished to have him interred in 
then - own territories ; but by command of the Elector, 
the body was brought to Wittemberg, and buried with 
all public honours in the church of All Saints. His 
tomb has a brass plate with the following inscription 
on it : — 

MARTIXI • LUTHERI ■ S ■ THEOLO- 
GLE • D • CORPUS ■ H ■ L • S ■ E • QUI 
AN • CHRISTI • M • D • XL VI • XII. 
CAL • MARTII • EYSLEBII ■ IX ■ PA- 
TRIA • S • M • O . C . V • AXX ■ LXIII. 
M 'TL-D.! 

When Melancthon first received the intelligence of 
his friend's death, he exclaimed, "My Father! my 
Father! the chariot of Israel and the horsemen 
thereof." (2 Bangs, xi. 12.) For the following transla- 
tion of the funeral oration, as delivered by Melancthon 
at the funeral of Luther, we are indebted to Dr. Cox. 
— Life of Melancthon, 2nd ed., p. 439 — 452. 

OEATIOX. 

"Although amidst this general mourning my voice 
is so obstructed by deep affliction and tears, yet some- 
thing I would attempt to say, not to eulogise the dead 
as the heathen do, but to admonish the living in this 
vast assembly, and especially to impress just senti- 
ments upon the junior part of the auditory respecting 
the government of the church and its dangers, that 
they may learn what to desire, and by what examples 
to regulate then lives. "Wicked and infidel men re- 
present eveiything in the present apparent confusion 
of human affairs as the result of mere chance ; but 
confiding in the numerous and explicit declarations of 
God himself, we distinguish the church from the pro- 
miscuous multitude of mankind, and affirm that it is 
under Divine superintendence and protection. To 
this we constantly look, obeying our lawful governors, 
and cherishing a pious reverence for those guides and 
instructors whom we choose. 

" It will be necessary to advert to these considera- 
tions as often as the name of the Reverend Doctor 
Martin Luther, our most beloved father and teacher, 
is introduced, whom we love and honour, detestable 
as he appears in the eyes of many wicked men, and 
whom we know to have been raised up by heaven as 



With his to mingle I Is thy gone career 
Tombless 1 And over no departed friend 
Heaves the green turf? Or is thy present 

hung 
With no sad cypress for a perish'd joy, 



a minister of the true gospel, by evidences which, 
notwithstanding the charges of our opponents, prove 
that his doctrines were neither seditious, nor dispersed 
abroad with a blind and impetuous zeal. 

' ' In this place, and on these occasions, many things 
are usually said in a panegyrical strain respecting the 
personal endowments of the deceased; I propose, 
however, to omit these, and advert chiefly to his 
ecclesiastical function. Intelligent and pious persons 
will admit, if he were the means of promoting useful 
and necessary truth in the church, we ought to be 
grateful to the providence of God for raising up such 
a light, while his labours, faith, perseverance, and 
other virtues, ought to be duly acknowledged, and his 
memory tenderly cherished by all worthy men. 

" The Apostle St. Paul represents Christ as ' having 
ascended on high to give gifts unto men ' — that is, the 
preaching of the gospel and the Holy Spirit ; for the 
purpose of communicating which, 'he gave some 
apostles, and some prophets, and some evangelists, 
and some pastors and teachers, selecting them from 
amongst those who read, study, and delight in the 
sacred writings. Xor are they only called into the 
Christian service who occupy the more ordinary 
stations, but others are frequently introduced^ under 
the direction of learned men, into this holy warfare ; 
and it is both pleasing and profitable to witness the 
care of God to his church throughout all ages, in 
sending a continued succession of useful men. that as 
some fall in the glorious field, others may instantly 
rush forward to take their places. The first of our 
race who nobly occupied the foremost ranks were 
Adam, Seth, Enoch. Methuselah, Xoah, Shem and Lot, 
The latter, being yet alive, and dwelling in the neigh- 
bourhood of Sodom, when the inhabitants of the 
earth, forgetting the instructions of Xoah and Shem, 
became addicted to idolatry, God raised up a co- 
adjutor to Shem in the person of Abraham, to 
co-operate in the great work of propagating divine 
truth. To him succeeded Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph, 
who kindled the light of true religion in Egypt, at 
that period the most flourishing empire in the world ; 
and to them, Moses, Joshua, SamueL David, Elijah 
and Elisha. Isaiah, Jeremiah, Daniel, and Zachariah. 
After them arose Esdras, Onias, and the Maccabees ; 
then Simeon, Zacharias, John the Baptist, Christ and 
his Apostles. I am delighted to contemplate this un- 
broken succession, which affords conspicuous evidence 
of the presence of God in his church. The apostles 
were succeeded by a troop, so to speak, of inferior 
warriors, but nevertheless distinguished of heaven — 
Polycarp, Lrenaeus, Gregory of Xeocaesarea, Basil, 
Augustin, Prosper, Maximus, Hugo, Bernard, Talerus, 
and others ; and although the latter ages present a 
more barren prospect, God has always preserved a 
proportion of his servants upon the earth, and now 
through Martin Luther, a more splendid period of 
light and truth has appeared. 

" To this enumeration of the most eminent amongst 
the sons of men who gathered and reformed the church 
of God, may be added others who may be regarded as 
the flower of mankind. Solon, Themistocles, Scipio, 
Augustus, and others, who either established or ruled 



"DEAD, YET SPEAKETH.' 



257 



Or faded dear ones, into dust relapsed 1 
Alas ! the heart's N~ecroplis is filled 
With many a tomb by Mem'ry's votive hand 
And, where is he, that prodigy of joy 



over mighty empires, were indeed truly great men, 
but very far inferior to our illustrious leaders, Isaiali, 
John the Baptist, St. Paul, Augustin, and Luther, 
and it becomes us to study this distinction. What, 
then, are those great and important things which 
Luther has disclosed to our view, which render his 
life so remarkable, and for which many are exclaiming 
against him as a disturber of the church and a pro- 
moter of inexplicable controversies ? I answer, that 
when the Holy Spirit, in his regulation of the church, 
l-eproves the world for sin, dissensions arise out of 
the pertinacity of wicked men, and they alone are 
culpable who refuse to listen to the proclamation of 
the eternal Father concerning his Son — ' This is my 
beloved Son, hear him.' Luther explained the true 
and important doctrine of penitence, which was in- 
volved in the profoundest darkness. He showed in 
what it consists, and where refuge and consolation 
could be obtained under a sense of Divine displeasure. 
He illustrated the statements of St. Paul respecting 
justification by faith, and showed the distinction 
between the law and the gospel, civil and spiritual 
justification. He pointed out the true principle of 
prayer, and exterminated that heathenish absurdity 
of the church, that God was not to be invoked if the 
mind entertained the least doubt upon an academic 
question. He admonished men to pray, in the exer- 
cise of faith and a good conscience, to the only 
Mediator and Son of God, who is seated at the right 
hand of the Father, making intercession for us, and 
not to images or deceased saints, according to the 
shocking practice of the ignorant. He also pointed 
out other services acceptable to God, was singularly 
exemplary himself in all the duties of life, and sepa- 
rated the puerilities of human rites and ceremonies, 
which prevent, instead of promoting, genuine wor- 
ship, from those services which are essential to 
obedience. In order that heavenly truth might be 
transmitted to posterity, he translated the prophetic 
and apostolic writings into the German language, and 
with so much accuracy, that his version of itself 
places Scripture in a more perspicuous light than 
most commentaries. But he published also various 
expositions upon the sacred writings, which, in the 
judgment of Erasmus, by far excelled all others ; and 
as it is recorded respecting those who rebuilt Jerusalem, 
' with one hand they laid the stones, and with the other 
they held the sword ; ' so while he composed annota- 
tions on Scripture, replete with heavenly instruction, 
and consoled afflicted consciences by his pious counsels, 
he was necessitated at the same time to wage incessant 
war with the adversaries of evangelical truth. When 
it is recollected that this truth, especially the doctrine 
of faith and the remission of sins, is not discoverable 
by the merely human eye, it must be acknowledged 
he was taught of God ; and many of us have wit- 
nessed his anxious solicitude to impress the great 
principle of acceptance by faith. Multitudes of the 
saints will therefore praise God to all eternity, for the 
benefits which have accrued to the church by the 
labours of Luther. To God their gratitude is pri- 
marily due, and then they will own themselves much 
indebted to his labours, although infidels, who ridicule 
the church in general, will consider these noble per- 



In age partaking all his childhood had 
Of household-blessing, or parental bliss 1 
Oh ! long ere wintry years the head have 
hoar'd, 



formances as no better than empty trifling or absolute 
insanity. The true church does not, as some falsely 
affirm, promote intricate disputations, throw out the 
apple of contention, and propose the enigmas of the 
fabled Sphinx ; for to those who judge seriously, and 
without prejudice, it is easy from a comparison of 
opposite opinions to perceive what are consonant to 
the statements of heavenly truth, and what are other- 
wise. Christians are no longer in a state of hesitation 
on the subject of existing controversies, for when 
God determined to reveal his will, and display his 
character in the sacred writings, it is not to be 
imagined that such a communication would be am- 
biguous, like the leaves of the ancient Sibyl. 

" Some, by no means evil-minded persons, however, 
express a suspicion that Luther manifested too much 
asperity. I will not affirm the reverse, but only quote 
the language of Erasmus, ' God has sent in this latter 
age a violent physician, on account of the magnitude 
of the existing disorders ; ' fulfilling, by such a dis- 
pensation, the Divine message to Jeremiah — 'Behold, 
I have put my words in thy mouth. See, I have this 
day set thee over the nations, and over the kingdoms, 
to root out and pull down, and to destroy and to 
throw down, to build and to plant. ' Nor does God 
govern his church according to the counsels of men, 
nor choose to employ instruments like theirs to 
promote His purposes. But it is usual for inferior 
minds to dislike those of a more ardent character. 
When Aristides observed the mighty affairs which 
Themistocles, by the impulse of a superior genius, 
undertook and happily accomplished, although he 
congratulated the state on the advantage it possessed 
in such a man, he studied every means to divert his 
zealous mind from its pursuits. I do not deny that 
ardent spirits are sometimes betrayed into undue 
impetuosity, for no one is totally exempt from the 
weaknesses incident to human nature ; but they often 
merit the praise assigned by the ancient proverb to 
Hercules, Cimon, and other illustrious characters, 
oczou^/os fjciv aXXce, too jj-iyitrrx. ocya8b;, ' rough) 
indeed, but distinguished by the best principles. ' In 
the Christian church, the Apostle St. Paul mentions 
such as ' war a good warfare, holding faith and a good 
conscience, ' and who are both pleasing to God and 
estimable amongst pious men. Such an one was 
Luther, who, while he constantly defended the pure 
doctrines of Christianity maintained a conscientious 
integrity of character. No vain licentiousness was 
ever detected in him, no seditious counsels ; but, on 
the contrary, he often urged the most specific measures, 
and never, never did he blend political artifices, for 
the augmentation of power with ecclesiastical affairs. 
Such wisdom and such virtue, I am persuaded, do 
not result from mere human skill and diligence, but 
the mind must be divinely influenced, especially 
when it is of the more rough, elevated, and ardent 
cast like that of Luther. 

"What shall I say of his other virtues ? Often have 
I myself gone to him unawares, and found him dis- 
solved in tears and prayers for the Church of Christ. 
He devoted a certain portion of almost every day to 
the solemn reading of some of the Psalms of David 
with which he mingled his own supplications amidst 



258 



LUTHER. 



Or thoughts their furrows in the forehead 

plough'd 
Eternity with time at least divides 
Our friendships. Heaven has oft the better 

half 
Of hopes which brighten'd, or of hearts that 

blest 



sighs and tears ; and he has frequently declared how 
indignant he felt against those who hastened over 
devotional exercises through sloth, or the pretence of 
other occupations. On this account, said he, Divine 
wisdom has prescribed some formularies of prayer, 
that our minds may be inflamed with devotion by 
reading them ; to which, in his opinion, reading aloud 
very much conduced. When a variety of great and 
important deliberations respecting public dangers 
have been pending, we have witnessed his prodigious 
vigour of mind, his fearless and unshaken courage. 
Faith was his sheet anchor, and by the help of God 
he was resolved never to be driven from it. Such was 
his penetration, that he perceived at once what was 
to be done in the most perplexing conjunctures ; nor 
was he, as some supposed, negligent of the public 
good, or disregardful of the wishes of others ; but he 
was well acquainted with the interests of the state, 
and pre-eminently sagacious in discovering the capa- 
city and dispositions of all about him. And although 
he possessed such extraordinary acuteness of intellect, 
he read both ancient and modern ecclesiastical 
writings with the utmost avidity, and histories of 
every kind, applying the examples they furnished to 
existing circumstances with remarkable dexterity. 
The undecaying monuments of his eloquence remain, 
and, in my opinion, he equalled any of those who have 
been most celebrated for their resplendent oratorical 
powers. 

" The removal of such a character from amongst us, 
of one who was endowed with the greatest intellectual 
capacity, well instructed, and long experienced in 
the knowledge of Christian truth, adorned with 
numerous excellences, and with virtues of the most 
heroic cast, chosen by Divine Providence to reform 
the church of God, cherishing for all of us a truly and 
paternal affection, — the removal, I say, of such a 
man demands and justifies our tears. We resemble 
orphans bereft of an excellent and faithful father; 
but while it is necessary to submit to the will of 
Heaven, let us not permit the memory of his virtues 
and his good offices to perish. He was an important 
instrument, in the hands of God, of public utility ; let 
us diligently study the truth he taught, imitating in 
our humble situations his fear of God, his faith, the 
intensity of his devotions, the integrity of his minis- 
terial character, his purity, his careful avoidance of 
seditious counsel, his ardent thirst of knowledge. 
And, as we frequently meditate upon the pious 
examples of those illustrious guides of the church, 
Jeremiah, John the Baptist, and St. Paul, whose 
histories are transmitted to us, so let us frequently 
reflect upon the doctrine and course of life which dis- 
tinguished our departed friend. Let the present vast 
assembly now unite with me in grateful thanks and 
fervent supplications, saying, in the spirit of ardent 
devotion — ' We give thanks to thee, Almighty God, 
the Eternal Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the 
Author and Founder of thy church, together with thy 
co-eternal Son, and the Holy Spirit, wise, good, mer- 
ciful, just, true, powerful, and sovereign, becausa 



Our Life's fair morning ! Soon the world 

grows strange ; 
And bleak and barren do our pathways grow 
As more and more they wind us to the grave. 
And well, if friendship only be the loss 
We suffer ; oft, our noblest feelings die ; 
The heart is bankrupt, though the head be 

rich, 
While all those young simplicities of soul * 



thou dost gather for thy Son a heritage from amongst 
the human race, and dost maintain the ministry of 
the gospel, and hast reformed thy church by means 
of Luther ; we present our ardent supplications that 
thou wouldst henceforth preserve, fix, and impress 
upon our hearts the doctrines of truth, as our Saviour 
prayed for his disciples ; and that by thy Holy Spirit 
thou wouldst inflame our minds with a pure devo- 
tion, and direct our feet into the paths of holy 
obedience.' 

"As the removal of illustrious men from the church 
is frequently a means of punishing their survivors, 
such of us as are entrusted with the office of tuition, 
myself personally, and all of us collectively, entreat 
you to reflect upon the present calamities that 
threaten the whole earth. Yonder, the Turks are 
advancing ; here, civil discord threatens ; and there, 
other adversaries, released at last from the apprehen- 
sion of Luther's censures, will proceed with a perverse 
ingenuity, and with increased boldness, to corrupt 
the genuine truth. That God may avert these evils, 
let us be more diligent in the regulation of our lives 
and studies, always retaining a deep impression of 
this sentiment in our minds, that as long as we 
maintain, hear, obey, and love the pure doctrines of 
the gospel, God will always have a church and a 
dwelling-place among us. ' If,' said Jesus Christ, ' a 
man love me, he will keep my words ; and my Father 
will love him, and we will come unto him, and make 
our abode with him.' Encouraged by this ample 
promise, let us be stimulated to inculcate the truth 
of heaven; knowing that the church will be the 
preservation of the human race and the security of 
established governments ; and let us constantly 
elevate our minds to that future and eternal state 
of being, to which God himself calls our attention, 
who has not given so many witnesses, nor sent his 
Son into the world in vain, but delights in the com- 
munication of these magnificent blessings. Amen. " 

* It is the combination of simplicity of heart with 
grandeur of intellect, which awakens such profound 
sympathy, when we contemplate Luther, the Man, as 
well as the Reformer. The following extracts from 
his ' ' Colloquia " are each delightful in their way. 
The one testifies his tenderness ; the second, his 
simplicity ; the third, the genuine humour of his 
character. 

Epitaph of Magdalena, Martin Luther's daughter, 
who died anno 1542, aged fourteen years, written by 
the father himself : — 

"Dormio cum Sanctis hie Magdalena, Lutheri 
Filia, et hoc strato tecta quiesco meo. 
Filia mortis eram, peccati semine nata, 
Sanguine sed vivo, Christe, redempta tuo. " 

"When his daughter was very ill, he said, 'I love 
her well, but, O my God, if it is thy will to take her 
hence, I must resign myself to thee.' She was lying in 
bed, and looking at her, he said, with tears in his eyes, 



DEAD, YET SPEAKETH." 



259 



Which lay on character's expanding buds 
Like drops of morning, in their freshness 

bright, 
Exhale, and leave an autumn-waste behind. 



'My dear little daughter, — my dear little Madaline ! 
You will remain willingly with your father here, or 
you will go willingly hence to your other Father ? ' 
She replied, 'Yes, my dear father, as God pleases.' 
' Dear little child, ' said Luther, ' thy spirit is willing, 
but thy flesh is weak.' He walked a long time up 
and down the room, and at length said, ' Yes, I have 
loved her well ; if the flesh is strong, in what state 
will the spirit be ? ' He said, among other things, 
' God has not bestowed so many gifts upon any 
bishop for a thousand years as upon me, for we ought 
to glorify God for his gifts. Ah ! I am enraged at 
myself that I do not rejoice from my heart and render 
thanks. I will sing from time to time a little song of 
praise to the Lord. ' 

"The night before the death of his daughter 
Madaline, the Doctor's wife dreamt that there ap- 
peared to her two beautiful boys, well clothed, who 
wished to guide her daughter and take her in mar- 
riage. Philip Melancthon asked her, — ' What did you 
make of your daughter? ' She told him her dream ; 
at which he was greatly affected, and said to the 
others, 'The two boys are sacred angels, who have 
come to lead the virgin to the true wedlock of the 
celestial kingdom. ' She died that very day. 

"When little Madaline was in agony, and was 
nearly breathing her last, her father fell on his knees 
at her bedside, wept bitterly, and entreated God to 
save her. She expired in his arms. Her mother was 
happily in the same room, but at a little distance 
from her bed, on account of her affliction. Doctor 
Luther often exclaimed, ' God's will be done ! — 
my daughter has still a Father in heaven.' 
Philip Melancthon observed to him, 'The love of 
parents is a divine image imprinted on the heart of 
man. God no less loves the human race than parents 
their children.' When they put her into the coffin, 
her father said, ' Poor dear little Madaline ! behold 
thee now ! ' He looked at her, and said, ' Oh, dear 
infant ! you will rise again ; you will shine as a 
star ; yes, as a sun. I am joyful in spirit, but I am 
sorrowful in the flesh. It is a marvellous thing to 
know that she is certainly in peace, and yet for me to 
be so sad.' 

"During the Diet of Augsburg, Luther wrote the 
following letter to his son John, then about fourteen 
years of age. This letter is remarkable for its happy 
composition and its playful allusions. It is in itself 
a complete elucidation of Luther's domestic character. 

" ' Grace and peace to you in Jesus Christ, my dear 
little child. I perceive with pleasure that you are 
making good progress in your learning, and that you 
now give attention to your prayers. Continue to do 
so, my dear child, and when I return home I will give 
you baautiful things. 

"'I know a lovely and smiling garden, full of 
children dressed in robes of gold, who play under the 
trees with beautiful apples, pears, cherries, nuts, and 
prunes. They sing, they leap, they are all joyful; 
there are also beautiful little ponies, with bridles of 
gold and saddles of silver. In passing through the 
garden, I asked a man what it meant, and who were 
the children. He replied, 'These are the children 
who love to pray and to learn, who are pious and 



Not such were thine, Melancthon ! Round 
thy grief 
A radiant hope of sweet re-union there, 
In that high world of fearlessness and truth 



good children. ' I said to him, ' Dear friend, I have 
also a child, his name is little John Luther : might 
he not also come here and eat these beautiful apples 
and pears, ride on these beautiful ponies, and play 
with the other children?' The man replied to me, 'If 
your child, your dear little John Luther, is wise, if 
he says his prayers, and learns willingly, he may 
come, and he may bring little Philip and James* 
along with him. He will here find fifes, drums, and 
other fine instruments to produce music ; they will 
dance and amuse themselves with the cross-bow.' 
While I was speaking, the man pointed out to me, in . 
the middle of the garden, a beautiful grass park, 
where the children danced, and where the fifes, 
drums, and cross-bows were all lying. But it was 
morning ; the children had not breakfasted, and I 
only waited till the dance commenced. I then said 
to the man, ' Dear sir, I intend to write immediately 
to my dear little John, and I will tell him to be a 
good boy, to pray, and learn well, that he may be 
permitted to come to this garden. He has a dear 
little sister, whom he loves much; her name is 
Madaline, may he bring her with him ? ' The man 
replied, ' Yes ; tell him they may both come together. ' 
Be wise, then, my dear little boy ; tell Philip and 
James to be wise also, and you will be allowed to 
visit and play in the beautiful garden. I commend 
my dear child to the protection of God. Salute 
Madaline, and give her a kiss for me. Your father 
who loves you, ' Mabtin Luther. 

"'19th June, 1530.' 

"He wrote to his friends at Wittemberg the fol- 
lowing exquisitely humorous and satirical letter, 
during the sitting of the Diet of Augsburg — 

" 'Grace and peace in Christ Jesus our Lord be 
with you, dear sirs and friends. I have received your 
letters, and understand from them how it fares with 
you all. That you may be aware how it fares with 
us, I hereby give you to know that we, namely, I, 
Master Veit, and Cyriac, do not go to the Diet at 
Augsburg ; we are, however, here attending another 
diet. 

"'For know, that just beneath our window is a 
rookery in a small wood, and there the rooks and jack- 
daws hold their diet. There is such a j ourneying to and 
fro, such a cry and clamour day and night, without 
any ceasing, as if they were all drunken, and old and 
young chatter all at once, that it is a marvel to me 
how voice and breath can so long hold it; and I 
would fain know whether in your parts you have any 
such like nobles and cavaliers. It seems to me that 
they are gathered together here from all the ends of 
the earth. 

' ' ' Their emperor I have not seen ; but their nobles 
and their great merchants are for ever strutting before 
our eyes, not, in truth, in very costly garments, but 
rather simply clad in one colour ; they are all dressed 
in black ; all are gray eyed, and sing the same song, 
except with some pretty differences of old and young, 



* The sons of Philip Melancthon. Little is known 
of them, and it is supposed that they died in early 
life. 



s 2 



260 



LUTHER. 



Where all of heavenly which on earth we lose 
Again shall greet us, and a glory wear 
Perfect and bright, beyond our purest mind 
Below to witness. There, shall friend with 
friend 



great and small. They reck not of vast palace or 
stately hall, for their hall is roofed with the fair wide 
heaven. Their floor is the bare field, strewed with 
dainty green twigs, and its walls are as wide as the 
world's end. Nor do they require steed or harness ; 
they have feathered wheels, wherewith they escape 
from the fire of their enemies, and avoid their rage. 
There are high and mighty lords amongst them ; but 
what they resolve I know not. Thus much, how- 
ever, have I gathered from an interpreter, that they 
have a mighty expedition in hand, and wage war 
against wheat, barley, oats, rye, and all manner of 
corn and grain ; and herein will many win knight- 
hood, and do great feats of arms. We also sit here in 
diet, and hear and see with great pleasure and delight 
how the princes and lords, together with the states 
of the empire, so joyously sing, and make good cheer. 
But especial joy have we when we see with how 
haughty an air they strut, clean their bills, and 
attack the defences, and how they gain conquest and 
glory against wheat and barley. We humbly salute 
them all, and wish that they were all well spitted on 
a hedge-stake together. 

" ' I hold, however, that they are most like to the 
sophists and papists with their preaching and 
writing ; for I would fain have them all in a heap 
before me, that I may hear their sweet voices and 
preachings, and see how right useful a folk they are 
to consume all that the earth brings forth, and to 
while away the heavy time in chattering. 

'"To-day we have heard the nightingale for the 
first time ; for she would put no trust in April. It 
has been right glorious weather all day, nor has it 
rained, except yesterday a little. With you it is per- 
chance otherwise. Herewith I commend you to God. 
Fare ye well. From the Diet of the Conturks.* — 
April 28, 1530.' 

" ' The latter part of Luther's life was chiefly occu- 
pied in completing his version of the Scriptures, 
preaching, and composing tracts in opposition to the 
papal superstitions, and doctrinal or practical errors 
among the Protestants. His incessant and unre- 
mitting zeal brought upon him premature old age ; 
and during the last years of his life his health and 
constitution were completely broken and enfeebled. 
'His compositions,' observes a writer, 'consisting 
chiefly of controversial tracts, commentaries on scrip- 
ture, sermons, epistolary disquisitions, and narratives 
of the chief events of his life, are calculated by 
Seckendorf at the extraordinary number of eleven 
hundred and thirty-seven ; and if to these be added the 
labours of his public duty, and the variety of his cor- 
respondence, some idea may be formed of his inde- 
fatigable application. ' His sedentary occupations and 
mental excitement began now seriously to affect his 
health, which had hitherto been maintained by his 
remarkably temperate habits. His letters from this 
period are filled with statements of his ill health, 
feebleness, and desire for death." 



And babe with mother, son with sire, renew 
In blest revival, unforgotten love. 
Partings below will soon to meetings turn, 
And serve, as foils, to set their gladness off 
Hereafter, when the soul's embraces blend. 
And there are moments, mystical as deep, 
When time anticipates eternity, 
Making the Easter of our mem'ry bright 
Rise on the heart, with resurrection-bloom. 
Bodied and bodiless can thus converge 
Whene'er to worship at The Throne we bow, 
Or sigh, or speak some lonely prayer of love. 
Soothed by soft dreams of well-remember'd 

times, 
There round that Centre of our common Lord 
The dear and dead ones of the heart revive ; 
Inhale together a surpassing peace, 
And bathe their spirits in one blended joy 
Supernal : friendships thus in soul remain, 
When tombs have swallow'd all the senses 

clasp'd. 
So can the living with the dead commune, 
And rob the grave of half its vict'ry here, 
While love in Christ by sainted hearts is 

proved 
On earth the brightest, as in heaven the best. 



* Conturks, a witty sobriquet which Luther gives to 
the crows, whose Diet, as he calls it, he humorously 
describes in the above letter. 



JESUITS AND JESUITISM. 
I. — MIND IS POWER. 

Mind is the centre of our human power 
And action : 'tis that throne of secret law 
Where, like a monarch, reigns the regal Will 
Supreme in orbit. As this living world 
Of varied substance, through its moulded 

forms 
And functions, hath each primal source of 

change 
Not in the region of created strength, 
But rather from the will Almighty takes 
Each plastic motion, so that time-bound 

scene 
Where man's embodied agencies unveil 
His vice, or virtue, good or evil acts, 
Not from brute matter, but from conscious 

mind 
Derives mutation, destinies, and deeds. 

II. SENSUAL DOUBT. 

Yet, blind in soul, with sensual chains begirt, 
The fettered victims of the senses five 
In Matter place reality, alone ! 
Effect remote, contingent and involved, 
Their view confounds, and is for cause mis- 
took : 
As though the mind a passive myst'ry were 



JESUITS AND JESUITISM. 



261 



By words created, not in things contained. 
But 'tis not thus ! All motion, power, and 

change, 
Materially in heaven, or earth, or air 
Unfolded, seen, or heard, or felt, or scann'd, 
Up to the Mind Eternal must be traced 
As their last Root, and secret Law alone. 



III. WHENCE CONDUCT SPRINGS. 

Thus Mind, not Matter, is that seat and 

spring 
Whence nature, providence and grace evolve 
Their vital actions, on our sense impinged 
With frequent pressure. Thus in Science, 

too, 
Where through the medium of material acts 
Wonder on wonder to her Priests unfolds 
Amazing products, and mechanic force 
Unbounded, high o'er all a Power presides 
In secret ; graced with philosophic name, 
Men call it law, but what is law but mind 
In ruling action 1 'Tis the Will Divine 
That, self-enforced, invisible as God, 
And shapeless as eternity to thought, 
Masters all Nature, moulds her myriad forms 
Of growth, or grandeur, and the world 

empowers. 
And hence, what Wisdom learns when most 

her grasp 
Into the oneness of a glorious whole 
Hath organised all forms, and facts of Life 
Material, is to know her ign'rance more. 
For, laws in Nature are our modes of thought, 
Our vast conceptions of the unreveal'd 
In matter, on whose aid all Science rests 
And reasons : but no explanation climbs 
That altitude where Law in essence dwells. 
What God to faith, that Principle to sense 
Becomes, — unseen, but actual, vast and true, 
And yet, from sense how infinitely hid 
In depths unfathomed ! like the modes of 

grace, 
Those methods deep, whereby The Spirit wields 
His inward spells o'er all the central life of 

Man. 

IV. — REAL AND UNREAL. 

Thus, matter is the instrument of mind, 
And mind, as monarch, over matter reigns 
With secret magic : thoughts are throneless 

kings, 
Yet, thrones must wither, when their potent 

sway 
Becomes imperial ! Then, the slaves of sense 
Unlearn the lesson brutal science taught 
Mere flesh to credit, — that the True 
Is what we witness, handle, taste, or hear ; 
While Unreality to that belongs 



Which faith hath canonised, as law and 

life 
Supreme, by reason loved, and conscience 

own'd. 
But this, how baseless ! Power to mind per- 
tains : 
Reality within the realm of thought 
Abides ; and (what from sense is far remote) 
Those lone Abstractions, which a lofty Soul 
Visions before it, ponders o'er and proves, 
Are oft the Factors whence our work-day life 
Derives expansion, and more blest is made. 
And not more truly can some Bard adapt 
Poetic language to melodious thought, 
Than to the process of those laws mind-born 
Within us sanction'd, God this outer- world 
Hath framed, and fashioned. Thus, the most 

abstract 
Creator, who from sensuous earth retires, 
While from her watch-towers Speculation eyes 
In stillness what ideal problems prove, 
Is no fanatic : for, resulting products show 
That what pure Thought conceived, creation- 
laws 
Hereafter realise ; and hence attest 
How facts in mind to forms of matter fit 
Their truth, and justify what Thought foretold. 

V. — THE INNER WORLD. 

The Student, thinking in his mental bower, 
Pale, and apart from all our blinded World 
Calls useful, what a mock such man beseems 
To Mammon's host, or Belial's pamper'd slave ! 
His world is secret, soundless as the soul 
Which doth create it ; one of perfect mind. 
There, Truths in transcendental glory reign 
Harmonious, which are yet by words uncloth'd. 
Weeks, months, and years, that Devotee of 

thought 
Works like an Angel, with a perfect will 
To his pure toil surrender'd. Time and scene 
Affect him not ; gain and pleasure pass 
His heart unheeded ; passionately wed 
To some high Problem, life unliving seems 
From that divorced : 'tis health, and food to 

him ! 
Thus the whole man, in body, soul, and 

strength 
A sacrifice to this achievement made, 
Now to the world-wise half a maniac grows ! 
Or dreaming martyr, whom the moon affects 
With visions mad, or theories befool'd. 
But Genius is a prophet, priestess, queen ; 
To speak, to sacrifice, and reign 
Her glory is, while inspiration bears 
Her being up ; and so, the world she braves : 
And in those solemn agonies of thought 
When brain o'ertask'd becomes a thinking fire, 



262 



LUTHER. 



And flames the blood with fever, still endures 
That strong resolve, which makes a Will sub- 
lime! 
And lo, at length the goal of mind is won, 
The problem work'd, the grand result obtain'd ; 
And deep abstractions, such as Newton seized, 
Kepler embraced, or Galileo scann'd 
Alone, prophetic Science thus can bring 
Down from the heights where speculation 

soar'd, 
To grounds material, — to that homely soil 
Where life and commerce, man and income 

blend, 
Or struggle. Now, some calculus is got, 
A truth unveil'd, or principle applied 
Which moves the World for more than 

centuries on ! 
And they, that scornful host of sceptic hearts 
Who mock'd the thinker, while creative 

thought 
Was all internal, when 'tis robed with fact, 
And 'mid the homes and haunts of life appears 
Embodied, — let them now that Lie abjure 
Which makes unthinking sense the Lord of 

soul! 
For mind, not matter, is the king of men, 
That salient centre whence our human world 
All change, and crisis, law and movement 

takes. 

VI. — HISTORY IN MAN. 

Coil'd in the secret folds of some vast Mind, 
Working unwitness'd, save by God's own eye 
Which views a thought as we survey the 

sun, 
The moral Life of ages lies uproll'd. 
History unread hath there a virtual root 
And fountain : in that comprehensive Soul 
Empires, and thrones, and revolutions lie 
In principle ! there, carnage, crowns and 

creeds, 
Battle and peace, commotions, strife, and 

change, 
Lurk seminally hid, for future sway 
Or active function. But, the shallow pause 
Oft at the outposts, where material Force 
Comes into play, or palpably unfolds 
Realities, to earth and space and time 
Apparent ; yet the secret motive-spring, 
The life, the law, the impulse, and the power 
Which vivifies what men for History read, 
Is viewless thought, a state of will unscann'd. 
For years conceal'd, in mental depths con- 
tain' d, 
Some brooding impulse of the Spirit works, 
And thence, as from a pregnant germ, proceed 
Gigantic changes which a world upheave 
To glory, or in guilt and ruin plunge 
Its greatness. History is but man unroll'd, 



And man himself, but what the will prefers, 
By mental action, or in moral force 
Determined. For awhile, 'tis secret all ! 
Unheard, unknown, the boundless Project 

forms 
And ripens ; through ideal worlds of thought 
The lone enthusiast, day by day, pursues 
His great conception, then departs, and dies. 
But, having to some genial few his plan 
Discover'd, soon the speculation swells 
And strengthens ; till, at length, by living 

force 
Develop'd, forth from out the mind's recess 
That viewless Energy moves self-revealed 
In shape historic ; clothes itself with forms 
Material ; into contact bravely comes 
With men and empires ; human Life confronts 
In all its faculties and myriad spheres 
Of influence, such as reach the vital power 
Of Nations, creeds, and churches, oft recast ; 
And now, — the flurried World recoils, and 

fears ! 
A sudden palsy over kingdoms falls 
Mysterious ; truths and principles are touch'd 
In essence ; baffled Reason looks aghast : 
Amid the turbulence and shock of things, 
Chaos seems come ! And mark ! how blinded 

Sense 
Amid the crash of churches, thrones, and 

states 
Around it crumbled, learns at last to see 
That by a single Thought, this giant-world 
Is moved, as though a moral earthquake shook 
Both Past and Present, from their thrones of 

sway 
For ever ! Yes, some vast conception lives, 
Which once was mind impalpable, and hid. 
Results material are but Thoughts array'd 
With formal being, — Soul and Will become 
Embodied, and for creed and conscience made 
Apparent, by the deeds they dare, or do ; 
But still in essence what they ever were, 
As seeds and germs within creative mind 
Maturing, where the soul of History dwells. 

VII. — LOYOLA. 

But, did we crave a specimen, and type 
Embodied, how a single Mind can move 
Backward or forward, churches, thrones, and 

creeds, 
And on the motion of one mighty will 
History depends, when earth and hell are 

sway'd, 
Turn we to him, in whom combine and meet 
Passion and principle, which make a Soul 
Though single, like omnipotence to act 
On men and empires. Turn we unto thee, 
Ignatius ! with that rich Castilian blood 



JESUITS AND JESUITISM. 



263 



Rolling within thy veins its noble tide 
Ancestral, dreaming, daring, all on fire 
With mad devotion, from whose wondrous 

spell 
The glories of the Reformation's power 
Receded. Never to a Cause was chain'd 
A devotee, more passionately raised 
To heights enrapt of superhuman zeal 
Than was that flaming heart, when first it felt 
How Law, and Gospel, Heaven, and Earth and 

Hell, 
Sin, grace and time, eternity and truth, 
In one abysmal thought, The Church of 

Rome, 
Might be absorbed ! And thus, to thee, that 

church 
A Christ impersonal on earth became 
A dread abstraction, thine almighty all ! 



VIII. — BATTLE-SCENE. 

Beside the radiant Arga's rolling stream 
Rise Pampeluna's walls ; around them group 
Hills of expressive grandeur, huge and high, 
Cleaving the crystal air of old Navarre 
With pendant summits, while a wooded vale 
Of soft extent beneath their umbrage smiles. 
'Twas here, enflamed by chivalrous romance 
For deeds and darings, such as storied Gaul 
In Amadis for ever laurels, stood 
Fronting the beach, amid the clanging shock, 
And brunt and carnage of a siege prolong' d, 
The bold Ignatius ! Ne'er hath poet's god, 
Or dream-shaped hero, show'd more daring 

mien 
And desperate valour ; fighting in the rush 
And roaring tumult of a blood-stain'd host 
Firm to the last, this lion of Navarre 
Contended, till beneath a gory heap, 
Shouting the war-song, fell his wounded form 
O'erwhelm'd by numbers : — Pampeluna sank ; 
Then, Gaul's proud banners o'er the towers high 

waved, 
And red with carnage streets and temples ran. 



IX. RELIGIOUS IDEALISM. 

The castled walls of his ancestral sires 
Shelter'd the Hero ; thus, with nerves o'er- 

strung 
Fever'd by pain, emaciate, worn, and rack'd 
Through bone and sinew, on his couch he lay 
In long confinement : but the soul unchill'd 
Burn'd in his being, with a martyr's fire 
Heroical and strong ; and here the captive fed 
With vision, and with reverie sublime 
Caught from the legends of the sainted host, 
His heated nature, — till a sacred knight 
Sworn to the Cross and to the Virgin vow'd, 



Ignatius grew ! and then, Romance began, 
Blent with disease, to madden and inspire 
His soul with more than passion, and " The 

Cross " 
Wielded a spell o'er his ignited heart 
Transcending human valour. Hence by faith 
Etherialised, from fields where Glory wins 
Laurels of earth, to scenes where Heaven 

rewards 
Her heroes of celestial temper, turns he now : 
And lo ! in battle for the church of God, 
Founded on Peter, like a war-machine 
Against all heretics whom earth and hell 
Concentres, yearns Ignatius soon to fight ! 
Here was a chivalry, whose new-born spell 
Beat bike a pulse of preternatural force 
Fiercely within him ! Visions, vast and 

bright, 
Surpassing all apocalyptic Seers beheld, 
Daniel conceived, or Chebar's prophet view'd, 
Hover'd and hung around him, night and day 
With their entrancing glories ! Blood and 

brain 
Were fever'd; with such gorgeous fancies 

thrill'd. 
The very poetry of madness seem'd 
To shake stern Reason from her throne, 
And conscience to its roots. Then, fast and 

prayer, 
Penance, and vigils of enormous length, 
Blent with erratic dreams, together work 
E'en to pale death this champion of the church 
Devoted ;— him to Mary ever vow'd, 
Mother of God, and Queen of grace-born 

Souls ! 

X. — A DEVOTEE. 

While thus impassion' d, Salem's heaven- 
loved soil 
Before him glimmers ; to that Land of dreams, 
Christ's home on earth, by His incarnate Life 
Eternalised, the new crusader hies. 
Alone, in all the flush of flame-eyed zeal, 
Sandalled by rope, with staff and calabash, 
Unarm'd, the wounded Pilgrim drags his way 
Till old Manreza's gates, at length, unclose 
Before him. Here, again before the throne 
Of worshipp'd Mary, fast and penance prove 
His knighthood, while he hangs his weapons up 
Before the imaged Virgin, and his flesh 
Devotes to torment in the monkish cell 
Of Dominic, that patron of all pangs 
Ascetic, which redeem the will to God 
Through shirts of pain, and thongs for bloody 

scourge ! 
Never did Penance such a hero boast, 
As now was witness'd ! Round his wasted 

loins 
Clank'd iron fetters ; while some thrice a-day 



264 



LUTHER. 



Fell on his frame the blood-absorbing lash : 
With bitter ashes was some barren crust 
Commingled ; prayer, not sleep, the night 
Engaged ; and on the stair of his damp cell 
A kneeling trance of seven-hour length 

unbroke 
He often kept, and starved his body down 
Till foodless life look'd death itself begun ! 
Loathsome his garb, beyond what beggars 

wear; 
While underneath his gaberdine there lay 
Thorns, which might pierce with laceration 

slow 
The flesh abhorr'd ! But still, the deadly 

work 
Of martyrdom in horrid climax fail'd ! 
For now to cavern'd darkness lo ! he flies 
A serried anchorite ; there fasting, keeps 
His awful vigils, till the pallid gleam 
Which through some crevice of the rocky cave 
Glimmer' d, on his ghastly features play'd 
As though it trembled on such face of death 
To glisten ! But the peace divine he sought, 
Was far as ever from his gasping soul. 
Then came the conflict ! the convulsion dread 
Which, like a living earthquake, heaved and 

rock'd 
The moral ground-work of the man within 
Till mind was shatter'd, and the will no 

more ! 
Voices, which seem'd from out Damnation's 

gulph 
To issue, yell'd around his inward ear ; 
While visions, black as fiendish Magic forms, 
Floated within him, till he gasp'd and groan'd, 
Throbbing, as though the arch-fiend wrestled 

oft 
With his spent anguish ! In that hour of hell 
When madness, guilt, impiety and dread 
Eaged in the depths of his convulsed soul, 
Dread Suicide beheld him on the brink 
Of lost eternity, about to dash 
His headlong spirit down the pit of death : 
When, lo ! The Virgin, veil'd with robes of 

light, 
Floats in the air, before his eyes entranced 
Clasping her infant-God : and, thus recall'd 
From murder, straight with bare and bleeding 

feet 
To Salem must that wild ascetic come, 
Beggar'd, but not subdued, a Grave to seek, 
The Sepulchre most holy of The Lord ! 
But ere he went, our Lady, to reward 
Her dreadless champion, back the heavens 

unroll'd 
Above him ; more than Paul unbodied saw 
Ignatius witness'd, — what no words reveal ! 
The Trinity to him unclosed its shades 
Of awful Wonder, whose mysterious depths 



To sight were open'd ! Ages next, retired ; 
And how Creation at God's bidding rose 
From nothing, and the motive whence it 

came, 
His awed imagination then beheld ! 
And more than this the rapt enthusiast seem'd 
To image : an apocalypse of soul 
Did to his thought that spell of spells unwind, — 
How bread and wine are in the Host trans- 

form'd, 
And changed to Christ, when priested lips 

command 
A sacramental Incarnation there 
God to enshrine, and Calvary repeat ! * 



XI. — MISSION. 

By vision strengthen'd, and by faith sublimed 
To that fierce boldness which all Earth defies, 
And time, or torture, to absorb or tame, 
Nerved like a martyr, with his crown in view, 
Ignatius onward to the tomb of Christ 
Fearless of Saracens, advanceth near. 
When, Lo ! again, a visionary Christ 
Hovers on high, above the blest sepulchral 

stone 
Featured with glory ; calls him to convert 
The Orient, and His word of burning truth 
Thrills through the soul of this heroic man 
Like magic, out of Heaven's own music 

breathed. 
And now, the work is done; the dreamer 

ends ! 
The cavern'd eremite no more exists 
Fever'd by fancies dark : all visions die, 
While calm Reality his heart ascends 
To reign in wisdom, and the world o'erawe. 
The giant from imagination's sleep 
Awaketh, what a wondrous race to run ! 
Yes, from the cloud-land, where confusion 

form'd 
Ideas, like a mental chaos wild, 
Down to the cold the actual and the stern 
Descends the dreamer, and is Man again ! 
Before the sepulchre of Christ is born 
That future Jesuit, who the earth rechain'd 
To Roman falsehood ; glorified the Pope 
Like God, and push'd the Reformation back 
For centuries, as some fallen Angel might 
Reverse by giant craft the Good abhorr'd. 
Nor ended, he, till over ruin'd minds 
And reeling empires, through his master-spell, 
A vile theocracy of priesthood rose 
As if by miracle ! where myriads bow'd 
Under his sceptre, like single Will 
By God struck prostrate through resistless law. 



* See the authentic Biography of Ignatius, passim, 
which all alludes to these tremendous visions. 



JESUITS, AND JESUITISM. 



265 



The wings unfold of some three hundred years, 
And lo ! a vested group of gather'd priests 
In mute procession, from beneath the towers 
Of Notre Dame there winds its solemn way 
On to the capital, which now reposed, 
Under the stealing brightness of the dawn 
Quiet, in square and street. But, hark ! at 

times 
Peels in high cadence with a chanted swell 
Their orisons, as o'er the fame-crown'd heights 
Of Martre, to that sacred Crypt they move, 
Where France believes her first Apostle gain'd 
His crown eternal of celestial praise. 
Mark, in the front, with war-like mien, and 

gait 
Most kingly, He who leads yon priestly band ! 
His countenance seems in itself a Church 
And Council, — grave, profound, august, 
Delved with the lines which deep reflection 

brings 
Upon the brow of Thinkers. From those eyes 
That blaze with intellectual fire, there dart 
Imperial rays, beneath a godlike front 
Which Painting loves to study. None could 

view 
That martial figure, and a King of mind 
Imagine not ; for, look and step and air 
Betray'd his mission. He was born to rule, 
And in the world's great heart a crisis form 
Of glory, or disaster. Such appear'd 
That incarnation of religious guile 
Ignatius was, on more than empire bent, 
As on to St. Denys' memorial fane 
Of martyrdom, he leads his band elect. 
And now, when o'er yon sacrificial Bread 
The necromantic words of priesthood work 
That spell almighty, making God to be ! * 
Are duly mutter'd, hark, the direful Vow ! — 
A vow, which, had encircling nations been 
Around them gather'd, might have palsied 

kings 
And kingdoms ! 'Twas an Oath sublime, and 

stern ; 
From each of that sworn brotherhood it rose 
Significant, and low, and deep as dread, 
Eising from man on earth to God in heaven, — 



* Bourdaloue, the celebrated French, preacher, 
says, in allusion to sacramental transubstantiation, 
' ' Though the priest be in this sacrifice only the sub- 
stitute of Jesus Christ, it is, nevertheless, certain, 
that Jesus Christ submits to him; becomes his 
subject; and renders him every day, upon our altars, 
the most prompt and exact obedience. If faith did not 
teach us these truths, could we think that a man 
could ever attain to such an elevation, and be invested 
with a character that ennobles him, if we may say 
so, to command his sovereign Lord, and make him 
descend from heaven ! ! ! " 



In witness, they in life in limb and thought, 
In soul and body, reason, conscience, will, 
Prostrate before the Pope, would ever crouch 
Slaves of his will, in whom a Christ on earth 
Is worshipp'd, as the source of churches all ! 



XIII. — THE SYSTEM. 

Such was the Man ! and now, the System view 
Reigning victorious, realising all 
Its founder imaged, while He watch'd and wept 
In cell, or cave, on Tabor's rocky height, 
And grew a priest-god, by whose sceptre awed, 
Nations and kingdoms, churches, creeds, and 

states, 
All tribes and peoples, passive things be- 
came. 
Ere twenty years had vanish' d, what a world 
Ignatius wielded ! more than Pompey dreamt,* 
Caesar acquired, or Alexander's heart 
Encompass'd, ere he died the Jesuit ruled. 
Luther and he were two embodied Types 
Of that great Problem, which the earth con- 
vulsed 
With doubt and danger, — how in one to blend 
The rights divine of individual souls 
By God created, and by Christ redeem'd, 
With that consentient law of common-life 
Incorporate, which a perfect Church demands. 
Luther for souls, as single, lived and died 
In battle ; but Ignatius for the Church 
Contended, striving to engulph the Man 
As unit, in that Body of the whole 
Communion, where each separate life expires. 



XIV. PRIESTLY TRIUMPH. 

Behold his triumph ! In the convent veil'd 
By solitude austere, from men remote 
Like regal Grandeur, forth his genius sent 
A world-wide power, which Empires still obey ! 
Europe, and Asia, and the far Brazils, 
With India's giant realms, — his sceptre touch'd 
Them, each and all ! Thus, colleges and schools 
Rise at his wand, to regulate the homes 
And hearts of myriads : cabinets are moved ; 
Kingdoms admonish'd : councils awed and 

sway'd : 
Battles commenced or sudden peace restored 
And strengthen' d, — all betray the master-soul 
Of this fam'd Leader. On his royal lip 
Law absolute depended ; at his word 
Obedience rose, and where it will'd, there went 
His banded zealots, — brave and lion-hearts 
Burning for martyrdom, through East and 
West 



* This is the substance of Loyola's epitaph on his 
tomb, at Rome. 



2G6 



LUTHER. 



And North and South, the faith of Christ to 

plant ; 
Making the desert with the rose of truth 
To blossom, and the wilds of sin to bloom 
With those rich graces which his Church 

admires ! 
Nor did the magic of his subtle power 
Pause at conversion ; since, to Him applied 
Monarchs for help, while queens for civic aid 
Besought Him : thus, by law divine he seem'd 
Lord absolute o'er thrones and kings to reign, 
Whose crown was genius, and his sceptre, 

mind. 

XV. — SERPENTINE WISDOM. 

Behold a system deeper than the thoughts 
Of ancient Despots, in their dreams of power, 
Fathom'd or framed, which now the world 

o'ertook. 
Luther and Calvin, when Ignatius rose, 
Had like a storm -blast heaved the mind and 

heart 
Of Empires ; mental life and action spread 
With speed miraculous; monkish night dis- 
persed, 
Like cowering demons by the gaze of Christ 
Daunted, and dazzled. Novelty awoke ; 
The fountains of the spirit's deep were barr'd 
Or broken up ; creation was abroad 
And active ; while in science, creed and art 
Inventive genius with irruptive force 
Burst into sway : — and now, behold ! the plan 
Both wise and wondrous, by the Jesuits work'd. 
Not to reverse by effort mad they tried 
The onward rush of European life ; 
But through the prowess of exceeding mind 
Master'd its move, and led the mighty van 
Church-ward to Rome, while yet they seem'd 

to act 
And mingle with it ! To suspend, or chain 
The giant impulse, had their skill surpass'd 
However subtle : so the lead they took, 
Absorb'd, embodied, gather'd in the whole, 
And guided that which else had govern'd them ! 



XVI. — SPIRITUAL AGGRESSION. 

Thus they resolved a problem, dread and deep ; 
How with pure faith philosophy can blend, 
Reason and science with religion act 
Their mental freedom. This they strove to 

show 
When Church and College, as two symbols, 

rose 
Together, and their union thus involved. 
Here is the secret of that Jesuit- work, 
Which won an awful triumph. Mark it well 
Student of man ! for History hath no page 
More to arrest a Thinker, and his thoughts. 



To battle with the Reformation-power 

Forth to their work those weapon'd Jesuits 

came, 
And ne'er did such Machines of mental war 
And conflict, fight with their unearthly skill ! 
Aggressively, with Nation Creed and Church 
They grappled ; Science and mechanic Art, 
Language and Commerce, Poetry and Lore, 
How did they master each, and model all, 
Or shape them down to their dread purpose 

fit! 
Man and his motives, mind and heart they 

probed 
And scann'd, they search' d, anatomised, and 

knew 
Where to begin, progress, and how to pause 
In each career they ventured. Thus empowered, 
These champions of the Roman church became 
Resistless, by their secrecy of strength 
In action ; back the Reformation quail'd 
Before them ! city after city bow'd 
True Liberties beneath their wizard laws ; 
Princes and people, by such craft inspired, 
Barter'd the conscience, till Germanic minds 
Which Luther ransom'd, into bondage sank 
Abased as ever ! Rome again prevail'd ; 
Darken'd the soul, and dungeon'd half the 

world 
Of free-born Europe in her creed and chains ! 



XVII. UBIQUITY OP GUILE. 

It looks romance, but solemn archives show 
What miracles were by the Jesuits work'd 
O'er man and mind, when first their princes 

waged 
Heroic warfare for the Pontiff V throne. 
Never was education **so profound 
As their adapting genius, form'd, and plann'd, 
And carried out. But while such home-born 

minds 
Were foster'd, far and wide their missions 

spread 
From China's wall to Paraguay the wild, 
Or, where by Ganga's Stream the black 

Hindoo 
Waited for truth to set his spirit free. 
Nor paused they here ! — in palaces and courts, 
In cabinets and councils were they hid 



* Lord Bacon says, (De Augment. Scient. lib. 5, c. 4,) 
" For education within fifty years of the institution 
of the order, consult the school of the Jesuits. 
Nothing hitherto tried surpasses it." Education, 
that excellent part of ancient discipline, has been, in 
some parts, revived of late times, in the colleges of 
the Jesuits, of whom, in regard of this, and some 
other points of human learning and moral matters, I 
may say, "talis cum sis, utinam noster esses." — 
Advancement of Learning, book i. 



JESUITS, AND JESUITISM. 



267 



And harbour'd ; metamorphosed to all shapes, 
Ignatius seem'd self-multiplied, and ruled 
By their dark subtleties o'er plots and plans 
Tremendous, bloody, dismal, deep, and dire 
As Eome conceived, or policy preferr'd. 
Thus do we find, at infamous Versailles, 
The poison'd words of persecuting Hate 
Into the ears of Royalty distill'd 
With potency infernal, while true Hearts 
In Britain's court were basely undermined 
Or master d ; even T where they move, 
And every thiag they touch, pervade and thrill; 
All places reach ; all powers affect, or 

change : 
No person safe, no principle secure ! 
From cot to court, from king to subject down, 
Their zeal can like an omnipresence act. 
Equal for them, to whom the Pope is God, 
All powers of State; all governments the 

same ! 
Each to his Church is creature, slave, or tool ; 
Crime is not criminal, when She commands 
The deed enormous ! treason noble looks, 
And murder from the decalogue departs 
No more forbidden, should the Church require 
A splendid victim for her crown and cause ! " 
" A Jesuit ! " well might childish dread con- 
ceive 
That Name far more than mortal nature 

clothed ! 
Satanic wisdom seem'd almost surpass'd 
By them who bore it ; guile and darkness 

there 
Concenter d all which intellectual Fiends, 
On earth embodied, might for falsehood wield 
Were Pandemonium in the mind to reign. 



XVIII. MECHANISM FOR SOULS. 

But if the ground-work of that guile intense 
And spell, whereby the man unsoul'd becomes 
Enslaved to priesthood, we desire to search, 
A Book* behold, by right "mysterious" 

call'd ; 
For here, mechanics for the Mind exist 
Which, when by crafty discipline applied 
And studied, render man a living corpse 
In spirit, — an automaton for Priests 
To mechanise, until The Church appears 
A thinking substitute, a faith-machine, 
And swathes + the Will with swaddling bands 

which bind 
Men to obedience, passive, base, and blind 



* The "Spiritual Exercises of Loyola." 
■j- As one swathes the limbs of a child, from his 
very cradle, to give it just proportion, even so from 
his early youth we must, so to speak, swaddle his 
will, in order that throughout his life, it may preserve 
a happy and salutary suppleness." — The Jesuit Cerutio. 



As absolute ! And now, de-natured man 
Sinks from a Person, and a Thing becomes, 
Depress'd and dwarf'd, a mass of featured 

clay . 

Whence mental faculty and moral force 
Have been absorb'd ! Yet, libel not that God 
From whom Humanity her birth derives, 
When thus impersonal, by calling such 
A "Man ! " Spontaneous will and thoughts are 

dead, 
Or, sunk and swallow'd in the church of 

priests ; 
Conscience expires ; the mind can think no 

more; 
A soulless thing, an accident, or show, 
A mere Negation for a man mistook 
Is all that such mechanics for the mind 
Can boast of; but their ruling charm succeeds ! 
The Formula * of hideous falsehood works ; 
Conversion by mechanical result 
In thirty days is certain, ere one moon 
Can vanish ! Let the " Exercise " be used 
Completely ; let each posture, gait, and groan 
Be duly balanced : let the dismal curse 
Of silence, solitude, and darken'd rooms 
Be wreak' d, together with an imaged Hell 
Shaped from imagination's horrid depths 
Of blackness, where the howling Fiends are 

heard, — 
Such let the neophyte of Priests enact, 
And lo, conversion ! passive as a stick 
Wielded by aged pilgrims when they walk, 
Or helpless as a shrouded corpse, when moved 
By living creatures, — view the Convert now ! f 



* "Servatis ubique iisdem fonnuhs," (Spirit. Exerc, 
p. 180). Loyola undertakes to reduce a reasoning 
creature into a ritual machine, in thirty days ; and 
this is the precise period the Inquisition used to 
occupy in dislocating the human body, when torturing 
its victims for confession! Among other rules for 
mechanising the soul into a state of Jesuitical con- 
version, we find the following in 'The Spiritual 
Exercises,' — First, to draw upon a paper lines of 
various lengths, answering to the magnitude of the 
sins. Secondly, to shut one's self up in a room, the 
windows of which are half closed, (januis ac fenestris 
clausis tantisper), now falling prostrate on one's face, 
now lying on one's back, now standing, now sitting, 
&c. &c. &c. Fifthly, to burst forth in exclamations. 
Sixthly, in the contemplation- of hell, which com- 
prises two preludes, five points, and a colloquy !— to 
see in spirit, vast fires, monsters, and souls plunged 
into a flaming ergastulum; to imagine one hears 
wailings and howlings ; to fancy also a putrid stench 
of smoke, sulphur, and cadaverous filth ; to taste the 
most bitter things, such as gall, tears, the worm of 
the conscience," &c. With reference to prayer, 
mechanics are also employed, e.g. "Third manner of 
praying, by measuring in a certain manner the words 
and pauses;" — "Let equal intervals be observed 
between the breathings and the words, " &c. &c. 

t A little before his dying hour, Ignatius said, " I 
desire that the Company should know my last 



268 



LUTHER. 



XIX. — PERSONALITY DESTROYED. 

What God created thus a Priest destroys, — 
Man with a Soul ! for now, that Soul reduced 
By such absorption, in the Church resolves 
Its nature : 'tis no more a choosing Power 
Or Person ; stifled reason hath expired 
In self-renouncement ; what is left, the Shape, 
But not the Substance, of a man remains. 
'Tis but an Organ, made of sigh, and sob, and 

speech ! 
Now on bare knees : then, prostrate in the cell 
Of anguish ; now, for ritual drama garb'd 
And spangled ; then, engaged in mumbling 

rounds 
Of words, where sense through repetition dies, 
Or the tired breath monotonously tones 
Ave Marias ! till the lip-work dire 
Achieves its penance. What a boast is here ! 
When thus a mechanising Priest can make 
Persons turn Things, and Things like corpses 

lie 
Passive and powerless : such the Jesuit seeks 
To govern, and despotic Rome demands. 



XX. — OBEDIENCE. 

Monster of systems is the Jesuit-school ! 
Police and treason, accusations dire 
As dismal, each on each a dragon-watch 
Keeping incessant, so that counter-spies 
Thus exercised, a bosom-hell create. 
Suspicion lowrs on ev'ry guarded brow 
Of this dark Band, whose jealous eyes are keen, 
Prompt to denounce each alter'd shade of 

mind 
Assumed disloyal. Thus, the living pulse 
Of pure Emotion is by terror chill'd 
Or death-struck ; social life exhales, 
And all enacted, is obedience now 
Under the yoke of thy cadaverous Rule, 
Ignatius ! Fiends o'er such a scheme exult ; 



thoughts concerning the virtue of obedience." And 
from the Constitutions, afterwards framed, this 
obedience resolves itself into this terrible abasement, 
— man is to become, in the hands of the priest, " Ut 
Cadaver," "Senis Baculus." The Constitutions say, 
" Let every one persuade himself, that they who live 
under obedience ought to allow themselves to be 
borne and earned by Divine Providence acting in the 
person of their superiors ! that they ought to permit 
themselves to be moved about as if they were a 
corpse, which suffers itself to be carried and swayed 
in. any way you please ; or, as if they were a staff in 
the hand of an old man, which allows him to use it 
whensoever, and for whatsoever purpose, he pleases." 
In another place, the "Constitutions" tell the convert 
to "become like soft was in the hands of the superiors, 
to take what form he pleases ! ! " 



But Angels, could they our dejection know, 
Might shudder, veil their eyes, and weep for 
Souls ! 



CONFESSION AND CONFESSIONAL. 
XXI. — PRIEST IN OFFICE. 

Rome for the spirit a gymnasium proves : 
Her Priests are posture-masters for the soul 
Deluded, who can twist and turn the mind 
And morals, just as Superstition shapes 
Her ritual, or Effect on man requires. 
Seek we a proof for this satanic aim 
Of sacrilege on souls ? Behold it, there ! 
The wooden screen of yon confession-shrine 
Behind whose shelter lurks a probing Priest, 
Contains it. 'Twere enough to blot the sun 
At noon-tide blaze, to horrify the blood, 
Or make Humanity to blush and burn 
With shame eternal, might plain Truth dis- 
close 
All which Confessional has heard, or done, 
Or vilely dared within the bosom's depth. — 
Laid on the rack of Rome's lascivious tongue 
The mental victim of confession sobs 
Tones which are torture, while the fiendish 

words 
Pierce their exploring way with foul success 
Or skill'd advantage, till the Heart is won 
And all the sacredness of soul expires. 



XXII. DEATH OF PURITY. 

How the crush'd modesties of Woman bleed 
Under the hoof of man's inhuman speech 
Down-trampled ! Mark that serpent-priest, 
Holding his ear, lasciviously inspired 
With loathsome appetite for all that should 
Be wordless, and in blushing silence sleep, — 
Feed on confession with his vampire-taste ; 
While maid and mother, wife, and sister 

wring 
Their secrets into language, till their souls 
Are agonised at every modest pore 
Of feeling; wrench'd, as though infernal 

screws 
Tortured their silence to convulsive speech. 
Each gasping word seems like an oral pang 
Breathed into utterance, with a growing shame 
Which burns, and blisters, almost frenzies 

mind 
And reason. Hell itself might cry, enough ! 
When a foul priesthood thus satanic grows. 
| E'en as from flesh an Inquisition tore 
I The limbs asunder, till each artery writhed, 
And gush'd the life-stream from the corded 

veins 
In drops of anguish, so Confession tears 



CONFESSION AND CONFESSIONAL. 



269 



The spirit into torment, on a rack of words 
When some strain'd Heart is by the priest 

outstreteh'd. 
Oh ! how it quivers, till the soul half swoons 
With dread ; and as the hideous work proceeds, 
Well may wring' d conscience tremble, start, 

and groan ! 

XXIII. — INWARD MARTYRDOM. 

Nature hath no monopolist like man 
Unprincipled, to conscientious brute 
Transform'd by juggleries of Jesuit-guile. 
Through Her foul science for confessing hearts, 
Crafty as hell, and cruel as the grave, 
A very Sodom for the souls hath Rome 
Created ; and, with criminal excess 
All crime exceeding, hath on Nature laid 
An incubus of everlasting wrong. 
True personality in mind inheres, 
Lives in our thought, and when that thought 

is gained 
The moral Person to the priest belongs 
Who holds it. Thus, Confession drains and draws 
The secret life-blood of a Spirit out 
By science ; melts it with persuasive skill 
Into the mind of some mechanic priest, 
Who to his own assimilates the same 
By progress gradual, stealthy, sly and deep. 
Thus, mind confess'd is through the mouth 

transferr'd 
Into the Priesthood, which in turn reacts 
With fearful magic on that mental wreck, — 
Some whisp'ring martyr at his feet, unsoul'd ! 

XXIV. — WOMAN AND HER DESTROYER. 

The shaping genius of a priestly tongue 
When so applied, can secretly impress 
On the soft wax of Woman's yielded mind 
Each vile impression, which a Jesuit loves 
Or sanctions. What a rav'ning lust of power 
Inhuman, must that papal Church corrode, 
Who God would rival, by discerning soul, 
And analyse its living essence down 
To system ! Well may Superstition, mad 
As impious, dream the pausing Angels stand 
Respectful, when such priest-gods pass or 



* We are historically called to believe that one of 
the new priests, under the order of St. Francois de 
Sales, often saw his own guardian angel. One day, 
arriving at the church-door, St. Travers abruptly 
paused: on being requested to tell why he did so, 
with a sweet innocence and sublime humility, he 
replied — "He was accustomed to see his guardian 
angel walk before him, but that this Prince of 
Heaven had then stopped and stood aside, out of 
respect for his character, giving him the precedence ! " 
— Life of St. Francois de Sales. 



For, what they cannot, priested tyrants do,- 
Master the will, and mechanise a soul ! 



XXV. — MORAL IMMOLATION. 

But ah ! with all his power, let Pity weep 
For such a Being, by confession train'd. 
Fell must the heart, and foul his conscience, be 
By such a process ! Enervate as vile 
His faculties become, who, day by day, 
And hour by hour, in study, thought, or 

scene, 
Woman and Hell before him must evoke 
For question, and for trial ! Not for worlds 
With all their glory, ought man to command 
So foul a scrutiny, which scans and sees 
What yon confessor by a loathsome skill 
Must probe, and punish. Hark ! 'mid choking 

sobs 
And big slow tears, that with a burning trace 
Scald the fair cheeks they moisten ; or, with 

sighs 
Heavy as deep, by agony intoned, 
The Bride, the Mother, or a Sister kneels 
Before her priest-god. Heart, and home, and 

love, 
Secrets of thought and starts of young Desire, 
Each throb of Passion, throe of feeling wild 
By warm emotion in the blood or brain 
Excited, — all must sternly be exposed 
In language, by describing speech unveil'd ! 
Ay, word by word, before that priestly Ear 
Be all paraded ! When that fiendish work is 

done, 
An immolation of the soul complete 
Begins ; for, moral suicide is wrought, 
And all we reverence in wife or maid 
By purity of sex, exists no more. 
The Woman dies when modesty is dead ; 
Her heart is corpse-like, and the Priesthood 

reigns 
Most absolute, a soul within a soul 
Transplanted, ruling there with master-spell 
For ever : He in her becomes an all ! 



XXVI. — EXISTING JESUITISM. 

Such are the Jesuits, that banded Crew 
Whom guile has disciplined, and genius arm'd. 
With secresy of power environ'd safe 
They war incessant on the souls of men : 
Malignant, dark, and merciless as deep 
In all their plans, their principles and aims 
Mysterious ; Egypt's plagues in them appear 
Eternalised, by Rome's tremendous charms ! 
Twice twenty times, although by prince or 

Pope 
Disbanded, such a mischief-power resides 
In their black Institutes, while friend and foe 



270 



LUTHER. 



Repulse them, when some crisis rocks the 

church 
They show their treason in most damning 

shape 
Embodied ; and, religiously depraved 
As ever, still their plotting Host endures ! 
No crowns are safe, no kingdoms rest secure 
From these marauders ; through all Lands they 

steal, 
And nothing touch but what they blast, or 

blight. 
Ubiquities of guile ! from whom no spot 
Or scene, or time, or principle, or truth 
Or creed, or constitution can escape. 
Now, at the helpless populace they strike 
In secret, grinding down the People's heart 
To dust; and now, a King they serve, like 

God! 
All creeds, all changes, and all climes alike 
They vanquish : so that Rome can reign, 
Earth hell and heaven in their enchantment 

grow 
But names of sounding emptiness, to fear ! 

The Babylonian Lady of the hills 
Who martyrs more hath made, and numbers 

less 
Than churches all, is their celestial Queen 
Whose cause they worship, and whose crown 

appears 
Jewell'd by Jesuits as the brightest gems. 
And, when the archives of a soul are read 
Under the light of Judgment, 'twill be found 
That home of heresy, the Devil's heart, 
Prompted by which schismatic Angels fell, 
Since time began, no hateful brood hath nursed 
Of human serpents, more intensely fit 
Infernal poison through seduced mankind 
To circulate, than this dread crew have been ! 



XXVII. ENGLAND S PROTEST. 

Now therefore, Church of Britain's ancient 

growth 
And grandeur, from the Jesuit guard thy 

creed ! 
That anti-trinity of scheming hell, 
The Beast, the Dragon, and the Prophet, — 

rise 
Around thee ; lo ! the final conflict draws 
Nearer and nearer to that bloody close 
Where crime and havoc, heresies and wars 
Clash in the fray, and worse than chaos comes, 
Till palsied Earth shall palpitate with dread 
And downward ruin ! Free-born Isle of saints 
Heroical, whose dust hath been sublimed 
By martyrs ! peerless Home of loyal hearts 
And high-breathed virtues, God on Thee 

devolves 



A vast prerogative, to utter, No ! 
When priested blasphemy this lie propounds, 
That Rome's Melchisedec is God's ordain'd 
Vicar on earth for Christ in heaven to rule. 

Sublime negation ! let it never end 
My country ; far as pulse of man can beat 
Utter it forth, unsilenced and unshamed. 
Rooted in scripture, let thy Creed remain ; 
Protesting, therefore catholic and true, 
And catholic, because protesting found. 



MORAL RETROSPECT. 

Nature alone, is universal want ; 

Yet how to fill it, Man can never find 

Till Heaven instruct him. Sin a gap hath 

made, 
Which all the glory that below the skies 
Our dreams may image, or some vast desire 
Adumbrate, cannot now conceal, or close. 
The happy are the holy ; none besides ! 
But, God in man plants holiness complete : 
Life from The Spirit, by His Word inbreathed, 
Like to a soul within a soul must reign 
Or, at the best, Humanity corrupts ; 
Her lights are cold, her attributes eclipsed, 
And all her high prerogatives a cheat. 

Still, man himself a moral Croesus thinks, 
And by his power perfected being longs 
To frame, or fashion. Hence the World has 

tried 
The hunger of his heart with food to feed, 
Drawn from the depths of that presumed 

supply 
By Self created : but the effort fails ; 
And Time recorded yet repeats the tale 
Of mutual wants, by mutual pride befool'd 
With false supplies, which took the name of 

Good, 
But never reach'd its nature : till at length 
Giants in faith, by God himself equipp'd, 
Rise into action and the earth redeem ! 
And these, like moral incarnations prove 
Of all that sighing Ages had invoked, 
Or Truth predicted as the master-mould 
In which to cast our virtues. What was once 
An aimless yearning, or a blind desire 
Haunting the heart with perturbation wild, 
Is now personified by Form express 
And open : Want hath now a Priest obtain'd 
Whose genius gives each high abstraction 

voice, 
And bodies forth by energy sublime 
Sorrows which pleading Centuries long deplored. 



MORAL RETROSPECT. 



271 



And such was Luther, when the clock of 

Time 
Sounded the hour for his decreed approach. 
He was the Mouthpiece of oppress'd mankind, 
A great Interpreter of tongueless wants 
And pains, which lack'd an intellectual Power 
Their own profundity to tell, or prove. 
Yet, Preludes dawn'd which oft a change fore- 
told 
And Heralds of divine relief began 
More perfect morals and a purer creed 
To sanction, from the deeps of Scripture 

drawn, 
Ere the lone monk from out his convent 

pour'd 
Those thunder-peals of theologic truth, 
Which startled Leo from a sensual trance 
And shook the Vatican with such a force, 
Its chambers vibrate with th' impulsive blow, 
They gave them ! though three hundred 

years 
Have swept their wings o'er Martin Luther's 

grave. 
There was a ripple in the mental tide 
Awaken'd ; streams of holier thought began 
Heavenward and onward through the heart to 

roll, 
Till lo ! at length, a master-Mind proceeds 
Forth from the secrecies of convent-life, 
In whom the Spirit of the age can find 
Its true Embodiment, by grace inspired 
The mind to utter and its motion wield. 

And we, who now the Reformation scan 
Mellow'd by time, and by experience tried, 
No random impulse, no erratic move 
Aimless and blind, in that achievement hail ; 
But rather a momentum, pure and deep, 
From Deity Himself directly sent 
To Nature, that her inmost heart might 

wake. 
Reason and Man were agencies alone ; 
They acted nought but instrumental parts : 
One Great Director did o'er all preside, 
But yet, invisible ; behind the veil 
Of mortal drapery, His guiding hand 
Arrested, moved, and modified the work 
With sacred watch incessant. Hence the 

Cause 
So often grew mysterious, and appear'd 
Curtain'd by gloom infernal, which bemock'd 
A timid gazer ; but the high result 
Proved far beyond what Romish annals 

feign, — 
Mere anarchy from man's revolted mind 
Heady and proud, by lawless will inspired. 
Nor was it but the negative excess 
Of haughty Reason, with disdainful ire 
All ritual forms time-hallow'd and revered, 



Trampling to dust : for then, the Work had 

died 
E'en in its birth, as imposition blind 
As baseless ; founded in no faith, or law, 
And tinged with nothing but sectarian hues 
Petty, and partial. No, The Truth was 

there ! 
And from that centre, like a scriptural heart, 
Recover'd Grace with throbs of doctrine sent 
A gospel life-blood through the generous 

Whole. 
And thus, th' Almighty did Himself inspire 
The Reformation : all unheard, unseen 
And unimagined, in the midst He moved, 
While Luther was the mental Hand, which 

made 
The outward Index of His secret will. 
And what makes history, but that Will 

evolved, 
In fact embodied, or in form contain'd ! 
When thus perused, the page historic glows 
With life intelligent, and force divine : 
But when apart from heaven's presumed 

Decree 
The glooms or glories of this world we scan, 
Our creed must be confusion : then the 

Church 
Matter and mind alone can thus display 
To faith, or feeling. History's life is God : 
All second causes are the First disguised, 
And great results, though Man sole master 

seem, 
Produce mere echoes which His will repeat. 

And oh, how thrilling ! touch'd with 

solemn awe, 
Or, pregnant with philosophy how deep, 
Are Time's events, when, thus divinely 

read ! 
Here is the harmony of Things obtain'd, 
When from the Cross pure explanations flow, 
And one vast Principle itself reveals 
That binds with concord, and embraces all, 
Which else, looks chaos in the whirl of life. 
Yea, such the homage to some Power believed 
Empires and nation in His hand to hide, 
That pagan Instinct canonised the creed 
Ere God in gospel to the earth came down 
His heart revealing. Never yet hath man 
A wisdom high, or greatness holy sought, 
But claim'd he kindred with celestial Law 
And by Divinity himself explain'd. 
Thus Truth in time shall magnify the Cross, 
Until the hearts of God-revering men 
Echo on earth, the qhant by angels sung 
In glory, — " King of Kings ! and Lord of 

Lords ! 
In Thee and for Thee, do all things consist 
In souls, or systems, by the world contain'd. 



272 



LUTHER. 



BRITISH CHURCH. 

Yine of the Church ! whose mystic branches 

are 
The Host elect of sanctified and seal'd 
Immortals, long as Christ is own'd supreme, 
Our light is safe, our liberty secure. 
But when to human from divine we turn 
With homage baseless, and to mortal Breath 
A blind Religion blinder incense pays, 
Our brightest health is but consumption's 

bloom. 
Faithful, or faithless to her Lord, as Head 
And true Bestower of all living grace, 
E'en thus, as our beleaguer'd Church hath 

stood, 
Sublime in gifts or sunken into shame 
The Bride of Jesus hath on earth display'd 
Her face, and features. To a threefold spring 
Religion must for sacramental life 
Betake her : and that triple source all time 
Illustrates, — Man, or God, or mortal Priest ; 
As is each Master, so her fate hath been. 
But when the priest his sacerdotal chains, 
Forged from the links of apostolic truth 
Perverted, round about pale Conscience wove ; 
When Man, unsceptred of his kingly mind, 
A mere automaton for ritual springs 
To pull or play, as guile or gain inspired 
Their priestly Mover ; when to such 
The Esaus of the soul their birthright gave 
Of faith, and freedom in salvation's gift, 
Religion proved the Jailer of mankind, 
And bound their spirit in a rotting gloom 
Of pagan error. But when God appears 
Again refulgent on his Throne of grace, 
Revival wakens ! and the Truth reform'd 
By monk or martyr, is but Christ unveil'd ; 
Prophet, and Priest, and King of souls 

redeem'd 
The Church adores him. Then, Her powers 



Her Symbols preach, her Sacraments revive ; 

And in the glory of Her greatness seen 

As Ground and Pillar of the truth She 

stands. 
Angels admire, and friends cannot withdraw 
One ray of beauty from Her righteous crown ! 
For thus, Ambassadress from heaven to earth, 
Glad tidings brings she on her mitred brow, 
And gives the full-toned Gospel : then erect 
In high pre-eminence o'er heart and head 
She holds the Saviour, crucified and crown'd. 
Sinner and sin to each her creed presents 
Befitting argument, for God and man. 
There, one is pardon'd — Mercy be adored ! 
The other, punish' d, — Justice own the doom ! 
Thus, in twin glory, Love and Law complete 



Their vast expression ; hence alike, can Law 
The dreadful sanctions of its verdict teach, 
While Love o'er all celestial radiance pours, 
And pardoning Mercy in meridian shines. 

And art Thou not thus venerably graced, 
Founded in Christ, and by apostles form'd, 
Glory of England ! oh, my mother-Church 
Hoary with time but all untouch'd in creed 1 
Firm to thy Master, with as fond a grasp 
Of faith, as Luther in his free-born mind 
Clung to Emmanuel, doth thy soul remain. 
But yet, around thee scowls a fierce array 
Of foes and falsehoods, mustering each their 

powers, 
And all prepared, their hallelujahs wild 
Or wanton o'er thy fallen towers to lift 
Triumphantly. And well may thoughtful 

Hearts 
Heave with foreboding swell, and heavy fears, 
To mark how mad Opinion doth infect 
Thy children ; how thine apostolic claims 
And love maternal are regarded now 
By creedless Yanity, or careless Yice. 
For time there was, when peerless Hooker 

wrote, 
And deep-soul'd Bacon taught the world to 

think, 
When Thou wert paramount, Thy cause 

sublime ! 
And in thy life, all polity and powers 
The Throne securing, or in law enshrined, 
With all Estates our balanced realm con- 
tains, 
In Thee supreme, a master-virtue own'd 
And honour'd. Church and State could then 

co-work 
Like soul and body, in one breathing form 
Distinct, but undivided ; each with rule 
Essential to the Kingdom's healthful frame ; 
Yet both in unity august and good 
Together, under Christ their living Head, 
A hallow'd Commonwealth of powers possess'd. 

But now, in evil times, sectarian Will 
Would split The Body, and to sects reduce 
Our sainted Mother of th' imperial Isles, 
Which have for ages from Her bosom drank 
Those truths immortal life and conscience 

need. 
But never may th' indignities of Hearts 
Self-blinded, or the autocratic pride 
Of reason, by no hallowing faith subdued, 
One lock of glory from Her reverend head 
Succeed in tearing ! Love and Awe and 

Truth 
Her doctrines preach with apostolic force ; 
Her creed is Unity, her Head is Christ, 



SOURCE AND RELIEF OF UNREST. 



273 



Her Forms primeval as her Creed divine, 
And Catholic the crowning name she wears, 



MATEEIALISM AND ITS CREED. 

And signs portend still more disastrous gloom, 

Frowning destruction over faith and forms 

That, once intact, by sanctity begirt, 

O'erawed betrayal. For a fitful heave, 

A restless panting for the Unattain'd 

And Undescribed, both church and world 

reveal. 
Knowledge alone, from Faith's protective law 
Divorced, would now sole educatrix be ; 
While the dread Universe itself is tax'd 
For sensual income, through its living range. 
Down from yon palace, where the sun-King 

reigns, 
Throng'd by his court of seasons, to the dust 
Existence crumbles on her daily rounds, — 
All is for Profit ! money makes the man, 
And man the money. Gold is England's God, 
While brute sensation forms the people's Lord; 
And men are mechanised to flesh-machines 
For grinding incomes out of earth and stones ; 
Till glorious Nature, once by genius loved 
As one vast Temple where creation-rites 
Are acted, is a common work-shop now 
Polluted and depraved. Thus by sense deceived, 
Our Cains in creed, those deicides in mind, 
Abhor Religion with a quenchless hate, 
Scouting the future as the mock of fears, 
A poet's fiction, or a priest-born lie 
Yenal, as groundless ! Thus, can men conceive 
Income may do, what creeds have never done ; 
Till conscience is at length by lust betray'd, 
And man, — a moral ruin ! base and blind, 
Anarchic passion, and bereft despair. 
Myriads are such, whom sensual knowledge 

cheats, 
And depthless minds with most satanic guile 
Seduce, and govern. But, amid this whirl 
Of things, when all by ancient Worth admired 
And call'd immortal, waxes dim, and pale ; 
When law is weak, and legislation blind ; 
When guess-work dares all principle decry, 
And time-hoar'd Verities, by heaven approved 
As props and pillars of a nation's weal, 
Uprooted lie, by violation's grasp, 
And earth-born Self our second bible grows, — 
Lo ! in the midst of this disastrous change 
The Church of England, like a bastion fronts 
The warring elements which round Her rise ! 
Secure, unbroken, unalarm'd, and calm ; 
And haply, if ordaining Heaven decree, 
The Spirit's organ for restoring life 
To Virtues dead, and Morals half extinct. 



SOURCE AND RELIEF OF UNREST. 

If language can articulate the Truth, 

What is the spring, the primal and profound, 

Of all commotion, strange, or deep, or strong 1 

What is it, but the hunger of our hearts, 

A moral famine of the foodless mind 

For Good'? or, thirst beyond all worlds to 

soothe, 
And all the cisterns of created joy 
To quench 1 But, in God's Infinite of truth, 
There may the intellect its rest attain ! 
And in God's Infinite of love, the Will 
Responsive adequacy alone can find. 
Yet save in Christ, creation's true Relief, 
Where can unresting hearts repose enjoy? 
For here, all aspirations may their echo meet, 
Center in calm, and reach consummate bliss. 
But if that Christ in England's Church be 

found, 
In pulpit, sacrament and prayer enshrined 
(Her Priesthood faithful, and its Power 

express'd 
With order'd grace and discipline revered) 
Then, in the hands of her o'erwatching Lord, 
Yet may she bring to European hearts 
And spirit, that supply of nurt'ring truth 
They need, but cannot name. And signs exist 
Which stamp her, with significant effect, 
Teacher of nations, fated yet to draw 
The future round her, as a central ark, 
Where Light and Liberty and Law secrete 
Their saving essence, to conserve the world. 
For in her still, with all their force 

inspired 
Live the vast truths protesting Luther voiced 
Like battle-tones, before the ear of kings ! 
And what, if thus by fav'ring heaven endow'd, 
The high deposit of the Faith she guard 
Unweaken'd 1 Trial then may glory prove, 
Safety and splendour may her conflicts crown ; 
And what to our prophetic sense appears 
A Future charged with paralysing woe, — 
A true arena where our Church may stand 
Fighting the battles of primeval faith, 
May be, and grateful Empires call her blest ! 

And lo ! e'en now, prelusive shadows throng 
Round perill'd nations ; signs which preach 

with power 
The sermons deep of providence to man. 
See Population, with enormous swell, 
Increase a thousand ere the sun decline, 
Day after day ; while Space and Time depart 
Before the miracles by modern speed 
Enacted ! Elements our vassals make ; 
And, like a war-steed harness'd and controll'd, 
Ruled by proud Science, mark the subject Deep 



274 



LUTHER. 



Commerce to all Her thousand ports convey, 
Rapid as winds can waft, or waters roll ! 
Empires with empires thus new contact form, 
Powers with fresh powers, and minds with 

minds embrace, 
For vice, or virtue ; all in fusion meet 
And mingle, — ready to ignite, and blaze 
Heavenward or hellward, as the truth prevails, 
Or falters : while around this huge ferment, 
See Legislation to the lowest brink 
Of sad Humanity her code direct ; 
And Wisdom brood with speculation deep 
O'er plans and prospects, where the mind may 

grow 
And learn to build a moral Being up. 

These form the portents, which a change 

predict, 
Or solemn crisis ; while the dormant East 
(That home of apathy and ancient pride) 
Wakes from Her torpor, with mysterious life 
And motion. What shall then the issue be, 
When the World labours with some big event 
Radiant with bliss, or dark with dreadful 

crime ? 
To God we leave it ! this may truth pronounce ; 
That hell is forming where His grace breathes 

not; 
And let but once thy spark, Rebellion ! fall 
Down on the mass of unconverted minds 
By treason moulded, or by anarchs led 
To lawless triumph, — and the World must 

bear 
Suff 'rings untold, and horribly intense 
Beyond what Hist'ry hath for thought 

portray 'd. 
Then Earth a pandemonium would present 
Raging with lust, or reeking with revenge, 
Till by her blood incarnadined, the World 
AVould be as godless as the Fiend requires ! 



ASPIRATIONS. 

Yet this, in mercy, may our God forbid ! 
Nor leave the world a dungeon of despair, 
But bid the Church, by gracious heaven 

revived, 
Her apostolic rank in word and deed 
Resume, and dignify ; and thus uplift 
Her mitred forehead, and Her saintly mien 
Untarnish'd, unattainted, safe alike 
From popish rancour, or schismatic rent. 
For in her shrine eternal morals dwell, 
And through her sacraments and creeds there 

flow 
Streams of pure life, from fontal Grace de- 
rived. 
But could the Mammons of our day succeed, 



Unchurch the Nation, prayer and praise 

destroy, 
Silence the Pulpit, and all means of grace 
Baffle, or blight, soon would Hell on earth 
A more than rival in debasement hail ! 
For soul itself in sin would putrify, 
Or wither down to senselessness and shame ; 
While Manhood, which the eye of faith declares 
A true shechinah * for indwelling God, 
A mere contingency of breath and brain 
Becomes, — a paradox in flesh array'd, 
A baseless nothing, though baptised a man ! 

But in thy heart, heroic England ! long 
May Luther's voice, and Luther's spirit, live 
Unsilenced and unshamed. Thou peerless 

Home 
Of liberty and laws, of arts and arms, 
Of learning, love, and eloquence divine, 
Where Shakspeare dreamt, and sightless Milton 

soar'd, 
Where heroes bled, and martyrs for the truth 
Have died the burning death, without a 

groan, — 
Land of the beautiful, the brave, the free ! 
Never, oh never ! round thy yielded soul 
May damning popery its rust-worn chain 
Of darkness rivet ; in the might of heaven 
Awake, and back to Rome's vile dungeon 

hurl 
Her shackles base of slavery abhorr'd ! 
Without the Bible, Britain's life-blood chills 
And curdles ; in that book, and by that book 
Almighty, freedom can alone be kept 
From age to age, in unison with heaven. 
Without it, life is but a ling'ring death, 
A false existence which begets decay, 
Or fevers only into restless life 
Whose blood is madness, and whose breath 

despair. 
For not Philosophy, with Attic grace 
Bedeck'd, and dazzling ; nor can Science deep, 
Sounding with searchful eye the vast abyss 
Of things created ; nor politic Weal 
Transcending all which earthly patriot dreams 
Of pure, and perfect, this vast empire guard : 
And though our banners on the four winds 

waft 
Defiance in the face of boundless foes, 
Our swords flash vict'ry, and proud Commerce 

vie 
With more than Tyre, upon her throne of 

waves 
Once free and famous, till our country prove 
The banking-center of all climes and creeds, — 
Reft of her Bible, not a drop remains 
Of holy life-blood in the Nation's heart ! 

* "In the image of God created He him." — Gen.i. 27. 



SABBATH MORN. 



275 



APOSTROPHE TO ENGLAND. 

Land of the Lord ! my own maternal Isle ! 
Still in the noontide of celestial love 
Basking, beneath the cross of Christ adored, 
How bounds the heart with patriotic throb 
Devoted, till each pulse a prayer becomes, 
When oft upon thy sea-dash'd cliff we stand, 
While ships by thousands haunt thy favour'd 

shores, 
And in their bosom half the world discharge 
Of riches and of splendour ! God is thine, 
My country ! faithful unto death be thou ; 
For He has made and magnified thy 

strength, 
E'en like a second Palestine, to prove 
The Ark of Scripture, where a creedless world 
The truth may find which makes her spirit 

free ! 
Thy bulwark is the Bible, in the heart 
Of Britain, like a second heart enshrined 
For inspiration, purity and power : 
And while upon thine ocean-throne erect, 
Scepter'd by prowess, Earth reveres thy reign, 
O'er public virtue as in private life 
May Scripture be sole paramount and test, 
The source and standard of majestic faith, 
Where morals form, and whence our motives 

flow. 
And thus, brave Empire ! if thy Church 

beloved 
Firm to the truths a second Paul restored, 
Tenaciously through blood and fire remain, 
Then, long as guardian-waves begird 
Thy shores, or sunbeams o'er thy cornfields 

Play, 
And thy large soul with liberty exults 
And brightens, will the Church uninjured 

stand, 
Saintly and solemn, by the wise revered, 
By greatness honour'd, as by goodness blest. 
And never may the touching sabbath-bells 
No echo in thy children's heart awake ; 
When pealing softly with a pensive chime 
Or deep-toned cadence o'er thy hills and 

dales, 
Cities, and towns, and hamlets far away, — 
They bid us feel what Luther's victory won, 
Giving to myriads God's own Day of rest 
Pure as the dawn my page shall vision now. 



SABBATH MORN. 



And see ! from out the radiant east, which 

blooms 
As if with blossoms of carnation'd light, 
The rose of Morning blushes into hues 



Of purpling splendour, till the arch of heaven 
Serenely mantled with one glow immense 
Of opal lustre, tells that Day is born, 
And that, a sabbath : sacred be the morn ! 
To all who welcome with accorded rites 
Its high mementoes and its claims august. 
And oh, how numb'd by earth's torpedo-sway 
Their souls who will not, in the saintly prime 
Of this rapt morning, feel how God hath 

framed 
The world without intelligibly true 
By living concord to the world within. 
Now, matter seems a paraphrase on mind : 
We pour our spirit into sounds and scenes, 
Greeting creation, like an echo'd Self 
In forms repeated, for poetic eyes, 
Or hearts of high-strain'd purity, to hail. 

And now, from secret depths of faith within 
Rise thoughts, which in their trepid beauty 



Faintly and freshly on the virgin soul, 
By words unechoed. Sacramental hour, 
Hail to thy glories ! from the Lord they 

come, 
And all they image but His name reflect : 
The very sunbeams their own sabbath keep, 
So hush'd and holy is the bright-hair'd Morn, 
While balm and beauty through creation's 

breast 
Are now prevailing ! Nature's holy type 
To sabbath-keeping hearts it thus presents, 
Who early at the grave of Jesu watch 
Like Mary, to behold their rising Lord. 
We call it fancy, but it rules like fact 
O'er yielded spirits with seductive power, — 
Nature herself sabbatical becomes 
And greets that Day, which to the other six 
Imparts a pure and consecrating spell. 

But, mark the heavens ! whose inspirations 

melt 
Through the deep eye which loves to drink 

their hues 
Like draughts of glory, till our flooded gaze 
O'erflows with radiance, and grows dim with 

light. 
The larks sing matins ; while the humbler 

birds 
Send hallelujahs to the King of morn, 
Tiny and broken, but replete with praise ; 
Who now, uprising from a throne of clouds, 
Bares his red forehead to the greeting World. 
The viewless finger of the fairy wind 
Wanders about, and with a dimpling touch 
Ripples a stream ; or tunes the air to song, 
Till like an anthem by the breezes hymn'd 
Fancy admires it : but for this, — all earth 
Seems cover'd o'er with meditation's calm, 



t 2 



276 



LUTHER. 



Solemn as in some hoary minster dwells ; 
And if the trees emotional were not 
By air-breaths flutter'd ; or the lisping talk 
Of flowers, wind-ruffled ; or the mellow tones 
Of gliding waters in their graceful flow 
Broke the blest calm, — 'twere all a perfect 

trance 
In sweetest emblem of this hallow'd morn. 

But if from rustic solitude we look 
To where, through parted hills old Ocean 

heaves 
His breast of waters in the mantling sun, 
Thou hast no sabbath, ever-rolling Sea ! 
Eestless with glory : yet methinks, thy waves 
Throb like the pulses of a heart enrapt, 
"When high emotions quiver into praise. 



THE TEMPLE OPENED. 

But, day advances : hark ! from tower and 

spire 
Pointing the soul, like principles, to heaven 
And happiness, the many-voiced bells 
Peal their high summons, which invite the 

world 
To meet her Maker, in His temple shrined 
Waiting due worship. Oh ! ethereal Day 
Beyond the grossness of the belial-sense 
Eightly to value, what a blighted scene, 
Yea, what a prison-vault of petty cares, 
Polluted dreams, and soul -degrading joys 
Would earth, if Sabbathless, at once become ! 
For since like angels, men should feel and act 
By God approved, if glory such desire, 
How priceless is the sabbath ! when we hail 
The soul of six days in the seventh divine. 

To let th' eternal o'er the temp'ral cast 
A shading awe, which bids this world away ; 
Low earth to heaven by aspiration's wing 
To lift ; by symbols and by signs to charm 
Cold nature, and imagination feed 
With rites which nourish for ennobling growth 
Our being ; then, by combination due 
Of epochs high, traditions pure, and faith 
Unblemish'd, from a gospel-fountain drawn, — 
Here is the function which a Sabbath fills. 
With these conjoin appliances devout 
Of praise, confession, penitence, and prayer, 
Bathing the conscience in the crimson Blood 
Of Christ, and who can such a day blaspheme, 
Thus propertied with those divinest powers 
That to the secret roots of all which makes 
A people holy, or an empire wise, 
Send a live influence from Religion's heart? 

'Tis chiefly through such institute sublime 



Sanction'd by God, and by Himself first kept, 
The soul's position in the truth appears 
E'en as it is before omniscient Heaven. 
Now are we taught by rites, and facts reveal'd. 
Or by appeals, whose virtue is Thy pang, 
Emmanuel ! through a hidden grace applied, 
A truth which humbles, yet with holy might 
The heart attempers till it loves the law 
Celestial ; e'en this truth, the base of all 
In moral code or creed religious found, — 
That God made man, but man himself 

unmade ; 
And now is fallen from supernal heights 
Of being, into cursed and carnal depths 
Apostate, helpless, hopeless, and impure, 
And, having nothing but a guilt, — his own ! 
Oh Yerity ! beyond our solving minds 
To master, but by all things sign'd and 

seal'd ; 
Since nature providence and grace combine 
Their witness, and authenticate the Fall : 
Explaining much, itself is unexplain'd ; 
Remains a myst'ry, but all myst'ries lights 
With radiance, pure as reason's eye approves. 
Deny it, — what a libel on the Love 
Almighty, does this blasted Earth become ! 
So much of grandeur in our grief abides, 
So much of glory in our gloom appears, 
And in the soil of each corrupted soul 
So oft the foot-prints of departed God 
Leave shining impress of their primal track, 
That, if not fallen, but in form of mind 
Man in his perfect God-created mould 
Be yet apparent, — what a satire, then, 
On Power Creative seems our anarch state ! 
Or rather, by such contradiction judged, 
Incarnate angels, base and yet sublime, 
Would men be christen'd, if no beam from 

heaven 
Lighten'd the gloom of this chaotic world. 

And therefore, glory to this Day benign ! 
For now, eternity and time will meet, 
The heavenly on the earthly state shall dawn, 
And Man, who in the mass and multitude 
Of work-day powers, and worldly movements, 

makes 
Too often but an item unobserved, 
Here in the Temple, where a church becomes 
A shrine of morals to regen'rate hearts, 
Himself shall realise as full-orb'd Man ! 
Single and one, within him hiding depths 
Of solemn, vast, and individual life 
Beyond all utt'rance ! life which few discern 
Or ponder, yet beyond all speech august, 
Since there alone our secresy of strength 
And power of unpartaken being dwell. 
For what is Action, but the spirit's garb, 
The form and pressure of a Life unseen ] 



DAY OF THE LORD. 



277 



And that, more awful than the outer-sense 
Can shape, or recognise by teaching words. 
But life exterior, with its painted shows, 
And all its multiplex array of scenes 
By conduct acted or experience tried, 
Is like the ripple marked on ocean's face, — 
Hiding an unregarded deep below 
And tempting gazers to discern no more. 

Then, lift your heads, ye Everlasting Doors ! 
And be ye open, Eternal Gates ! 
That in the chariot of descending grace 
Borne by His Spirit down to hearts which 

pray, 
The King of Glory with His train of truths 
Begirt, may come, and find due welcome 

there. 
England ! be grateful ; for a scene that fills 
The soul with thoughts, whose dialect is tears, 
Around us opens with expansive range. 
Uncounted steeples now to heaven uplift 
Their chimes, and swell the wafting air with 

tones 
"Which rise and fall, like undulating waves 
In volumed cadence heaved upon the shore : 
And touching are they ! — for the tombs of 

Time 
Open amid them, as they peal, or pause ; 
While buried hopes, and forms, and feelings 

dead 
Quicken beneath their resurrection-tones 
Mysterious. But far more than gazing sense 
On earth can witness, will those gather'd souls 
"Who meet for worship with commingled awe, 
The God Incarnate, — to the Angels bright 
This morn discover, when the piercing truth 
Enters their spirit with irradiant power, 
And bares the bosom of the soul to light ! 
For hearts to them, are like transparent hives, 
Whose hidden workings are conspicuous made 
And watch'd for ever. Yes, the sabbath gives 
Wisdom to Angels, while they bend to see 
How nature struggles, as the Spirit acts, 
Eevives our graces, or a sin rebukes ; 
Or, drag3 the guilty to that secret bar, 
That stern tribunal where dread conscience 

reigns, 
And self by self is summon'd ! — 'Tis a day 
When such bright Angels watch the soul 

redeem'd 
Who love to think, where infidels would sneer, 
And learn divinity by reading man. 



DAY OF THE LORD. 

But, though some emanated charms exist 
Born of the sabbath, which no eye discerns 
Profoundly as consummate Angels can, 



Haunting our temples with their wings 

unheard 
And eyes unwitness'd, — yet, enough remains 
To prove a magic clothes this holy morn 
Beyond all others, beautiful and deep. 
And now, methinks that potency begins, 
Open the heavens, and drop their sacred dews 
Distilling balm, and blessedness, and love. 
Whether to yon cathedral, with its form 
August, and massive elegance of towers 
Serenely rising in the radiant air, 
Your fancy wander, and awhile enjoy 
The wave-like rollings of the organ peals 
Bursting, and booming down the arched aisles 
And hollow naves, while choir, and chanted 

rites, 
And vested priesthood in their pure array, 
With awful loveliness the scene inspire : 
Or rather, if to some arcadian haunt 
Where rustic manners in ancestral stamp 
Are yet embalm'd, you turn the roving eye 
To view the patriarchs of some village-plain 
Throng to their minster, with its gothic porch 
And ivied windows, 'mid encircling yews 
Embosom'd dimly, — yet, in each alike 
How much of all the Eeformation won 
For peace and purity, devotion finds ! 

E'en where yon palaces of Commerce lift 
Their dusky, dim, and many-window'd piles, 
'Mid roar of capitals, or cities vast, 
How does the day, on which Messiah rose, 
Check the loud wheels, and hush the grating 

jars 
And vexing hum of avarice and gain, 
That care-worn artizans, with pallid cheeks, 
And all the wasted family of Toil, 
Each with his little one, awhile may feel 
That Men are more than rational machines 
For shaping matter, or absorbing food ! 
And on this day, by Heaven's ordaining law 
Rank'd in the rubric of perpetual Grace, 
Their sacred brotherhood in God enjoy. 
There, as they group beneath the Bible's wing, 
And through the centralising love of Christ 
The level glory of our nature reach 
Together, who can tell what sweet content, 
What calm submission to their clouded lot, 
And wasting sorrows which their toil-worn 

lives 
Experience ever, — from such moment flows ! 
Here all are equal by the bond of flesh, 
The ties of nature, and in guilt, with God : 
Here, crowns, and coronets, and sceptres drop 
To nothing; king and subject share alike : 
And in thy royalties, redeeming Love ! 
A prince may falter, where a peasant lifts 
His plea ; while in the poor man's eye may 

shine 



278 



LUTHER. 



A tear of rapture, kingdoms could not raise, 
Nor all which earth's diameter contains 
Purchase the peace a sainted conscience hath. 

Glory ! to think that on this morn man- 
kind 
Bow at the footstool of their Common Sire 
In co-equality of dust, and sin, 
To plead for mercy at Salvation's fount. 
Ye mighty Hunters in the fields of truth, 
Titans of thought ! ye giants of renown ! 
Colossal wonders in the world of mind, 
Who with the shadow of a soul immense 
Cover creation ! though your genius charm 
Th' eternal Public of posterity, 
Your names are nothing in the balance, now ! 
Bend the stiff mind, and bow that stubborn 

heart, 
And in the pleadings of your helpless guilt 
Go, take your station with yon cottage-girl, 
Or, chant a verse with yonder hymning child, 
And happy are ye ! if like them, ye feel 
True wisdom is our ignorance to know. 
There, cast your anchors in the cloven Rock 
Of Ages ! for, behind the Yeil it towers 
Deep as eternity, and high as God. 
Abhorr'd be therefore a satanic wish, — 
That e'er by riot, lust, or lawless gain, 
Or by some logic false as fiends inspire, 
Our sabbaths in due sanctity should fail 
Or falter. On two worlds, at once, they 

touch, 
The Lights of this, the Landmarks of the 

next; 
And reft of such, all anarchies commence 
To madden : nor can praise itself o'erprize 
The order'd notions of a sabbath-day, 
When thou, maternal Church ! whose head is 

hoar'd 
With ages, but whose heart, like Jesu's, beats 
With love for spirits, — art a blessing proved 
By forms, by functions, and by ritual chants, 
And sacraments of soul-exalting grace. 
Thine is a work, beyond seraphic lyres 
To celebrate ; for now, by Thee allured, 
The infant, with its lisping tongue may speak 
More truths than prescient Socrates could tell, 
Or Plato in his most unearthly dream 
Embody. Yes, the Church is Reason's friend ! 
For, what is Reason but th' informing Word 
By grace imparted 1 and as He begins 
Our nature's law to regulate and rule, 
So all the circles of our secret life 
Concentrical with perfect reason act. 
And though alike the humble and the high 
In sermons, sacraments, and symbols meet 
Depths of divinity they cannot wade, 
And meanings never master'd, yet by such 
Our mental energies are boldly train'd 



With truths to wrestle, as the patriarch did 
With God's own Angel, nor to let them go 
Without a blessing. But the creed which 

aims 
Both man and faith in horizontal lines 
To level, proves a flatt'ring lie, that draws 
A force from reason, which it feigns to give; 
Like fawning ivy round some oak entwined 
Eating the heart its verdure seems to brace. 

Again then, be our lauding chants uplift 
To Him most holy, to the sabbath's God ! 
Who when the Planets sang their lays of 

light 
While young Earth from her liquid cradle rose 
Rejoicing, from His Throne of love decreed 
A sabbath endless, modell'd from his Own, — 
A rest whose archetype Himself enjoy'd. 
Long may our Church, with her organic 

powers 
And rites ministrant, this pure Day revere : 
For sabbaths make the morals of our land ; 
And by their litanies of sacred love, 
By pulpit, priest, and all that past'ral sway 
Which makes the meanest village in our land 
Some moral hues of soft refinement take, 
They form thermometers, whereby to mete 
Our true advancement in the noblest weal : 
Since, public virtue, monarchy, and law, 
And Church with State together are espoused 
By league of principle, and power of love. 
Hence, if our sabbaths be from sway dethroned 
The music of the Commonwealth is gone ! 
Soon into atoms will dissolve and drop 
That Fabric eloquent, whose walls are mind, 
And founded deep in immemorial laws 
And liberties, — the Constitution falls ! 
Then guard them well, ye Senators and Priests, 
For they are priceless ; and to us preserve 
All which in heart and home, in Temple, or in 

State 
Is pure of worship, or of lore profound. 
And he who robs them of their rightful sway 
By pen, or speech, example, creed, or life, 
On Heaven itself a sacrilege presumes ; 
Man's awful being to the center shocks 
And plucks the apple from a Nation's eye ! 



EVENTIDE. 

Now ere we part, let meditation look 
Once more on nature. Lo ! the day is done 
And like the radiance of a lovely dream 
Poetic slumber visions, softly melts, 
And sweetly mellows into parting hues 
The hour of sunset. From the ruby west 
A flashing glory o'er the firmament 
Deepens along, and over earth reflects 



EVENTIDE. 



279 



Beauty, which touches flower, and field, and 

fruit, 
And yellow corn-fields sloping o'er the vale, 
With charms more exquisite than garish 

noon 
Inspires. And if on yonder height we stand, 
Beneath us what a British A ready 
In lustre qualified with coming shade 
Is then unveil'd, by sunny calm serened ! 
There as we pause, around our temples throng 
The fresh-wing'd airs, from waving branches 

sent ; 
The breeze makes music; while the cadence 

low 
Of distant sheep-bell dyingly comes on, 
Or sinks delightfully on Feeling's ear. 
Here Nature thrones enchantment : far-off 

hills 
Crown'd with a coronet of glitt'ring trees, 
Paler and paler, to the west retire 
'Mid wood and coppice, lane, and hedges 

green, 
With sun-bright cots, and farms of mossy 

roof; 
While here and there some rustic temple 

shews 
That gothic beauty, whose mysterious power 
Acts on the eye like poetry in stone 
Embodied. These in blent expression woo 
The gazer ; mix'd with many a fairy gleam 
From rivers flashing, as the sun-ray tips 
Their current, cheering it with gay surprise. 
But now, a mellow shade of mantling hue 
Advances ; villages and towns retire 
Like pictured visions, save where yonder 

tower 
In its tall symmetry with golden tinge 
Retains the sunbeam ; and as home you 

wend, 
Hark ! on the ear of balmy Evening comes 
The faint far chime of some cathedral-bell, 
Whose pensive cadence to the fancy sounds 
A curfew for Creation's sabbath rest. 

That hallow'd rest is deep'ning : daylight 

ebbs ; 
But yet, or ever sinks yon Priest of light, 
Around Him like a burning shrine the 

heavens 
Gather and glow, and with their beams infold 
His dying pomp ; while colours rich, and 

deep, 
And dazzling, woven from th' Almighty's 

loom 
Of nature, all the Occident inlay. 
Brighter and brighter His dilated orb 
Is now becoming ; till, at length, He sinks 
In soft decline magnificently calm 
Beneath th' horizon, leaving all above 



Tinged with his radiance ; as true saints 

derive 
From God's own heroes, when their dying 

beds 
In farewell glory give the christian out, — 
Flashes of meaning which the face o'erspread 
With lustre, and the gazer's cheek impress 
With light, whose source is immortality. 

Vistas of thought, and avenues of mind 
Where Truth may roam in philosophic shade, 
Or Fancy by her shaping dreams begirt, 
Image beyond what pict'ring words describe, 
Open before us ; while this pensive lull 
And balmy prelude to the twilight's reign 
Come o'er the heart, till with sabbatic love 
Nature and mind responsively confer. 
Oh, how the sacredness of silence steals 
O'er all things ! just as if a spirit-glide, 
Inaudible but felt, through earth and air 
Were passing. Mute and motionless, the 

trees 
Stand in the gloom like sentinels entranced ; 
Not e'en an insect through the stirless air 
At times is waking : boughs and birds repose ; 
While the dark shadows of yon distant hills 
Arrest the eye, portentous and profound, 
As if with speaking vastness : but the flowers 
Breathe double fragrance, now the heated air 
Is cooling ; and a thousand secret plants 
Which in the sun-warm noon their scents 

retain 
Inviolate, a rich aroma yield ; 
Like hearts whose finer sympathies are shut 
When fortune brightens, but when sorrow's 

night 
Blackens around you, let their sweetness 

forth : 
Or, as those promises the Spirit's love 
To faith applies, which seldom while the sun 
Of joy shines golden, make their treasures 

known, 
But in our glooms, how gloriously they 

breathe 
Their buried meanings into living force 
And comfort ! — But more hush'd and holy 

still, 
Grows the dim landscape round the muser's 

tread 
Who walks it, till he dreams his very step 
Profane intrusion on the soundless air. 
And now methinks, Miltonic eyes would view 
Angelic Watchers of our mystic world 
Patrolling earth, with immaterial garb 
And tread unseen; or by their Lord employ'd 
The wheels of nature to redress ; or guide 
The comings-on of Night, who soon begins 
To spread Her mantle o'er the sleeping 

world. 



280 



LUTHER. 



Now rules the hour, when dormant Con- 
science wakes 
If rack'd, or guilty ; when Religion looks 
On truths unwitness'd on the garish day, 
While awed Imagination lives, and feels 
Th' unborn poetry of speechless mind 
Within her quicken'd : loud the heart-throbs 

beat ; 
And in this syncope of nature's voice 
What mute theology a moment wields 
O'er the strain'd fancy ! now indeed, we 

prove 
That worded speech to manhood appertains, 
But silence the Almighty's language is ; 
And faith can hear it, by Himself entoned 
With inspirations from eternity. 



MOONLIT SCENE. 

But that is o'er; and from the shrouding 

awe 
That girds thee, with a gentle force awake. 
E'en such a night, as now prepares to reign, 
The captive Luther from his watch-tower 

loved 
To witness, when by inward prayer becalm'd, 
He roll'd his eye-glance round the vaulted 

heavens 
Studded with stars, like Scripture gemm'd 

with truths; 
And gave his spirit to the charm of night 
With all a poet's rapture ! Such begins 
O'er the lull'd twilight to assert its reign 
Of tranced loveliness, and stellar noon. 
Lo ! one by one, with timid gleam, and slow, 
Star after star comes trembling into life 
And lustre ; radiant, mild, and mournful oft 
Like the half-tears in Childhood's pensive eye, 
Faintly they shine; while planets, rich and 

round, 
Like burning jewels dug from mines of light 
Flash on the forehead of the mellow'd sky 
Most brilliantly ; or, cluster'd into groups, 
The rest commingle their associate beams 
Dazzling the concave. Still, the earth ob- 
scured 
Lies dimly veil'd, with umbrage unrelieved, 
Waiting the lamp which lights her beauties 

up. 
And, yonder comes it ! lo, her placid brow 
O'er the dusk air yon queenly Moon uplifts ; 
And e'en as music, solemn, deep and slow, 
Through the dark chambers of dejected mind 
Where all is shapeless, oft to order cites 
Thought after thought, successive and serene, 
So her wan lustre, as it mildly steals 
O'er the mute landscape, tree, and bough, and 

bank, 



Each out of dimness and disorder draws 
To shape and aspect ; till the dew-drops 

gleam 
Like Nature's diamonds on her night-garb 

thrown, 
In countless sparkles : all the stars grow pale, 
Like mortal graces near th' excessive blaze 
Of Thine, Emmanuel ! save th' undazzled 

brows 
Of those large planets, eloquent with beams 
llnrivall'd. What a witching spell the moon 
O'er all things by her fairy radiance flings ! 
Like faith, arising in some nighted heart 
And touching nature with redemption's light 
Celestial. Wheresoe'er his roving eye 
Darts a pleased glance, lo ! hill, and brook and 

hedge, 
Rivers and streams, and meadowy range far-off, 
Cities and towers, and tall cathedral-spires, 
And village-churchyards with their grassy 

tombs 
Attract the gazer ; till his glance is charm'd 
With loveliness, beyond the moving lip 
To mention. But above, how beautiful ! 
There, solemnly the climbing moon ascends, 
And each thin cloud within her silver reach 
She clothes with splendour; like a mortal 

pang 
By hope regen'rate into radiant peace 
Transmuted. But in this access divine 
Of Nature's sabbath, solitude and night, 
How like the fortunes of the Saviour's Bride 
The Moon's high progress through the heaven 

appears ! 
Yaried, and full, now crescent and complete, 
Shaded, or dim, and then with radiance clad, 
So hath the Church along time's clouded 

scene 
Flourish' d, or faded, shined, or suffer'd gloom, 
But yet doth travel through her fated round 
Upward to glory ! Or, may deeper eyes 

discern 
In yon pale symbol of mysterious sky, 
The moon-like radiance of imperfect man 
By grace made holy, but how changeful 

too! 
E'en to the last by shades of sin o'erhung 
And hidden : while th' imperial Lord of day, 
By His prerogative of light portrays 
That sun-clear righteousness of state complete, 
Which all the justified of God arrays 
With faultless glory, fair as Jesus wore. 



NATURE AND THE CROSS. 

But that deep Name, beyond all nature loud, 
Peals like the trumpet of Eternity 
Through secret chambers of responsive faith, 



HUSH OF NIGHT. 



281 



Making them echo with the voice of Christ ! 
Nature was forfeit, when the first man fell 
By sin ; and whatsoe'er in nature lives, 
In reason, morals, or in mind enacts 
Dominion, from His vast atonement flows. 
Creation once her own Creator saw 
In Flesh embodied, when for sin He died ! 
And now from Him this hour of beauty takes 
All that cloud, or star-encircled moon 
Is lovely. Here indeed, material sights 
Touch'd by the Cross, with sacred meaning 

glow, 
Turning creation to a creed of forms 
Significant and glorious. What a truth ! 
Through Him this orb of sentient being came 
From nothing cited ; by His ceaseless hand 
The wheels of nature, and the wings of time 
Circle their way, or waft their soundless 

flight; 
While all those properties those creatures have 
Are but the actings of atoning Love 
By virtue present. Here is faith heaven-born ! 
When all the motions which in Nature rule, 
Her laws, and lights, her harmonies and 



From the faint insect to the flaming sun 
Apparent, preach the Saviour's kingly hand, 
And to the senses mirror forth His heart 
For ever. What the sinful Adam lost, 
The Sinless by eternal heirship gain'd ; 
The curse unsting'd, then took th' attainder off 
And back redeem'd th' inheritance of Man. 

Oh, tell me not, poetic harps can sing, 
That science loves, and sentiment perceives, 
And calm philosophy, with musing eye 
Beneath the stars enraptured, — all which 

heaven 
And earth of God and goodness testify ; 
'Tis only when by David's key * unlock'd, 
The Secrets and the Splendours of the world 
Unfold their magic, and by grace reveal'd, 
Electrify the soul of answ'ring love. 
The merest elegance which Pagan mind 
Imparted, upward to creative Power 
And goodness, dimly groped its erring way : 
But when the Christian His incarnate God 
Owns to be Head of all creation is, 
All life becomes one vast religion ; 
And faith and feeling in communion move 
Divorceless ever. Then, at once, all laws 
And movements, like cathedral-rites appear 
By nature's liturgy of Love perform'd 
In the vast temple of the universe, 
Shrining Emmanuel : then, the Whole applies 
To Him the watching, weeping, dying, Lord, 
The source of nature and salvation too, 



" He that hath the key of David." — Rev. iii. 7. 



The priceless merit of Whose Blood preserves 
The heavens in motion and our earth alive. 

So may we learn, at this nocturnal hour, 
Morning, or noon, whatever time we walk 
The halls of Nature with a holy tread, 
All bright and beautiful, all vast and fair, 
In Him to love, Who, when creation sinn'd 
And crime on earth began like hell to reign, 
Personified eternity in time, 
And clothed th' Infinite with human Flesh 
For our remission ! 



HUSH OF NIGHT. 

But the night is come ; 
The Moon, with her pale hierarchy girt 
Of stars, is gliding to the ocean's brim, 
And listen ! for the chime of far-off bells 
O'er a dead Sabbath tolls their dying tone : 
And now, the Day is buried ; to thy tomb 
Eternity ! with all its hopes and fears, 
Gather'd and gone. But oh, how thrill'd 
The chords mysterious of our secret frame ! 
As if the stirrings of a life unborn, 
Latent but lovely, this rapt hour inspired, 
The Dead seem gazing on our hearts again ! 
Illapses deep, irradiations pure 
Glide through our spirit from a source 

unknown ; 
Until, by awful loveliness subdued, 
Above, the pilgrim lifts his eye of prayer 
Expressive : youth, and home, and long-fled 

days 
With soft revival touch him into tears 
Unshed; and while yon arch of midnight 

rings 
With the soft echoes of those sunken chimes 
Around him, many a thoughtful sigh is 

heaved 
O'er visions gone ; and things that once be- 

charm'd 
His dazzled fancy, pale and cold appear, — 
Weeds of the past on Mem'ry's lonely shore ! 

And now, amid thy hush, most holy Night ! 
Here let us stand beneath yon hanging cliff, 
Closing our song beside the placid sea 
Which now lies breezeless. Who that thus 

beholds 
Her bosom, by the braiding moonlight deck'd, 
And heaving only to attraction's orb, 
As pant young hearts beneath the eye they 

love, 
Could ere imagine, everlasting Sea ! 
Thy billows, like the roar of human wrongs, 
Clamour on high and cleave the heavens with 

sound 



282 



LUTHER 



So often ! Such thy halcyon slumber now, 
The stars are mirror'd on thy glassy wave, 
With beam unbroken; while the feet which 



The pebbled margin of yon moonlit-wave, 
Rudely and loudly on the hush intrude 
Their faintest motion. 

Here, then, be farewell 
To this blent strain of meditative truth, 
E'en by thy bulwark, Britannic Isle ! 
Whom Ocean ramparts with her wall of 

waves. 
Now in the trance of this untroubled night 
While all seems holy, our adoring hearts 
To that supernal Power of truth we lift, 
Who guardeth Empires, and Who guideth 

thee, 
My country ! with a most peculiar love : 
That once as out of Zion peal'd the trump 
Of ancient Gospel, hence the battle-voice 
Of Truth should never cease to challenge 

Rome; 
But waken echoes, bold as Luther's cheer 
Might welcome, deep as lofty Cranmer loved, 
Or Ridley o'er his pangs of fire prolong'd. 



FINAL APOSTROPHE. 

Mysterious Spirit of the ceaseless mind ! 
Heart of the Church, as Christ the only Head ; 
Soul of our souls ! in supernat'ral light 
Unbounded, deathless and transforming Grace, 
And Love, and Wisdom, Thee I now invoke ; 
And to Thyself presume to consecrate 
Pages, that whatsoe'er of hallow'd power 
They have, from Thee alone their truth receive 
And virtue. Oh ! thou Sempiternal Life, 
Breathe o'er this effort, and with force array 
Whate'er is feeble ; and by heavenly touch 
And tone their meaning so affect and fill, 
That onward to the inner-mind of man, 
Or central being, where high Conscience holds 
Her seat august, and faith's dominion acts, 
What truths they carry may be safely borne 
Beyond the heartless, and above the vain 
To warp or weaken. Here, beneath the arch 
Of midnight, solemn, deep, intensely calm, 
Thy Presence would I realise, and lift 
Mine awe-struck nature to the heights unseen 
Of Essence Uncreate, where Thou art Third 
In Godhead, as the Fountain-Sire is first, 
Second, the Filial Word, and All supreme 
As One co-equal, co-eternal Three. 

Descend pure Spirit ! light and life and love 
Without Thee, are not : poetry is Thine ; 



Reason and science, and majestic arts, 

The heaven-born virtues, intellectual powers, 

And all pre-eminence in grace or gift 

Are but as glances from Thy glory cast, 

And caught by mind. But, who Thy sway 

can tell ] 
For at the first, the Heavens and all their 

host, 
Moon, star, and planets, from Thy hand 

derived 
Their radiance, from Thy wisdom learn'd their 

paths. 
And Earth is thine : Her elemental laws, 
Her motions, harmonies, and living hues 
Are but the efflux of Thy fontal powers ; 
While Man himself, that miracle of forms ! 
Into his mould was copied from Thy cast 
Ethereal ; and the whole of truths inspired, 
Prophetic utterance, or miraculous deed, 
Which was, or is, or shall be, are but rays 
Sent from Thine Essence to created mind. 

Without Thee, more than night Egyptian 
reigns ; 
Duty sublime would stern distraction be, 
Commanding what our impotence alarms, — 
To love the Holy, which our hearts abhor 
By nature ! But Thy promised aid attends, 
Arches our being like the roof of heaven 
Where'er we wander, and to Will perverse 
Such power imparteth, that the precept takes 
Thy presence with it, in each task assign' d. 

Thou teachest God ; and man himself abides 
By thought unfathom'd, till Thy light reveal 
The two eternities of coming truth 
Within him folded, like a double germ 
Soon to expand, in heaven or hell complete. 
And hence, our Nature grows an awful thing : 
We thrill eternity in touching Man ; 
Since from the deeps of his immortal soul 
Outlooks The everlasting, whence he came ! 

Unerring Judge ! to Whose omniscient 

gaze 
All the seal'd fountains of shut motive lie 
Unseal'd and open, richly deign to bless 
Both church and state, our monarchy and 

crown ; 
Teaching the highest, that of Thee bereft 
Reason itself irrational becomes, 
And virtues vices, with a better name 
And brighter seeming : while by Thee be- 

calm'd, 
The rudest chaos of corrupted hearts 
At once is soften' d, till in love and awe 
Embodied harmony the Man appears, 
Lives in Thy life, and thus by grace becomes 
A radiant Likeness of the Lord he loves. 



FINAL APOSTROPHE. 



253 



And now, Spirit ! at the noon of night, 
Under the shade of these expressive skies, 
While all around the hush of heaven prevails, 
Thee I invoke, a christian song to bless ; 
From Whom apart, 'tis vanity and voice, 
Or mere vexation into language thrown : 
But when Thy sanction hath the poet crown' d, 
His harp-strings quiver with a breath divine 
And all its tones with heaven-born music ring. 
They in my soul of aspirations dwell 
For truths beyond Philosophy to preach, 
Or master : if one thought this perill'd mind 
Inspire, where Thou, God of grace, art 

seen, 
Prevenient Spirit ! 'tis from Thee derived. 
And oh, if Life, with all its loneliness, 
The glow of youth hath still in heart retain'd : 
If the stern waste, the fever, and the fret 
Of buried pangs beyond the world to know. 
From boyhood in its bleakness, e'en till now, 
Have not untuned me, but a tone have left 
In concord with the beautiful and bright ; 
If nature thrill me, with as keen a joy 



As in the poetry of pensive youth 

It ever did ; if such for bliss remain, 

Blent with far deeper things, by suff'ring 

taught 
And faith transmuted for the life within, 
As onward through a bleak and heartless 

world 
My pathway windeth to the waiting tomb, 
Spirit of Glory ! take my gratitude 
And sanctify the closing strain I sing. 
Bear with my soul; Thy blessing o'er it 

breathe 
And all who love the Master whom I serve. 
Emmanuel ! peace within thy Church abide ; 
Till faith shall in sublime fruition end, 
All symbols cease, all sacraments retire, 
Our earthly sabbaths into heavenly rise 
For men and angels, and the host redeem'd 
In the one Temple * of pure Godhead keep 
The sabbath endless of almighty love. 



* "I saw no temple therein; for the Lord God 
Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it."— 
Rev. xxi. 22. 



As the spell of a remote but unreal antiquity is Ce>*t. 
one of the most potent fascinations wielded by Rome I 
over ardent minds and imaginative temperaments, a 
Catholic student of the religious past will appreciate 
the following tabular view of those distinct periods 
when Papal Novelties were substituted for ancient 
truths. The author is indebted to the Eev. Charles 
Stanford, Prebendary of Michan's, Dublin, for this 
valuable chart: — 

Cext. II.*— First steps towards a Purgatory, taken 

from Platonism. 
Rise of Ascetics, or Christian Hermits. 
Sign of the cross upon the forehead, on 

the most common occasions. 
Consecrated elements begun to be carried 

to the sick or absent, strangers, heretics, 

<fcc, a custom ending in the grossest 

abuse. 
Ce>t. III. — Over-estimation of the celibacy of the 

clergy. 
Gradual approach to monastic life in 

Egypt. 
Anniversaries of the death, commonly 

called the birth-day, of the martyrs. 

Collections for the poor on such occa- Gent. 

sions, supposed by Baronius to be an 

example of the sacrifice of the Mass! 

Gradual corruption of Christian morals ; 

ambitious rivalry, <fcc., &c, of some of 

the bishops and clergy the occasion of 

much animadversion and grief. 



* The dates as above have been collected from 
Mosheim's "Ecclesiastical History," (Murdoch and 
Soame's translation, fee, &c, London, 1S46); Span- 
heim's "Ecclesiastical History," edited by Wright, 
and compared with the original; Greer's "Epitome 
of General Councils;" Home's " Popery delineated, " 
&c. <fcc. 



IT.— Multiplication of rites and ceremonies. 

First indications of usurped authority of 

the Bishop of Rome. 
Rise of Monachism. 
Invention (finding) of the cross, by 

Helena, mother of Constantine. 
Rise of superstitious veneration of the 

cross. 
Collyridian worship of the Virgin Mary. 
[The Collyridianae were women who 
came from Thrace and the more dis- 
tant regions of Scythia, into Arabia. 
"While they were Pagans they baked 
and presented to Venus, or Astarte 
(the moon), certain cakes, called 
collyrides. And when they became 
Christians they retained this custom 
in honour of the Virgin Mary.] 
Rise of superstitious regard for relics. 
Rise of pious frauds, <fce, (fee. 
First steps towards masses for the dead. 
Wax-lights, salt, oil, fee, used in baptism. 
Wax-lights used in public worship. 
Incense used in divine service. 
V. — Celibacy of the clergy additionally im- 
portant. 
Private confession ordained by Leo. I. 
The Apocrypha, with the exception of 
one or two books, added to the canoni- 
cal books of the Old Testament, by the 
Council of Carthage, a.d. 419. 
Increased veneration for the cross and 

relics. 
Rise, amongst the Orientals, of the invo- 
cation of the Virgin Mary and the saints. 
Rise of prayers for the dead. 
Further tendency towards the doctrine 

of a Purgatory. 
An enormous increase of ceremonies in 



284 



LUTHER. 



Cent. V. — continued. 

the celebration of the Eucharist, re- 
specting the garments of the priests, 
consecration of wax-lights, erection of 
crucifixes, &c. 
Cent. VI. — Prayers to the saints, dedication of tem- 
ples, and consecration of festival days 
to them. 

Public use of images. 

Increased veneration of relics. 

Further belief in a Purgatory. 

The absolute necessity of baptism to sal- 
vation. 

The title " Mother of God " given to the 
Virgin Mary. 

The Canon of the Mass founded by 
Gregory I. 

Increase of Monachism. 
Cent. VII. — Purgatory sanctioned by Gregory I. 

Title of "Universal Bishop" assumed 
by Boniface III. 

The clerical tonsure appointed, and the 
vow of celibacy enjoined on the clergy 
by Martin I. 

Civil jurisdiction granted to bishops by 
Eugenius I., with the power of im- 
prisoning men. 

The universal use of the Latin language 
in divine service commanded by Vita- 
lianus. 

The right of the investiture of bishops, 
and the sale of the pallium or pall (the 
mantle of a bishop or archbishop) 
usurped by Leo. II. 

Increase of superstition concerning Pur- 
gatory, prayers for the dead, images, 
relics, statues, crosses, pilgrimages, 
fastings, &c. 

The rise of Antichrist in the Roman 
Church. 

The total alienation of the Oriental or 
Eastern from the Roman or Western 
Church, in consequence of the usur- 
pation of the title of Universal Bishop, 
and the claim to Papal supremacy. 
Cent. VIII. — Doctrines insisted on by Church of 
Rome: — worship of images; invoca- 
tion of saints; pains of Purgatory; 
prayers and masses for the dead; 
virtue and worship of relics ; necessity 
of celibacy; merit of Monachism; con- 
fession to a priest, &c, &c. 

Public service of God consisted, for the 
most part, in the mass, consecrations, 
prayers to images, pictures, &c, ob- 
servance of feasts, &c, &c. 

Solitary, or private, masses instituted. 

New pilgrimages appointed. 

Number of saints, relics, monasteries, 
and monks, multiplied. 

Avarice, libertinism, and gross ignorance 
of the clergy, a most striking charac- 
teristic of this century. 

Controversy upon image-worship burst 
out with great acrimony, and the 
worship of images sanctioned by regal 
authority (that of Irene, Empress 
Regent during the minority of her 
son, Constantine VII.) in the second 
Council of Nice, in which the honour 
of the salutation, the kiss, religious 



Cent. VIII. — continued. 

veneration, burning of lights, &c, &c., 
were decreed to images. 

This doctrine was opposed by Constan- 
tine when he came of age; but his 
mother in consequence deprived him 
of his eyes, and soon after of his life : 
an act applauded by Baronius ! 

The origin of the great controversy re- 
specting the Eucharist may be traced, 
in some measure, to this century. In 
the seventh Synod of Constantinople, 
under Constantine, son of Leo Isaur., 
the bread of the Eucharist is called 
the "image of Christ;" the "only 
true image " of himself, which he left, 
by the sanctification of the substance 
of the bread. On the other hand, the 
Fathers of the Second Nicene Council, 
and also Johannes Damascenus, 
strenuously denied this position, as- 
serting that the bread was the proper 
body of Christ, not indeed by transub- 
stantiation, but by union and corporeal 
assimilation, according to the hypo- 
thesis of the Greeks. 
Cent. IX. — Valentine (Pope) first required the 
Roman Senate to kiss his foot. 

The character and conduct of Formosus 
VI. and his successors in this century, 
drew from the Roman Catholic his- 
torian, Baronius, the following com- 
plaint: — "Behold the most unhappy 
times of the Roman Church, and the 
most disastrous of all periods," &c, &c. 
(Ad A. C. 897, N. 4.) And again— 
"Let us return to Stephen VII., 
whom I should not dare to reckon 
amongst the Roman Pontiffs, un- 
worthy as he is of so illustrious a 
title, " &c, &c. And again — "We con- 
sider it necessary to premise some- 
what, lest the weak-minded should be 
scandalised, if he should happen to 
behold the abomination of desolation 
in the Temple of God," &c, &c. 

Every day brought accessions to the 
tyranny of the popedom ; to corruption 
in doctrine; idolatry in worship; su- 
perstition in rites and ceremonies. 
The cement of the papal structure 
consisted in the worship of images, 
relics, belief in a Purgatory, in masses 
for the dead, in Ecclesiastical and 
Apostolical traditions, including those 
of St. Peter, the celibacy of the clergy, 
the corporeal presence in the Eucharist, 
Papal supremacy, the power of the 
will, &c. &c. 

The festival of the Assumption of the 
Virgin Mary. 

Paschasius Radbertus, a monk of Corbey, 
asserted the doctrine of Transubstan- 
tiation, as now held and taught by 
the Church of Rome, and insisted upon 
all the unscriptural and antiscriptural 
errors inseparable from this palpable 
untruth. 

Many portents and prodigies said to 
have been sent from heaven. 

Numerous miracles alleged to have been 



PAPAL NOVELTIES. 



285 



Cent. IX. — continued. 

wrought in confirmation of Papal supre- 
macy. 

Violent contentions between the Eastern 
and Roman Churches. 

Two places distinguished for relics — Com- 
postella, in France, for the body of 
St. James the Greater ; and Venice, for 
the body of St. Mark, brought from 
Alexandria. 
Cent. X.— See, for the judgment of a Roman 
Catholic historian upon the Church of 
Rome and her rulers at this crisis, 
p. 181. According to the Roman 
Catholic writers, Werner, in " Fasci- 
culo Temporum," Platina, Sabellicus, 
Onuphrius, Belarmine, Gerbrardus, 
and others, the "bishops of Rome" 
were " monsters and not men," "false 
pontiffs," "invaders of the See," "si- 
moniacal," "adulterers," "necroman- 
cers," "knaves," "infamous," and 
sometimes "mere boys." They are 
stated to have been "rapacious, flagi- 
tious, prone to libertinism, and inordi- 
nately desirous of dignity and wealth." 
Baronius speaks with "horror and 
shame" (auditu horrenda atque pu- 
denda) of the appointment of Hugo, 
son of a Count of Aquitaine, to the 
archbishopric of Rheims, at the age of 
five years, under Pope John XL, or X., 
and of the election of Octavian, at the 
age of eighteen, to the Popedom, with 
the title of John XIII. 

The canonisation of saints; a fanatical 
devotion to relics; the adoration of 
images, which were made to utter 
voices, decide controversies, and ad- 
judge lawsuits, &c. ; saint-worship ; 
institution of festivals, also of fraterni- 
ties or sodalities, who were bound by 
an oath, and under pain of anathema, 
to chaunt so many masses, at stated 
times, to help souls out of Purgatory ; 
the baptism of bells ; trials of accused 
parties by the tests of hot iron, cold 
and hot water, &c, &c. ; all these, 
with the daily increase of idolatry, 
error, and fanaticism, and the inculca- 
tion of blind obedience to Papal autho- 
rity, while the schools of theology, 
laws, philosophy, and languages, &c, 
&c., were neglected and closed, are the 
striking, prominent, and deplorable 
characteristics of this century. 

Pope John XVII., the rival of Pope 
Gregory V., was deposed and put to 
death with most barbarous cruelty. 
His eyes were torn out, and his ears 
and nose amputated; thus mutilated 
he was placed upon an ass, with his 
face to the tail, and led through the 
streets of Rome. 

But in these dark and barbarous times 
God did not leave himself without a 
witness. Even amongst the monks 
some dared to reject the Papal thral- 
dom, to expose the vices of the clergy, 
and the gloomy superstitions and vain 
traditions of the times. (Magdeburgh 



Cent. X. — continued. 

Divines; Hollinger's Eccles. Hist. ; 
Usher, de Success.) 

Accounts were rife in this century of 
earthquakes, inundations, volcanoes, 
human monsters, miracles, apparitions, 
voices from Purgatory, and other crafty 
impostures, by which the monks gene- 
rally secured the support of the cre- 
dulous, and imposed upon the ignorant 
and weak. 

The Crown of the Virgin Mary, and other 
offices to her, took rise in this century. 
Cent. XI. — The clergy grossly ignorant. Corrupt and 
flagitious crimes openly tolerated. Re- 
ligion consisted in legends of false 
miracles, apparitions, &c, &c. The 
annals of the time record strange pro- 
digies, bloody wars, monsters in human 
form, &c, &c. The people, too, were as 
ready to receive these "lying wonders " 
as the priest were to invent them. 

Pilgrimages ; the endowment of monas- 
teries ; the discovery and consecration 
of 'relics ; and implicit deference to 
Papal authority, entered largely into 
the religious observances of this century. 

Roman Catholic writers acknowledge to 
the dissolute lives, the avarice, the 
ambition, and the profligacy of the 
clerical order, who were generally 
debased, and practised the most open 
and shameless simony. Baronius (in 
Gregorio VII., a. d. 1075), speaks of 
the " great perversity of manners, 
particularly among the bishops, who 
ought to have been examples to the 
flock ; and that this proceeded from 
the vice of simony, and the abominable 
luxury which prevailed, so that the 
clergy and the faithful were tainted 
with it. " 

Three of the Popes, Sylvester II., Bene- 
dict IX., and Gregory VI., are called 
by Platina " three most dreadful 
monsters." They are also described as 
"infamous Antichrists, flagitious in 
their lives, tyrants in their rule, and 
diabolical in their acts. " Also, most of 
the Popes in these ages are said by all 
historians to have obtained the pontifi- 
cate by money or violence, and are 
described as "indolent, adulterous, 
proud, ignorant, simoniacal, covetous, 
and bloody." 

A further apostacy from the truth of God 
marks this century. The dogmas in- 
culcated as essential to salvation were. 
Papal supremacy, even in temporal 
things ; the virtue of indulgences ; the 
celibacy of the clergy ; the intercession, 
merits, virtues, and worship of saints ; 
the service of the Virgin Mary ; vene- 
ration and virtues of relics ; adoration 
of images ; transubstantiation ; masses 
for souls in Purgatory, &c, &c. 

The act of penance was commuted into 
a pecuniary fine, pilgrimages, or 
chaunting a set of psalms. 

A Sabbath was consecrated to the Virgin 
Mary by Pope Urban II. 



286 


LUTHER. 


Cent. 


XI. — continued. 


Cent. XII. — continued. 




Strings of beads for prayers were in- 


the reading of them in any vernacular 




vented by Peter the Hermit. 


language. 




Consecration of chaplets, &c. , &c. 


An increased importance attached to 




Infallibility in doctrine claimed by Pope 


the intercession and invocation of 




Hildebrand. 


saints. The power of canonisation 




In Pope Hildebrand (Gregory VII.) Papal 


monopolised by the Pope ; also the 




tyranny attained its summit of inso- 


power of granting indulgences. 




lence and pride. He is accused, upon 


The main points insisted on by teachers 




good evidence, of having removed some 


of religion, in this age, were Purga- 




of his predecessors by poison, and of 


tory ; human satisfaction for sin ; 




obtaining the pontificate by purchase. 


the merit of pilgrimages,- crusades, 




By the wars which he fomented, and 


and the monastic life : auricular 




the rebellions he instigated, he deluged 


confession ; transubstantiation ; the 




Germ any with bloodshed. His conduct 


denial of the cup to the laity ; the 




to the Emperor Henry IV. has been 


celibacy of the clergy ; and the omni- 




already recorded in the body of this 


potence of the Pope. 




work. He is described by Cardinal 


Mention made of the addition of the five 




Benno as "impious, perjured, perfi- 


pretended sacraments of the Church 




dious, cruel, proud, superstitious, and 


of Rome to the two real sacraments 




hypocritical." He was guilty of illicit 


instituted by Jesus Christ. 




intimacy with Matilda, the Princess 


The "Waldenses and Albigenses sepa- 




of Lombardy, from whom he extorted 


rated themselves from the abomina- 




some of her possessions. To this inti- 


tions of the Church of Rome. 




macy Baronius gives a spiritual mean- 


Many new orders of monks were insti- 




ing ! and says, that "in Gregory the 


tuted; amongst them the Dominicans, 




grace of the Holy Spirit abundantly 


founded by Dominic, a Spaniard, for 




inhabited, so that, beyond all other 


the purpose of extirpating error and 




men, he excelled in divine things, by 


destroying heretics. This order had 




the gift of the same Spirit ! " He is 


many offices, privileges, and inqui- 




highly extolled by Roman Catholics, 


sitorial power granted to it in the 




who speak of his visions, miracles, 


following century by Innocent III. 




prophecies, and cures, with wonderful 


Cent. XIII. — To the accumulated vices which cha- 




reverence ! ! ! 


racterised the Roman Church in the 




The controversy on Transubstantiation 


preceding ages is to be added in this 




raged fiercely in this century. This 


century the barbarous and bloody 




doctrine was resolutely opposed by 


persecution of the Waldenses and 




Berengarius and his followers, who 


Albigenses ; in order to destroy whom 




had adopted the sentiment of Bertram, 


and extirpate them utterly, Inno- 




the opponent of Paschasius Radbert ; 


cent III. instituted the office of the 




decrees were multiplied, and severe 


Inquisition. He was followed, and 




punishments enacted against all who 


imitated in his career of blood, by 




denied the doctrine of Transubstan- 


Honorius III., Gregory IX., Inno- 




tiation. 


cent IV., and Alexander IV. Dominic 




Monachism increased, and, of course, all 


and Francis, the monks, were active 




its attendant evils. 


agents in stirring up this cruel per- 
secution against people whose crime 


Cent. 


XII. — In this century religion consisted chiefly 


was — to hold the Scriptures to be 




in the piety of engaging in the crusades; 


a sufficient rule of faith, and to 




seclusion in monasteries ; auricular 


denounce the avarice, tyranny, and 




confession and priestly absolution ; 


ambition of the Popes of Rome; 




corporal penances; abstinence from 


the vices, corruption, and despotic 




meat; extreme unction, &c, &c. 


manners of the cardinals and clergy ; 




Plenary indulgences granted to crusaders. 


and the various errors and anti- 




Fierce and bloody competitions of rival 


Christian traditions of the Romish 




Popes for the Pontificate. 


Church. For the almost indescri- 




The bishops and clergy, examples of 


bable sufferings of this people, their 




superstition, avarice, and lust. 


invincible steadfastness, and the dia- 




Shameful traffic in relics. 


bolical agency which was exerted to 




The doctrine of Papal supremacy carried 


crush them, we must refer to their 




to a scarcely credible extent. In 


histories, which, as is well known, 




respect of his names, attributes, 


are within general reach. 




omnipotence, infalhbility, divine 


The Rosary of the Blessed Virgin insti- 




worship, prophetical office, his sacer- 


tuted by Dominic. 




dotal and regal power, the Pope is 


A pestilential flood of moral poison 




represented as equal with God, (Baro- 


spreads over Europe by the two 




nius on Pope Paschal II., Innocent 


orders of monks, Dominicans and 




III., Adrian IV., Alexander III., 


Franciscans. Their mutual hatred 




and Celestine III.) 


and hostilities involved the whole 




Pope Innocent III. prohibited the trans- 


of Europe in strife and debate for 




lation of the Holy Scriptures, and 


nearly 300 years. One of the princi- 



PAPAL NOVELTIES. 



287 



Cent. XIII. — continued. 

pal points of their disagreement was 
the doctrine of the immaculate con- 
ception, which was asserted by the 
Franciscans, and as resolutely denied 
by the Dominicans. 

Of these two monks, Dominic and 
Francis, Innocent III. declared that 
in a vision he was informed that 
they were "the two pillars of the 
Church ; the two lights of the world ; 
two angels, two witnesses ; two 
patriarchs ; two evangelical trumpets; 
two standard-bearers of Christ ; two 
scourges of heretics." 

This age abounded with pretended 
miracles and new monastic orders. 
The worship of the Virgin Mary, and 
images of her, increased and multi- 
plied. Unceasing efforts were made 
to support the credit of relics, &c. 
Images were said to have spoken, 
eaten, emitted oil, and sweated 
blood. The Host is said to have been 
turned into real flesh, moist with 
blood, and to have been adored even 
by beasts. This age also gave birth 
to the faith of the ' ' wounds of St. 
Francis, " which was commanded by 
the Popes to be believed, under the 
pain of incurring the guilt of heresy. 
To this age also is due the marvellous 
history of the "house of Loretto," 
which took place, according to the 
Romish legend, a.d. 1291. It is 
alleged to have been the original 
dwelling of Mary and Joseph; but 
when the Christians were expelled 
from Palestine, it was carried by 
angels through the air, over Asia 
Minor and the Archipelago, and 
placed in a part of Dalmatia, over- 
looking the Adriatic Sea ! In 1294, 
it was removed again, across the 
Adriatic, to Picenum, to a wood 
belonging to a lady, named Lauretta, 
It afterwards removed itself to a 
station on a neighbouring hill, where 
it became remarkable, according to 
Romish authorities, for many signs 
and miracles. Pilgrimages were 
made to it by all classes and condi- 
tions, and most valuable offerings 
made to it. These offerings, how- 
ever, were gradually lessened by the 
invasion of less superstitious Roma- 
nists ; and the house was finally 
plundered by the French. 

In the year 1300 Boniface VIII. com- 
manded a jubilee to be held at Rome, 
at which a plenary indulgence, and 
pardon for every sin, was granted to 
all who should visit the churches of 
St. Peter and St. Paul, and observe 
other ceremonies. This jubilee was 
designed to substitute a pilgrimage 
to Rome for one to the Holy Land ; 
and so, as Spondanus asserts, this 
Pope ' ' opened heaven to mankind by 
a shorter route." (Breviori manu 
ccelum mortalibus aperuit.) 



Cent. XIII.— continued. 

The feast of Corpus Christi and the 
elevation of the Host may be traced 
to this century. 
Cent. XIV.— Pope Boniface VIII. exercised a proud 
and austere tyranny over the kings 
of Europe and their subjects. Anti- 
christian doctrine, idolatry, super- 
stition, monachism, and inquisitorial 
cruelty and persecution were at their 
height. All these, with the barbarity 
of the scholastic philosophy, dimmed 
and denied the feeble rays of sound 
doctrine and truth which yet lingered 
over Christendom. 

The characters of the successive Popes, 
of this century are to the last degree 
shocking and offensive to religion and 
common humanity. They seem to 
have been actuated more by the 
animal passions of brutes than by the 
common sense and reason of men. 

On the death of Pope Gregory XL, a.d. 
1378, the Italian and French factions 
came into collision, and each appointed 
a Pope of their own — both of them 
alike infamous for their crimes ; one 
of them had been supported by Cathe- 
rine of Sienna, who was remarkable 
for her pretended visions, revelations, 
and prophecies, in the pontificate of 
Gregory XL And the other, Clement 
VII., by Peter of Lombardy, said to 
have been remarkable for his mira- 
cles, and afterwards canonised ! The 
schisms in the popedom during this 
century lasted fifty-one years. 

Many Romish writers exposed the 
simony, corruptions, innovations, and 
vices of the Popes ; the libertinism of 
the monks ; and the ignorance and 
indolence of the clergy : particularly 
William Durand, " De Modo Cele- 
brandi Generalis Concilii ; " Nicholas 
de Clemangis, "De Corrupto Ecclesire 
Statu;" and Cardinal Alliacus, "De 
Emendanda Ecclesia." Also Dante, 
and John de Rupescissa, testified to 
the fact, that the inventions of men 
were preferred in the church to the 
oracles of God. Many other writers, 
undoubted witnesses for the truth, 
deplored the lamentable state of the 
Church, and expressed their indig- 
nation at the unsound doctrines 
and innovations which prevailed, 
respecting transubstantiation, saints, 
images, relics, the merits of works, 
&c, &c. Such were William Occam, 
Francis Petrarch, Oresmius, Nicholas 
Lyranus, Bradwardine, Gerson, Saga- 
relli, &c, &c. 

A testimony for the truth of God 
appeared amidst the darkness of 
error and superstition in this century, 
in the person of John Wickliff, born 
at Wycliff, in Yorkshire, a.d. 1324, 
and first brought into notice by 
defending Edward III. against the 
Pope, who required homage from 
England. He demanded that every 



2S8 



LUTHER. 



Cent. XIV. — continued. 

doctrine should be tested by the 
Word of God alone ; and proved that 
not one of the accumulated errors of 
Romanism could abide this infallible 
test. In this century Mallaesius, or 
Militzius, a canon of Prague, con- 
tended with great zeal and ability 
for the unadulterated Gospel. He 
was soon followed by John Huss 
and Jerome of Prague, who imbibed 
the spirit of Wickliff, and were 
equally ardent in the cause of reli- 
gion and truth. Of course, no other 
than a passing notice can be taken 
here of those illustrious men, and 
then ability and fidelity to the cause 
of God. 
Cent. XV. — The beginning of this century wit- 
nessed two rival Popes. Soon after, 
three were found to claim each the 
pontificate for himself, and, by course, 
the infallibility alleged to accompany 
it! 

In this century Pope Martin V. ap- 
proved of the sentence by which 
John Huss and Jerome were burned 
alive — the former July 7, 1415, the 
latter July 29, 1416 ; and by a 
bull (Inter Cunctas) he delivered 
over to the secular power, for punish- 
ment, the Wickliffites, Bohemians, 
and Moravians. The better to effect 
this, he aroused the most dreadful 
persecutions against them, under 
the title of "sacred expeditions." 
His death was followed by new 
schisms, and by the deposition of 
Pope Eugenius IV., by the Council 
of Basil, 34th Session, in which the 
Pope was declared to be "notoriously 
and manifestly contumacious, disobe- 
dient to the universal Church, a 
rebel, simoniacal, perjured, heretical, 
useless, and damnable, unworthy 
of any rank, title, honour, or dignity, 
and therefore deprived of the papacy 
and Roman pontificate," &c, &c. 

Pope Nicholas built several sumptuous 
palaces in Rome, and lived very 
luxuriously and expensively, sup- 
porting his extravagance by the sale 
of indulgences. 

The characters of the Popes in this 
century equalled, if not surpassed, 
those of their predecessors. But it 
remained for Pope Alexander VI. to 
outdo all who came before him, and 
to have admitted no rival in his inde- 
scribable wickedness but his own son. 

By a canon made at the Council of 
Constance, a.d. 1415, the laity were 
deprived of the cup in the Eucharist, 
upon the most wicked and at the 
same time ridiculous pretences. 

The doctrine of the Immaculate Con- 
ception was asserted and decreed 



Cent. XV. — continued. 

by the Council of Basil. This did 
not terminate, however, the disputes 
on the subject. The Dominicans 
and Franciscan bishops, archbishops, 
cardinals, and universities, still con- 
tended on different sides of the ques- 
tion. Pope Sixtus IV. attempted to 
settle it, but could not succeed. 

Several new festivals were instituted, the 
feast of the Immaculate Conception, 
&c, &c, and also new fraternities, 
which tended to promote idolatry. 
Amongst these was the Society of 
the Rosary, or Psaltery of the Virgin 
Mary in England; in which it was 
esteemed a singular mark of devo- 
tion to say 150 Ave Marias and fifteen 
Pater-nosters at one time ; an original 
invention of Dominic, but which had 
fallen into disuse, and was revived. 

Vast treasures of relics were said to 
have come to light in this century. 

The disposal of indulgences for the re- 
mission of sins had now become a 
common traffic. 

Miracles and apparitions multiplied. 
Visions and fables, and monkish 
legends ; the wonderful virtues of 
images, relics, the form of the cross, 
&c, &c. all increased to uphold the 
credit of the false doctrines of the 
Romish Church. Unprofitable, and 
even impious, subjects of disputation 
occupied the pens and minds of the 
monks, schoolmen, and ecclesiastical 
writers of this period. Every species 
of crime and immorality was rife 
during this age. The 'darkness 
became every day, if possible, more 
dense, in order to impart a brighter 
lustre to the dawn of the approaching 
Reformation. The most relentless per- 
secutions were instituted in England 
against the Lollards and followers 
of Wickliff; in France against the 
Picards and Waldenses ; Louis XII. 
sent armed detachments against the 
Albigenses. In Bohemia the Hussites 
were persecuted. Amongst the chief 
and most active fomenters of blood- 
shed in this awful period was Pope 
Martin II. 

The public auction of church prefer- 
ments, and the sale of the pardon of 
sin, by which even the wickedness 
which one intended to commit might 
be commuted for money, proceeded 
to the most shameful extent. 
Cent. XVI. — See a former page for a brief sketch of 
the Church of Rome at this period, 
and for the exigent necessity of that 
Reformation which it pleased God to 
effect, and in the light of which it is 
the glorious and inestimable privilege 
qf our Reformed Church to walk. 



WOMAN : 

THE LIGHT OF HOME. 



WOMAN. 



CANTO I. 

{In reference v.nto History). 

Without whom, — 'le commencement de la vie est 
sans secours, le milieu sans plaisir, et la fin sans 
consolation.' " — Miss Edgeworth. 

The empire of women is not theirs because men 
have willed it, but because it is the will of nature. 
Miserable must be the age in which this empire 
is lost, and in which the judgments of women 
are counted as nothing by man." — Rousseau. 



ANALYSIS OF CANTO I. 

Commencing Apostrophe — Morning Scene at Elsinore 
— English Fleet passing the Sound — Cronburgh 
Castle — Queen Matilda a Captive there — Her de- 
jection and dreams — Farewell Scene — Landscape 
changes — Moral analogy — Time — Ideal associations 
— Imaginary Sketches — City-portraiture — Human 
Life — Its trials ameliorated — Woman's Mission — 
Compared with Man's — Sexual characteristics — 
Degrading Theories — Moral Beauty — English 
Females are national glories — Prostituted Genius — 
Its unavailing Remorse — Design of the Poem — 
Grateful Retrospections. 

Earth, air, and ocean, glorious three ! * 

Inspired with living poesy, 

More gladly than a bird regains 

The freedom of unbounded plains, 

And wanders on ecstatic wing 

O'er meadow, lake, or laughing spring, 

My spirit from the world retreats ; 

Again the bright Creation greets, 

And learns how Nature's smile can bless 

The hearts which love her loneliness. 



How eloquent this silent hour ! 
Surrender" d to its lulling power, 
The soul forgets that tears are shed, 
That hopes are dim, and pleasures dead 
A hue of heaven on earth descends : 
Th' immortal with the mortal blends ; 
And all we fancy, frame, or see, 
Is found in faultless harmony. 



* The first canto of this poem was written at 
Elsinore, Denmark, in the neighbourhood of Cron- 
burgh Castle, which will explain the local allusion 
and historical illustrations by which the general 
subject is naturally introduced. 



Oh ! ever thus, while bards can feel, 
And celebrate with hymning zeal 
The glories which for good combine, 
The universe becomes divine : 
Behind the veil of sense they dwell 
Encinctured with a dazzling spell ; 
Where'er they tread, enchantment lives, 
And Beauty all her magic gives 
To hallow with poetic grace 
Whatever dreaming eye would trace. 
To them, the finished world is fraught 
With fine appeals to glowing thought ; 
And meanings flow from all they view, 
Of vast in form, or fair in hue ; 
And not a ray of sunshine gleams 
But there the smile of Godhead seems 
In token of paternal love 
Reflected from His face above ! 

His torpid mind I envy not 
Though crown and kingdom were his lot, 
Who here, amid this morning balm 
And conscious Nature's dream-like calm, 
With tender sky and tranquil sea 
Partook no inborn sympathy. 
The canopy of heaven is hung 
As blue as poet ever sung ; 
Though here and there serenely glide 
Along the air's cerulean tide 
Pale clouds, which seem too delicate 
For breeze to touch their fairy state. 
Beneath a window, far away 
Stranger, let thy fancy stray, 
For seldom can thy dreams expand 
Their wings o'er more delightful land : 
The warble of yon distant waves, 
As lightly oft the billow laves 
The greenwood-bank and grassy shore 
That bounds the sea of Elsinore ; 
The mountain's dim and dusky form, 
Which, like a dying thunder-storm, 
Glooms on the air with awful swell ; * 
The chiming of the castle-bell, 
From frowning turret faintly heard ; 
The fruited boughs by breezes stirred, 
With every sound that summer brings 
From bird, and bee, and happy things, 



u 2 



292 



WOMAN. 



How exquisitely all combine 
To make exulting morn divine ! 

And look, adown yon dimpled sea 
As bright as liquid sun could be, 
The tiny skiffs of Norway sail 
And glitter, cloud-like, in the gale ; 
While frequent oars with flashing stroke 
Appear, as oft the tide is broke 
By fleet-wing' d bark, which gaily flies 
To where the sand-girt Sweden lies. 
In green extent of wood and hill, 
With bowery hamlets, bright and still. 
To him who loves a haunted scene 
Where grief or glory once hath been, 
Grey Cronburgh lifts her storied pile 
And darkens o'er the Danish Isle : 2 
Whose vaulty depths and caves profound 
Have echoed to the wizard sound 
Of clanging shield, and shaken lance, 
With each grim voice of old Romance. 
And there on Fancy's spell-bound eyes 
Behold ! that royal spectre rise, 
By Shakspeare summon'd, when the bell 
Of midnight groan'd the hour's farewell. 
But, ere thou leave the castled height, 
Survey o'er all a patriot sight, 
A scene that makes the life-blood start 
And pictures England on his heart, 
The banners Nelson thrill'd to see 
Behold them wave ! — how gallantly 
They flout the wind with haughty threat, 
And show the Deep her victor yet ! 
When bravely down yon beauteous tide 
The monarchs of the ocean ride ; 
Or, tranced amid the drowsing air, 
They whiten in the noontide glare 
Those wings that wait the driving breeze 
To waft them o'er a hundred seas ! 
Reflected on the wave is cast 
The symmetry of sail and mast ; 
Or, booming o'er the startled deep, 
Loud echoes of their cannon sweep, 
Whose thunders in their dauntless tone 
Can mock the Tempest on his throne ! 

Yet not on earth exists a scene 
Where shades of sorrow have not been : 
The softest verdure mead can spread 
Is often paced by Misery's tread ; 
The magic of the clearest sky 
Hath mock'd how many a clouded eye ! 
And, link'd with all that local grace 
The wizard Fancy loves to trace 
Wherever Nature weaves a spell 
Round wood, or crag, or hoary dell, — 
Live recollections sad as deep, 
To bid Imagination weep. 



And thus in this elysian hour 

Oh ! who can gaze on Cronburgh tower, 

Nor dream of her, the young and gay, 

Whose captive spirit pined away 

The victim of a royal hate, 3 

In the vile gloom of dungeon-state ! 

Dejected queen ! I view thee now 

With pleading eye, and pensive brow 

As pale as moonlight and as mild ; 

Or, watching o'er thy cradled child 

While visions of regretted youth 

Around thee float in fairy truth, 

Till the full past o'ercrowds thy brain, 

And thou art in thy home again ! 

But when at night a thund'ring sound 

Of wave on wave, in deep rebound 

Rang echoed o'er the castle-wall, 

How wildly did that night appal ! 

How many a terror shook thy form, 

As Midnight roused the yelling storm, 

And, like the rush of demons, past 

The pinions of the northern blast, 

And through a grated window broke 

The flashes of each lightning-stroke ! — 

Yet oft arose a sunny mood, 

When gladness e'en an exile wooed, 

As, gazing from a rampart's height, 

Her eye might gather free delight, 4 

While slowly pealed the turret-bell, 

And richly over Zealand fell 

The flushes of retiring day, 

Till earth one mass of glory lay ! 

Beneath her roam'd the Baltic wave, 

Where oft an English banner gave 

(While roll'd the gun's saluting roar,) 

A dream of that remember'd shore 

Her heart was doom'd to hail no more ! 

There, oft as gradual eve decayed 

And glimmer'd o'er the beechen-shade, 

How Denmark's bloom her smile would bless, 

Laid forth in Eden loveliness, 

Of bank and meadow, bush and stream 

Like landscape in a painter's dream ! 

Or where the rocky Sweden lowers 

She mark'd Landscrona's faded towers ; 

Or musing saw in verdant rest 

The garden once by Hamlet prest, 5 

When haunted by majestic grief 

The princely mourner scorn'd relief, 

And dared to nurse in dreaming pain 

The might and madness of his brain. 



With many a gleam of pensive joy 
Her captive-gloom could not destroy, 
O'er sad Matilda ling'ring past 
The lonely years, by fate o'ercast 
With shadows of imputed crime, 
Which deadened hope, and darkened time, 



WOMAN. 



293 



Till when, at Britain's high behest, 

The exile found a foreign rest : 

Entranced upon the deck she stood 

And, Avhile her straining vision could, 

(A s o'er the billows' bounding play 

Her wafted vessel flew away) — 

On Cronburgh's battlemented pile 

Array'd by evening's rosy smile, 

Matilda fixed her yearning eyes 

While heaved her breast with broken sighs, 

And on her cheek sat meek despair, 

That mourn'd a child deserted there !— ■ 

There, in that tower where time had been 

A sad, but still maternal scene ; 

How thrilling was that farewell-hour 

Sublim'd by Pity's godlike power ! 

The mariner subdued his tone, 

To make a mother's grief his own ; 

And souls who mock'd the lightning-flash, 

Or dared the billows' wildest dash, 

Felt more than milder bosoms fear 

And soften'd down to woman's tear ! 

But, hark I the wind hath changed its tone ; 
The sun hath veil'd his burning throne ; 
And o'er the dazzling blue of heaven 
Prophetic shades of storm are driven ; 
And fiercely shoots the slanting rain 
On garden-bower, and window-pane, 
While leaflets fall from branch and tree, 
Like hopes from human vanity ; 
And like the moan of billows heard 
From yon dim ocean, tempest-stirr'd, 
With sounds that tell a dreary track 
The waves of Life come rolling back, 
That awful Life ! whose endless roar 
Breaks loud upon th' Eternal shore ! 

As one, when torture long hath tried 
And rack'd his eye-lids, sleep-denied, 
While bound in slumber's silken chain 
And calm in heart and cool in brain, 
Awakens on his midnight bed 
To ghastly sense or gloomy dread, 
And feels again each pang begin 
To wrench the writhing soul within ; 
So wakes a heart that dreams awhile 
All earth in sabbath-peace to smile 
Around him like this lovely isle, 
Till darkness on his dream descends 
And in the world his vision ends. 

A moment is a mighty Thing 
Beyond the soul's imagining ; 
For in it, though we trace it not, 
How much there crowds of varied lot ! 
How much of life, life cannot see, 
Darts onward to eternity J 



While vacant hours of beauty roll 
Their magic o'er some yielded soul. 
Ah ! little can the happy guess 
The sum of human wretchedness ; 
Or dream amid the soft farewell 

That Time of them is taking, 
How frequent moans the funeral knell, 

What noble hearts are breaking, 
While myriads to their tombs descend 
Without a mourner, creed, or friend ! 

Could Fancy reach some throne of air 
What vision would await Her there I 
In tumult, agony, and strife, 
Rolls the loud sea of human Life ! 
Before a despot's gilded throne 
Hear Kingdoms weep, and Nations groan ; 
Yet tyrants in their slumber start 
To feel the dagger at their heart ; 
And they can hear the murder'd call, 
Can trace the hand upon the wall, 
And not a slave who lays him down 
Would change a dungeon for their crown ! 

Lo ! yonder gleams a hoof-torn plain 
Where moon-light shrouds th' unburied slain, 
And bare against the naked sky 
A thousand helmless foreheads lie ! 
On one is seen a parting trace 
By torture graven on the face, 
As dying Valour swoon'd away, 
And blood congeal'd to breathless clay ; 
While others on their cheeks express 
A smile from woman's tenderness, — 
A ray of that remember'd scene 
Where the bright heaven of home had been ! 
But, hark ! from ocean heaves a cry 
Deeper than when the tempests die, 
As down men kneel upon the deck, 
And listen to the crashing wreck ! 
A minute — and the murd'rous Storm 
Hath mangled that colossal form, 
Which floated o'er terrific seas, 
Defied the blast, and faced the breeze, 
But now, a fragment ! — and the wave 
Lies howling o'er the seaman's grave. 

From these avert thy fear-struck view ; 
A vision, not so dark in hue, 
But awful, with its deep array 
Of all we suffer, do, or say, 
The throne of Fancy may command, 
While picturing with creative hand 
The domes and temples, street and bath, 
Whate'er a haughty City hath 
Of sin and freedom, to decoy 
The hearts whose pulse is tuned to joy. 
And what a world of secret care 
Lies wall'd within that compass there ! 



Where, Thought and Deed for ever toil, 

And life is one permitted spoil 

As each from cradle to the grave 

Is half a tyrant, half a slave ; 

And shuts his breast, and steels the heart, 

While Vice and Virtue act their part 

And rarely lets the spirit speak, 

But plays the courtier with his cheek ; 

Whose ready smile, like moon-light, when 

It flutters o'er some noisome den, 

Can bid the soul's corruption shine 

And make its meanness look divine ! 



Yes ! there in yonder city now 
O'er which young Morning bends her brow, 
On tower and temple smiling bright, 
How weeping angels watch'd the night ! 
A captive tore his chain-worn limb, 
And deem'd that God deserted him ; 
A felon heard the life-blood stream, 
And saw the gallows in his dream ; 
The maniac's eye renew'd its glare 
While his lip writhed with mocking pray'r : 
The miser mutter'd in his sleep 
And counted o'er and o'er his heap, 
Then seem'd with restless hand to hold 
And taste the touches of his gold ! 
And while in rooms of Revelry 
Pleasure beheld bright moments flee, 
A pillow for some dying head 
With aching hand and heart was spread ; 
And who but sleepless Heaven can say 
When Earth confronts the Judgment-Day, 
The darkness of a thousand deeds 
Dread Midnight in her shadow breeds ! 
For ever in the world there lies 
What meets alone immortal Eyes ; 
While all man dreads that man should see 
He dares unveil to Deity, 
As though where guilty feet have trod 
No power should track them, but his God ! 
And, pale Ambition ! Sad wert thou, 
As wanly on thy wasted brow 
The feeble watch-light flung its ray, 
While ebb'd thy pulse with dying play : — 
But when thy filmy eyes uprose 
Their glance untomb'd thy buried woes, 
And round the room a meaning cast 
Which told of time and truth o'ercast, 
While fever'd blood and martyr'd frame 
Avenged the toils that won a name ! 

And is it thus dark Life appears 
A fountain of unfailing tears, 
While to each minute's flight is given 
The gloom of hell, or glance of heaven 1 
Lo ! Nature speaks to all who look 
And read aright Her glorious book, 



How much there dawns to mitigate 

The bleakness of our barren state. 

Oh ! who can hail the breeze-wing' d morn 

When beauty in the heavens is born, 

Or wander forth in sun or storm, 

Nor love Creation's living form ! 

And life, though oft a wilderness 

By passion made and wild distress, 

Where like a leaf by autumn blown 

The wither'd heart must fade alone, 

To spirits nerved by glad desire 

And pure from each debasing fire, 

How much it yields of great and good 

To make existence gratitude ! 

The wielding of colossal pow'rs 

By which all earth is render'd ours ; 

The Arts that link'd with lovely grace 

Form paradise round scene and place ; 

The pleasures proud as undefined 

From fellowship with man and mind — 

If bliss like this a world display 

How weak to frown that world away ! 

But, ah ! there is a brighter Charm 

No shade can dim, no cloud disarm ; 

A Star enthroned o'er change and time, 

Though meek, unmoved ; though soft, sublime : 

A spell beyond the world to break, 

Which when our eyes this orb forsake 

Will cling around the parting soul, 

And gird it with a fond control, 

For man design'd by Heav'n above, 

And wafted down in woman's love ! 

That power without whose added spell, 
So vast yet so invisible, 
The lustre of our spirit wanes, 
And pleasures are but smiling pains 
Is holy Love, by hearts enjoy'd, 
Unchill'd, unchanged, and unalloy'd ! 
And will the Stoic deem me wrong, 
A martyr of mistaken song? 
Without it, what are crowns and kings, 
But barren toys and blighted things ] 
Art, Wit, and Genius, all we glow 
To think cold earth contains below, 
By woman's voice or woman's name 
Have gather'd fortune, might, and fame. 
And ask him whom the world hath worn, 
Whose brain is rack'd, whose bosom torn 
Amid the dust, the heat and strife 

Around each day concenter'd, 
How exquisite that purer life 

At eve, when he hath enter'd 
The garden-path where Peace can wind, 
And cast the demon Care behind ! 
The tottering pace of infant feet 
That haste a homeward sire to greet ; 
Each budding thought and broken word 
So faintly seen, and softly heard ; 



WOMAN. 



295 



The tones of air, the tender hues 

Affection pours on all it views ; 

And, sweeter far, the eyes which live 

Upon the rays his own can give, 

Now kindled into fond excess 

Of light that speaks, and looks that bless !- 

To him who feels such blended power 

They hallow Eve's domestic hour, 

The Star of life, where'er he roam, 

Is she whose ray attracts him home. 

But, godlike is the creature, man ! 
The Past is glittering where he ran 
Triumphantly his onward track, 
With prints of glory ! — trace them back ; 
Behold him stamp o'er land and sea 
The might of immortality ! 
To him whom waves nor winds restrain 
The Elements resign their reign ; 
While cowering Earth and Ocean meet 
To lay their sceptres at his feet ; 
Whose hand the rock or mountain fells, 
Or strews the globe with miracles 
Of form and motion — wondrous Things ! 
Beyond a bard's imaginings ; 
And in his mind there dwells a sense 
Of Adam's lost pre-eminence, 
Which yearns for that ideal more 
Than lip can speak, or thought explore. 

Yet not because with bolder light 
The traits of Manhood court the sight, 
And Action with incessant claim 
Can summon forth each high-born aim, 
The softer tints of woman's soul 
Pervade the world with less control. 
The Thunder is the king of sound, 
But ever may the breeze abound, 
And quiver on melodious wing 
Where beauty walks, or health can spring : 
The forest wears inspiring gloom, 
But yet we seek the flow'ret's bloom ; 
Stern Ocean hath terrific grace 
Imprinted on his hoary face, 
But oh ! how dear some tranquil dream 
AVhich haunts the bank of village stream ! 
And thus, methinks, doth woman's heart 
A gentler, not less glorious part 
In Life's dim tragedy fulfil, — 
The feeblest, but the fairest still : 
And as in nature charms may be 
Which all enjoy, though none can see, 
The light and love of female power 
Have graced how many a graceless hour, 
And round the spirit twined a zone 
Too delicate for eyes to own ! 
Let Valour, Strength, and Wisdom, claim 
Their summit on the throne of fame ; 



Yet shrinking heart and mind subdued 
Become the charm of Womanhood ; 
And thoughts that might creation wield, 
By man's dominion taught to yield, 
Lie mute and dead in lonely rest 
And leave the soul but half exprest ! 
For man, not nature, is the power 
That darkens from its natal hour 
The mind which decks the softer Pace, 
And dooms them to a second place. 

But even thus, no formal chain 
Can frighten, fetter, or restrain 
That spirit-burst from time to time, 
When, blazing forth with beam sublime, 
The mind of Woman proves a spell 
To make this truth shine visible — 
That Genius of no sex can be, 
When radiant with divinity ! 
And though in life her lovely sway 
Fall dew-like o'er the parched day, 
She rules that noiseless under-tide 
Of happy thoughts by home supplied. 
But, see ! when peril claims her part, 
The hero of a woman's heart ! 
Though weak in hand, and frail in form, 
Her spirit strengthens with the storm ; 
In vain the warning thunders roll, — 
They rally, not subdue, her soul ! 

Yet earth-born Passion soils her worth 
With everj 7 - shade of vulgar earth, 
Nor dreams her highest glory can 
Ascend beyond — a slave for man ! 
But vile that soul, however fraught, 
If pride of sex be only taught : 
The mind has lost its master-grace, 
And thoughts demean their lofty race 
When female love and virtue claim 
No laurel in the wreath of Fame ; 
While all that Genius should adore 
Is laugh'd away to live no more ! 
Not thus the bright and perfect One, 
Whose Blood redeem'd a world undone, 
Of woman spake, when Man had flown 
And Mary watch d and wept alone ! 

Another and a darker race 
Whose doctrine might the brute disgrace, 
So vilely from the dust of earth 
It sprang, to prove its sullied birth ! — 
Oh, name it not, but let it be 
Entomb'd in voiceless infamy ! 
If he who dares a Shrine deface 
Where time has left a holy trace, 
Is branded for his impious zeal 
By all who ancient glory feel, 
What damning tones can language find 
For him who would profane the mind, 



296 WOMAN. 


And dare, with sacrilegious smile, 


A tyrant, when his wrath is o'er, 


The temple of the soul defile ! — 


Can break the chain, and back restore 


Affection, deep as hearts desire, 


The dungeon'd captive into day ; 


Yet fed by intellectual fire ; 


And tears may suffer'd wrong allay ; 


Those graces felt, but undefined, 


And scarce a pang the good endure 


In gleams and glances of the mind, 


But some atoning sigh may cure. 


Developed in a myriad ways, 


But what is written — that is writ ! 


By mien or manner, look or gaze ; 


No soul-wrung tear may cancel it ; 


The tones in dewy cadence heard 


Like demons on dark errand sent 


From lips that harmonise each word, 


From out their fiendish element, 


All, all the bright attraction bred, 


Polluting Thoughts, by passion fired, 


From each fond smile a soul hath shed, 


Career the world, untamed, untired ; 


Oh ! these transcend what Passion's might 


From heart to heart their plague is spread, 


Can raise to charm her maniac sight. 


From soul to soul corruption bred, 




Till myriads by their baneful spell 


And when Disease's poison'd breath 


Are tempted to ^he brink of hell ! 


Hath tainted life with hues of death ; 




When time has dimm'd that starry gaze 


I envy not the unconfess'd 


Whose magic thrill'd our younger days, 


Remorse that gnaws his lonely breast, 


There is a love whose light remains 


Who weeps o'er that perverted mind, 


To warm the heart though passion wanes : 


Whose genius should have graced mankind, 


For beauty born within the mind 


Yet bow'd to be the mental slave 


Admits no mean decay ; 


Of crimes which curse beyond the grave ! 


The Earth may shrink, the Sun grow blind, 


For when at noon of life he sees 


Ere that dissolve away ! 


His children circled round his knees ; 




Or triumphs in each dimpling grace 


Alas ! how oft since time began 


That dawns within a daughter's face, 


Hath woman been abased by man ; 


What pangs with that proud moment cope, 


To wisdom's rank denied a claim 


What terror blights each blooming hope ! 


Beyond the worst or weakest aim ; 


Perchance within his dying brain 


Or, doom'd by others, living toys 


Shall ring some recollected strain, 


For brutal dreams, or selfish joys ! 


And gloomily those visions throng, 


But thou, my England ! first to be 


Corruption loved to shape in song ; 


In heart refined, in spirit free, 


And while they darken round his head 


For ever may the virgin smile 


Portray the crimes their poison bred, 


Of Woman consecrate thine isle ! 


Till Fancy hears the parting groan 


To guard thee, should fond ocean fail, 


Of souls that shudder'd like his own ! 


Thy banners cease to awe the gale, 




Thy throne become a crushing weight 


Then, not for that unloving race 


Of tyranny on rank and state, 


Who scorn each intellectual grace ; 


Thy genius and thy glory fled, 


Or them, whose coarseness would destroy 


With each high pulse of freedom dead — 


The vestal-bloom of human joy, — 


E'en then, with female worth to throw 


Be mine the lay. Yet should there be 


Its heavenliness round want and wo, 


A heart which loves true heart to see ; 


Ruled by the heart's unsullied reign 


A father, who has felt how dear 


A Kingdom might revive again. 


The woman whom his thoughts revere ; 


But trample once upon that shrine 


A mother, in whose watchful eye 


Where Love hath sainted as divine 


Affections deep and endless lie ; 


That Beauty which our dreams adore, 


A maiden, who hath known how sweet 


Religion, virtue, truth, are o'er ! 


The sister of her soul to greet ; 


And sooner shall Gomorrah rise 


Or lover, who in lofty youth 


From out her grave to greet the skies, 


Hath pleaded with impassion'd truth 


Than Empires where no morals bloom 


To shape of Beauty, by whose light 


Awaken from their living tomb ! 


The universe became so bright, — 




If such the poet's page beguile 


Oh ! what a curse for them who can 


His guerdon be their grateful smile. 


Etherialise the world of man, 




Yet prostitute a poet's line, 


Oh ! might he wake the richest tones 


To render Woman less divine. 


The harp of his enchantment owns, 



For melody to waft along 

The spirit of prevailing song, 

And summon from the caves of Thought 

Whatever shaping Dreams had wrought, — 

A bard might think his visions rife 

With rays of feelings, caught from life. 

For, in such life what bliss he owed 

To all that woman's reign bestowed ! 

The smoothest voice, the softest word 

Delighted moments ever heard • 

The dearest smile by pity shed 

To quench the darkness sorrow bred ; 

The shadow of an Angel seen, 

Where Goodness unobserved had been ; 

And, more than all, devoted truth 

Whose years retain' d undying youth, — 

If such a crowd of memory's charms 

A poet's lyre too feebly warms, 

It is because no words express 

The light of Woman's loveliness ; 

And more than Poetry can speak 

Is mirror'd on her brow and cheek ; 

While feelings oft the most sublime 

Eefuse to be portray'd in rhyme, 

Though brightly round the heart they throng 

And seem the archetypes of song : — 

If doom like this attend my aim, 

The song, but not the subject, blame ! 



canto il 

(In relation unto Sentiment). 

"Yours was the nobler birth, 
For you from man were made ; man but of earth, 
The son of dust ! " — Randolph. 



ANALYSIS OF CANTO II. 

Man in Paradise — His sense of Loneliness — Creation of 
Woman — Social Instincts — Injustice of History to 
Female worth — Woman's gradual degradation — 
Greece and Rome — Then* domestic wants — Civi- 
lising effects of feminine influence — Chivalry and 
its sway — Christianity the Social restorer of Woman 
— Heroism and benevolence of her nature — Blessings 
of her Empire — Her dominion in Home — Single 
Misery! — Poets and Poetry — How Woman has 
inspired both — Dante and Beatrice — Petrarch and 
Laura — Shakespeare and his Love — Tasso and 
Leonora — Milton and his affections — His Histoiy — 
Klopstock and Meta — Burns and Highland Mary — 
His mournful Fate — Byron — Harrow — Retrospec- 
tive glance. 

When first the wings of Light unfurl'd 
Their radiance o'er a new-born World, 
And choral music, faint and far, 
Awoke in each melodious star, 
Until the glowing Earth began 
To thrill beneath the gaze of man, 



Ah, who can paint the primal bliss 
That charm'd an hour divine as this ! 



How beauteous in his dawn of birth 
Without a shade of sullied earth, 
Without one touch of deadly sin 
To mar the perfect soul within, 
The lord of Eden must have stood, 
When God beheld, and call'd him, good ! 
Oh ! to have heard his lips reveal 
The first delight that dust could feel ; 
Have listen'd to each wild address 
He paid to Nature's loveliness • 
Or, flashing from his heaven-turn'd eye, 
Have mark'd the spirit's majesty, 
While round his heart Religion stole 
And mirror'd Him who made the whole ! 

A melody from leaf and flower, 
Eesponding to the breeze's power 
That warbled with exulting tone ; 
A blooming light on all things thrown, 
On fruit, and foliage, grass, and lake ; 
The song that in sweet gushes brake 
From birds which flew on fearless wing 
And taught the very air to sing ! — 
The mute delight, majestic trance 
Of things that shunn'd no mortal glance, 
But gazed on man with love or glee 
And felt that life was amity ; 
While stainless as a pall of light 
The cope of heaven hung crystal bright, 
And pour'd upon each perfect limb 
A lustre which apparell'd him ; 
While ever, as he raised his eye, 
A seraph, floating through the sky, 
With gleams of glory track'd his way 
Or arch'd his wings in beaming play, — 
Though all like this composed a scene 
To testify where God had been, 
A soft disease of soul began 
To prey upon the bliss of man : 
A yearning which no language spoke 
Within his clouded bosom woke ; 
A loneliness with awful weight 
Lay brooding o'er his desert fate, 
And darken'd with ideal shade 
The countenance which heaven display 'd ; 
Till sadly was each primal word 
Upon the placid breezes heard 1 — 
" Some other Form, oh ! let there be, 
To live, and love, and roam with me 
This lone but gorgeous wilderness 
Of sights that woo, and sounds that bless 1 
A Spirit whom my own can meet, 
Some hand to hold, some eye to meet ; 
Creator ! if thy wisdom can 
Oh, let there be a mate for man ! " 



298 



WOMAN. 



More lovely than a vision brought 
From out the fairy realms of Thought ; 
Serene and silent, with a grace 
Divinely breath' d o'er form and face, 
In full array of love and light 
Which dazzled his adoring sight, 
By soul and sense to be revered 
The Angel of the world appear'd. 
Then, what a starry welcome rang ! 
Each orb an hymeneal sang ; 
While Shapes unutterably bright 
From heaven gazed down with new delight, 
When first the ground a woman trod 
Just moulded by the hand of God ! 
Around her breast, in wreathy play 
Her locks like braided sunbeams lay ; 
And limbs unveil'd a radiance cast 
Of purity, as on she pass'd 
Amid the bloom and balm of flowers 
Which clustered round elysian bowers • 
The bird and breeze together blent 
Their lulling notes of languishment ; 
The Sun grew brighter as he shed 
His glory round her living head, — 
As if no conscious thing were free 
From one fine spell of sympathy, 
When woman rose upon the scene 
Creation's fair and faultless Queen ! 

When Adam's tranced eyelids woke, 
Thus brightly on his vision broke 
A living Shape for whom he pined, 
To share his unpartaken mind. 
Awhile they gazed in hush'd delight, 
Each dazzled with the other's sight • 
Then saw within their mutual eyes 
Magnetic rays of soul arise, 
And heard their lips fond tones repeat, 
And heard their hearts in concert beat, 
And felt within electric fire 
Their spirit, blood, and brain, inspire : 
Then Woman was espoused by Man ! 
The bridal dawn of Love began. 
Oh ! then was born of breathing truth 
A feeling in ambrosial youth, 
That soars above the vile decay 
Of things which time and sense array, 
And when the dying World departs 
Still blooms within celestial hearts ! 



And thus, with all that forms a friend 
The finer tints of love to blend ; 
To soothe the tempest, share the calm, 
And pour on grief unfailing balm, 
Did woman on the world appear. 
And hath she fail'd in life's career 1 — 
The Warrior wins a bright renown, 
The Poet wears a peerless crown, 



And History with heroic grace 
Hath laurell'd their triumphant race ; 
But where, in what recording book 
Can unforgetting Nature look. 
To count, since first her ages ran, 
What Woman hath endured for Man? 
Alas ! like dews which night hath felt 
Within ungrateful earth to melt, 
And freshen into living flowers 
The grove that smiles at morning hours, 
The virtues born of woman's soul, 
(Though time has drunk their mild control 
And had by them the heart supplied 
With what the ruder sex denied) 
In cold oblivion seem to fade, 
Unknown, unsung, and undisplay'd ! 

But, might those Spirits who have been 
Calm Watchers of our troubled scene, 
Beholding with dejected eye 
The throes of human agony, — 
To earth repeat the tale of Life 
Since first convulsed with gloom and strife, 
How much, methinks, would Virtue prize 
That never dazzled mortal eyes, 
As Angels read the awful story 
Of Empires dim, and ages hoary, 
And, while they scorn'd a hero's crown 
To Woman give the heart's renown ! 6 
For pangs endured with secret sway, 
For tears by night, and toils by day ; 
For tortures by the world untraced 
When love was wreck' d, and truth defaced : 
For fondness in the fiercest hour 
Of tyrant wrath, or ruin's power, 
For every sad and silent wrong 
That weakness suffer'd from the strong, — 
For these, and all young Feeling bore 
When misery made it love the more ! 
A chaplet of celestial light 
Would Angels weave for Woman's right. 
Oh ! she is all that soul can be 
In deep, undying sympathy ! 
When life is scarce a moving dream 
'Tis like her spirit's native beam, 
Which never from its fountain strays 
But lives alone within her rays ! 
And round an infant how divine 
The wreath a mother's arm can twine 1 
And when dark years of manhood bring 
Their load of fated suffering, 
As true as echo to the sound 
Her blessings to his wants abound ! 
In sickness, ah ! how smooth the bed 
Her duteous hand alone can spread ; 
And, when the shades of Death advance, 
What paradise within her glance, 
Where all the yearning soul appears 
Dissolved in sympathetic tears ! 



Yet scarce had Eden pass'd away 
And sin begun its blighting sway, 
Ere woman lost her mental rank 
And in domestic thraldom sank 
A Thing to be, whose witching power 
Might serve to gild a wanton hour, 
To feed a passion, soothe a frown, 
Or magnify her lord's renown, 
But ever, with unvalued heart, 
In life to play the menial part ! 
And e'en in Greece, that land sublime 
Whose glory lit the wings of time, 
E'en there, where Beauty's faultless mould 
Surpass'd what Sculpture's dreams behold, 
In vain would truth a model see, — 
Her love breathes no divinity ! 
From earth it sprung, on earth to live 
On every charm mere Sense can give ; 
But all proud Sentiment could teach 
Divine in thought, or pure in speech, 
By Greece unfelt, or unadmired, 
Hath scarce one classic page inspired. 
And Eome, whose wizard banner waved 
O'er half the isles far Ocean laved, 
By conquest was not taught to school 
The passions Heaven alone can rule ; 
But offer'd up each female Eight 
On altars of their stern delight, 
Where rage might spend its haughty breath 
And doom a guiltless heart to death. 

But Eome and Greece, eternal two ! 
Have shown the world what mind can do ; 
And still from them the streams of mind 
With living freshness charm mankind : 
Their language in immortal notes 
Around our list'ning spirit floats ; 
Their genius, throned in classic state, 
Is haunted by the wise and great ; 
And high-born is the zeal that pays 
True homage to heroic days 
When valour woke the lyre of thought, 
A nd poets sang the fields they fought I 
Yet when prevail'd in Greece or Eome 
The magic of a modern home 1 
There, lives the light our spirit hails ! 
There, beats the heart that never fails ; 
There, smiles beyond a realm to bring 
Eound calmest hours are clustering ! 
Where queens of mild affection reign ; 
The bloom of joy, the balm of pain; 
And thus are more, when grey or young, 
Than Homer dream'd, or Maro sung. 

When first on Eome a tameless horde 
From forest-depths their myriads pour'd, 
And down to dust her empire broke, 
Eefinement's moral dawn awoke. 7 



The gloomy brow, the glaring eye, 

The breast which never heaved a sigh, 

But nurtured in its wild domain 

The glory of surmounted pain, — 

Amid them all there lived a sense 

Of woman's meek pre-eminence ; 

While Chastity within the heart 

Was shrined beyond pollution's art. 

Thus, Nature ! in thy darkest mood 

How much remains of bright and good ! 

What Learning in her proudest day, 

What Genius in her fiery sway, 

With blended power might never reach, 

These warriors of the wild could teach ! 

'Tis pleasant in the storm to see 

The battle of some glorious tree, 

Whose branches with resentful play 

Can awe the beaten winds away ; 

But, beautiful ! in calmer hours 

To view it wave o'er meadow-flowers, 

And hearken to its whisper mild 

Like blessing murmur'd o'er a child : — 

And thus, methinks, the contrast seen 

When beauty reign'd where war had been : 

When lion port and eagle eye 

Had laid their horrid menace by, 

And, resting in some oaken shade, 

While round him laughing infants play'd, 

The savage of the desert grew 

Eefined beneath a woman's view ! 

Next, Chivalry, heroic child, 
With brow erect, and features wild, 
Placed Love upon his matchless throne, 
For Gallantry to guard alone. 
Then, Woman ! in that reign of heart 
How peerless was thy magic part ! 
A word was more than human breath ; 
A smile dissolved the gloom of death ; 
And Beauty, while it awed the brave, 
But made the mind a noble slave 
To Honour, in the chastest light 
That ruled the soul, or charm'd the sight. 
And shall we, in a venal age 
When love hath grown more coldly sage, 
With frigid laugh and frown decry 
The bright return of Chivalry 1 
The trumpet-music of the Past, 
In tales of glory doom'd to last, 
No longer must one echo stir 
The pulse of English character ? 
Alas ! our life is worldly lore ; 
The reign of heart-romance is o'er ; 
And all which fired heroic toil 
Hath now become a meaner spoil 
For time and circumstance to win, 
While Self is throned secure within. — 
Yet, valour in its fine excess ; 
A scorn that wither'd littleness ; 



300 WOMAN. 


Devotion in its grandest shape 8 


How Saintliness a beauty shed 


And love that sought no mean escape, — 


Around the dying mourner's bed : — 


Oh ! darkly sunk, and vilely sway'd 


Thus oft upon some travell'd plain, 


The Clime that wills their might decay'd : 


Where Winter holds his bleakest reign, 


But ever prompts each servile art 


In sudden bloom young flow'rets rise, 


To flourish in th' unweeded heart, 


And blush beneath our gazing eyes. 


Till day by day we learn to see 


For, leaving oft the splendid home, 


False self is true philosophy ! 


Unheeded will Compassion roam, 




And where the roofs of Sorrow lie 


But far beyond all forming powers 
Which made expressive Beauty ours, 
In that pure shape by God design'd 
To soften, soothe, and sway mankind, — 
Religion, voiced from Heaven, began 
To rouse the fallen soul of man : 
Then spirit, by the sense unbound, 


Give tear for tear, and sigh for sigh ; 
To Famine deal the daily bread, 
For Sickness hold the drooping head, 
Be mother to some orphan boy, 
Make widow'd hearts to sing for joy, 
And should the parting Soul despair, 
Points to bright heaven, and Jesu there ! 


Arose with grace immortal crown'd : 




Emotions deep, unstain'd desires, 


And what were life, if woman's heart 


Serener hopes, and chaster fires, 


Attemper'd with no guiding art 


Came flowing from a Fount above 


The household-morals of mankind, 


All freshen'd with ethereal love ! 


Whereby the world is kept refined, 


'Twas then that Woman like a star, 


And each soft hue opinion wears 


Whose beam had flutter'd dim and far 


Its lovely origin declares ? 


And shed upon the troubled soul 


Go, find a Land where female grace 


A ray of undiscern'd control, — 


Is honour'd by no gallant race, 


Advanced above life's daily sphere, 


And man's dominion deems it vile 


Disclosed her radiance, full and near ; 


To bend beneath a woman's smile, 


And kindled for beclouded man 


But tramples with a brute delight 


The light a Christian woman can. 


On mental rank and moral right, 


Restored to reign, as fair and good 


How darkly do her people sink ! 


As once in Eden's bower she stood, 


How meanly act, how basely think ! 


Companion of the Soul to be 


No loftiness that Clime reveals ; 


In love's avowed fidelity, 


No purity her spirit feels ; 


Religion, when its healing smile 


Corruption cankers law and throne, 


First trembled o'er Britannia's isle, 


The language breathes a dungeon-tone ; 


By her assuasive meekness won 


And seldom there hath Virtue smiled ; 


A waj r to visit hearts undone. 


But, wither'd, weaken' d, and defiled, 


And, did her martyr'd spirit quake 


It moulders on from age to age 


To front the vengeance of the stake 1 — 


The scorn of hero, bard, and sage, 


E'en there Apostles might have known 


And seems on glorious Earth to be 


A faith whose firmness match'd their own : 9 


A plague-spot, and an infamy ! 


Though limb by limb the fire devour' d, 




She neither shook, nor shriek' d, nor cower' d, 
But gloried in the murd'rous flame 


But vain would Truth reflect in song 
What nameless fascinations throng 


To sing a martyr'd Saviour's name ! 


Around that quiet hearth alone, 




Where Tenderness hath rear'd its throne. 


And view th' applauded domes which rise 


Oh ! there are feelings rich but faint, 


. In holy grandeur to the skies, 


The hues of language cannot paint ; 


How much to female hands they owe 


And pleasures, delicate as deep, 


Their power to lessen human woe ! 10 


Which like the palaces of sleep 


But ah ! how exquisite must be 


Melt into dimness, when the Light 


Those charities that none can see, 


Would look Upon their fairy sight ; 


In lovely darkness hid awhile 


And there are chords of happiness 


Surrounded with Jehovah's smile ! 


Whose spirit-tones our fancy bless, 


Till, stealing into holy light, 


And make the music of our joy 


They glitter on the pilgrim's sight 


Complete, without one harsh alloy ; 


When haply in some village-dale 


Yet ill can words one note reveal 


His soul has drunk the secret tale, 


Of melody which mind can feel ! 



WOMAN. 



301 



But who hath left some calm domain 

Where Home was charm'd by woman's reign, 

And trifles through some magic wore 

An air they never breathed before, 

And enter'd where a proud abode 

To ruder man its splendour owed, 

Nor felt the contrast sternly cold, 

Like winter o'er his spirit roll'd 1 

Still, there may garden, grove, and bower, 

Attend on each retiring hour ; 

There Painting with impassion'd glow 

The poetry of colours show, 

While volumes rank'd in rich array 

The heroes of the mind display : 

But like a face when death has chill'd 

The light that once each feature fill'd, 

Contrasted with its living power 

Beheld in some excited hour, 

Are homes where single man is seen 

With those where woman's spell hath been. 

Alas ! for them whose toil-worn days 
TJncheer'd by Love's adorning rays, 
In crawling loneliness depart, 
Yet fret the bloom from out the heart. 
Though Life, as lord of each desire, 
To intellectual thrones aspire ; 
May win the laurel, wear the crown, 
And madden envy with renown, 
How much beyond what dreams bestow 
Tlieir loveless hours can never know ! 
With nothing but cold Self to please, 
The waters of the spirit freeze ; 
And years but harden while they chill 
A Bosom left unsocial still : 
And like a tree by autumn shorn 
Of all that summer-boughs had borne, 
A leafless, bare, and blighted Thing 
Where scarce a breeze will deign to sing, — 
Is Man bereft of that control 
That emanates from female soul. 
For heart with heart was born to beat, 
And soul with soul was made to meet, 
And sex for sex design'd to be 
The dawn of endless sympathy. 

But ye ! the laurell'd Host who live 
A life beyond mere earth to give ; 
The deities of dazzled Thought, 
To whom her incense aye is brought ; 
Ye Alexanders of the mind 
Who conquer, but to charm mankind ! 
Enchanters ! for the spirit's eyes 
Remoulding ruin'd paradise ; 
Interpreters ! whose tones declare 
The dialogues of Sea and Air ; 
The priests of Nature taught to praise 
And worship her mysterious ways ; 



Ye intellectual Kings of time ! 
Triumphant, matchless, and sublime, 
How fervently your pages own 
In music of transcendant tone, 
That Woman in her lovely might 
Drew worship, wonder, and delight 
From Souls whose inward glance could see 
Visions that crowd eternity ! 

Impassioned Lords of deathless song 
To them the lips of Time belong, 
As fired with their majestic fame 
From age to age they sound their name, 
And bid the world enshrine that scene 
Where once a worshipp'd Bard hath been ; — 
For hallow'd seems his natal spot 
Where thrones are crush' d, and kings forgot ! 
And they have earn'd that gorgeous debt 
Of praise, that Time is paying yet, 
Who taught us, though it bear the curse, 
To love the heaven-born universe, 
And trace wherever goodness trod 
The lustre of a living God ! 

And glorious is it, when the base 
Would frown upon Heaven's fairest race, 
To echo into life again 
The music of some master-strain ; 
And prove amid the ranks of fame 
How each who won undying name, 
In love's applauding eye could see 
The ruling star of Poetry. 

Then let me from the poet-throng 
Who hymned on Earth unearthly song, 
Select some all-surpassing few, 
And as they rise in proud review 
Let him whose spirit ever bow'd 
Before the passion it avow'd, 
Whose bosom hath been thrill'd or shaken 
With dream fulfill'd or hope forsaken, — 
Exult to find his soul hath felt 
A charm which could the sternest melt ; 
That lent to genius half its glow, 
Or taught eternal song to flow ; 
For fancy plumed the wing of fire, 
And warm'd the soul of every lyre, 
Whose language was the light of thought 
From Love by consecration wrought ! 

With paleness on his awful brow 
Who riseth like a spectre now 
From darkness, where his fancy dared 
To wander with an eye unscared, 
And gaze on Visions such as roll 
Around that blighted Angel's soul, 
Who baffles in his dread domain 
An immortality of pain 
'Tis Dante ! — whose terrific flight 
Through caverns of Cimmerian night 



302 WOMAN. 




Imagination vainly tries 


Comes forth to view autumnal beams 


To track with unappalled eyes ! 


On bank, and wood, and dimpled streams, 




Severe, august, and sternly great, 


Is he who turns from Dante's gloom 




The gloom of his remorseless fate 11 


To see Parnassian flow'rets bloom, 




Around him hung a dismal air 


As dreams of beauty dawn and glow 




Which broodeth o'er intense despair ; 


Along the page of Petrarch's wo. 




Till frenzy half began to raise 


How touching are those mental tears, 




A wildness in his fearful gaze, 


Delighted throbs and dazzled fears, — 




As, roaming over crag and wood 


The penance by his genius paid 




He battled with bleak solitude ! 


Whenever recreant fancy stray'd 




For sooner might the maniac roar 


Beyond the path of pure desire ! 




Of ocean cease to awe the shore 


'Twas Laura tuned his pensive lyre : 




When Starlight comes with fairy gleam, 


Madonna-like, and sweetly mild, 




Than Pity lull his tortured dream ! — 


And pure as an untempted child, 




Oh ! 'tis not in poetic art 


Amid her white-robed virgin-throng 




To paint the earthquake of his heart, 


He saw her beauty glide along, 




The storm of feeling's ghastly strife 


When lilies deck'd her sun-bright hair 




When she, who form'd his life of life, 


Amid the walls of lone St. Claire. 




Had vanish'd like a twilight-ray 


That hour became a second birth ! 




Too delicate on earth to stay. 


Her lustre overveil'd the earth ; 




For Love had heated blood and brain, 


And never did -a Ghebir kneel 




A fire in each electric vein, 


Before his orb with truer zeal 




A passion whose exceeding power 


Than Petrarch at that living shrine 




Was heaven or hell to each wild hour ! 


Where dwelt the soul he knew divine ! 
To him she was a spotless Thing 




But from the wreck of ruin'd days 


Too bright for earthly lyre to sing ; 
A miracle of life and love, 




What gorgeous visions did he raise ! 
Since ne'er was Beauty so divine 
Embodied in a breathing shrine, 
As throned Beatrice on high 


A dream embodied from above, 
A seraph whose unclouded eyes 
Eeflected back their native skies ! 




In the dark haze of Deity ! 






Her forehead wreath'd with starry light, 


From her his inspiration came ; 




And she herself, — oh ! what a sight 


Each song enshrined her hidden name ; 




On Dante glitter' d, when afar 


And not a shadow, tint, or sound 




He listen'd to her mystic car, 


Creation could produce around, 




As wafted in a cloud of flowers 


But he beguiled with beauteous art 




And guarded by angelic powers 


To typify her taintless heart. 




In veil of fire her spirit came, 


How fervently his homage glows ! 




And warbled his remember'd name ! 


Pure from the mind it springs and flows, 




He bow'd beneath her awful look ; 


Exhausting as his numbers roll 




Then gazed until his being shook 


The life-blood of a feeling soul. 




Like water, when the winds convulse 


For Laura seem'd his spirit's breath, 




And stir it with a quivering pulse. 


And ruled it when she sunk in death ; 




But when the wing'd enchantress soar'd 


Then, day and darkness, scene and hour 




To where the Godhead was adored, 


Were haunted with her holy power ; 




Without a shadow, speck, or bound, 


And when her smile illumed it not 




Eternity lay imaged round ! 


The faded world was soon forgot ; 




There on some mysterious throne 


Since only to embalm her name 




Again he saw her, bright and lone. 


He panted for eternal fame ! 




Ineffably one look she cast 






Angelic features ne'er surpass' d, 
On him who knelt entranced awhile 


Adorner of the human race ! 
Great Nature's rival, who could trace 




Within the glory of her smile ; 
Till lo ! in deep excess of light 


Her features with such perfect skill 




That Time can but remould them still, 




She faded from his yearning sight ! 


So matchless is that mighty One 
Whom Fancy now would gaze upon. 




As one who leaves a savage dell 


Go, lend the skies a lovelier blue, 




Where day hath bid the sun farewell, 


Or sunbeams o'er the sunshine strew ; 





WOMAN". 



303 



Bid Horror to the tempest bring 

A louder shriek and blacker wing : 

Or dare suggest a deeper tone 

To Thunder on his midnight-throne ; 

So powerless seems a poet's line 

To sing what Shakspeare's works combine ! 

All tears and smiles to him belong ; 

All clouds that round the spirit throng ; 

All passions, principles, and powers 

Which wring the heart, or rule its hours, 

In language Nature's lip had taught 

By him were into action wrought ! 

So truly with creative art 

He paints the drama of the heart, 

That long as tears haunt human eyes, 

Or Pleasure laughs, or Sorrow sighs, 

Whatever path his genius trod, 

We hail him earth's poetic god. 

And round him is a dimness thrown 1 
The colour of his life unknown'? 
While meaner names are chronicled, 
And baseness in false light beheld, 
That Masterpiece of mortal clay 
Unhonour'd did he pass away? 
Yes, like an orb whose affluent rays 
Demand of earth no greeting praise, 
He scatter'd intellectual light 
Immortal in unconscious might ; 
Sublimely careless of renown 
Then lay his awful spirit down, 
Nor dreamt that Glory's arm would wave 
Her brightest banner o'er his grave ! 

But yet there come faint shadows cast 
From pining years which he had past, 
That tell us how the soul could brook 
Such pangs as once his bosom shook, 
"When dark-eyed Beauty rack'd and wrung 
A heart round which the world had clung ! 12 
Her hair was like the sheen of night 
When blackness seems to make it bright ; 
And melody her touch obey'd 
When o'er the chords her fingers stray'd ; 
But sorrow dash'd her April years 
With cold and melancholy tears ; 
And thus there grew a wild unrest 
Within the gloom of Shakspere's breast, 
Till he who sung what Eomeo felt 
Beneath like pangs was doom'd to melt, 
And hide within his dreaming brain 
The visions of a lover's pain. 

And well may Woman proudly think 
That he whose spirit thus could drink 
Absorbing rays from beauty's eyes, 
Hath sphered her sex amid the skies ! 
And none like him love's essence knew, 
From hidden soul the lightning drew, 



That subtile, secret, silent flame 

For which the heart hath found no name. 

There's not a throb that woman feels, 

There's not a ray her mind reveals, 

And scarce a blush on brow and cheek 

When blood would rise and almost speak, — 

But Shakspere hath the whole divined, 

And held a mirror to the mind 

That nature o'er his magic glass 

Might view each play of feature pass. 

And what a life-breath'd air there seems 

To freshen those embodied dreams 

Where character and grace arise, 

To feast our unforgetting eyes 

With all Affection can display, 

When most we bow beneath her sway ! 

Bright, beautiful, and young, and warm, 

With tears that melt and tongues that charm, 

The creatures whom he call'd to birth 

We pine to meet on mortal earth, 

And trace by his revealing art 

The windings of a woman's heart. 

As moonlight weaves a varied spell 
O'er rock and mountain, grove and dell, 
So Love with his transforming beam 
Hath colour'd each romantic dream, 
As stern or mild the spirit lay 
Beneath the spell- work of his ray. 
A sense of beauty, — it was thine, 
As deep, as burning, and divine 
As ever fed with living fire 
The passion of a poet's lyre, 
Pale martyr ! whom Alphonso's hate 
Imprison'd for a madman's fate, 
Because ere yet the lips could speak 
Emotion had betray'd thy cheek, 
To tell him how a bard could dare 
To love a princess — and despair ! 
That love was like a blasting sun, 
It sear'd the heart it shined upon ! 
But oh, how much of Tasso's strain 
Was born of his devoted pain, 
When feelings in their hopeless strife 
Contended with those clouds of life 
That 'tween him and his idol grew, 
Till Death alone could break them through. 

His youth was lonesome ; and the light 
Of half that won or woo'd the sight, 
Enchantment from his spirit shed 
Till earth was heaven beneath his tread ! 
And Nature like a mother smiled 
On him her musing foster-child ; 
To whom her voice from wave or wind 
Came with a magic more refined 
Than echoes from the human soul : 
And where a quiet stream did roll 



304 WOMAN. 


While shade and sunshine blent their power, 


Another of the wondous see ! 


He charm'd his own creative hour ; 


Whose spirit talk'd with Deity, 


Till voiceless aspirations rose, 


And, blind on earth, beheld in heaven 


His bosom lost its young repose, 


The glory to archangels given, 


And round his heart a Syren came 


When robed in light their garments blaze 


Who murmur'd his immortal name ! 


And whiten in eternal Rays ! 


Thus fancy set the soul on fire, 


No cavern'd prophet while he felt 


Till life itself he found aspire 


A trance almighty round him melt ; 


To beauty, like that spirit bright ; 


Or by some Babylonian stream 


When, tender as the touch of light, 


From darkness shaped his awful dream 


Fair Leonora's vision stood 


Wherein there glided, vast and dim, 


Before him, fresh in womanhood ! 


The cloud-apparell'd cherubim, 


A nd all the heart's creation drew 


Hath scarce outsoar'd his epic flight 


At length his living eyes could view. 


Who sang of Chaos, Death, and Night ! 


What heavenliness arrayed her form ! 


Had none, methinks, but Milton's song 


How exquisite the blushing storm 


Pour'd its grand tide the world along ; 


Of love's betray'd emotion rose ! 


Had never page but his reveal'd 


When Tasso read his lyric woes, 


The miracles in mind conceal'd, 


And saw her eye's transparent blue 


The hope immortal still would rest 


Bedimm'd with soul dissolving through ! 


Unblighted in our human breast ; 


Morn after morn, in youth's ripe age, 


For never could some narrow grave 


He read his own melodious page, 


Th' immeasurable soul enslave, 


While Leonora's lips of love 


Which compass'd air, and heaven, and hell, 


The garland of his glory wove 


As lord of his creative spell ! 


In words whose magic seem'd to be 




The tones of immortality ! 


With what a melody divine 




The river of each noble line 


And could they side by side remain 


Flows onward ! — faint, or loud, or deep, 


Nor feel the heart's delicious pain? 


Accordant to the numbers' sweep. 


The might of that magnetic gaze 


Go, enter some majestic fane 


That each to each would softly raise 1 


And listen to the organ-strain, 


Could Tasso in such perill'd hour 


When melting clouds of music float 


Be dead to passion's dawning power 1 


Down the dim aisles with blending note ; 


Alas for him ! — Alphonso came 


Now with wild melodious thunder 


And bade a dungeon hide his flame ! 


The vaulted pavement echoes under, 


They tore him to a hideous cell, 


Then, aloft in flights of sound 


(Ferrara hath revered it well) 


The winged harmonies abound, 


And left him, for a maniac's doom. 


Evanishing like birds that stray 


To rot in suffocating gloom ! 


And skyward sing their boundless way ! — 


Yet misery could not then decay 


E'en thus can Milton's numbers roll 


The dream that wore his mind away : 13 


Their cadence o'er a tranced soul. 


Though frenzy might its faith destroy 




Till life became a wretched toy, 


And can we deem that he who drew 


Yet Passion round his wreck would smile, 


In lines of love so brightly true 


Like Evening o'er a faded pile : 


The Mother of our mortal race, 


But when his Leonora died 


And made the lustre of her face 


And every bard a wreath supplied 


To dazzle back a Demon's guile, 


To grace the glory of her bier, 


When Eden laugh'd beneath her smile, 


Could Tasso's Muse deny a tear ? 


Reflected not through poet's art 


Yes ! silence was the tomb of pain, 


The paradise of his pure heart 1 


And grief was voiceless, when 'twas vain. 


The Lady-pilgrim of the wood 


Let fancied wo prepare a sigh 


In star-like beauty, lone and good, 


To deck the fate of those who die ; 


Was copied from a shape, perchance, 


And hypocrites their cheeks array 


That kindled youth's adoring glance.' 


With gloom to serve a venal day, 




The pangs which load a loftier breast 


There is a tale — and let it live 


Lie deep, and dark, and unexprest ; 


Such life as fond romance can give, — 


Yet sternness in that blank despair 


That once as slumb'ring Milton lay 


Hath buried more than anguish there ! 


In umbrage from the noon-warm day, 



WOMAN. 



305 



Beneath the twilight of a tree, 
That arch'd its waving canopy, 
A maiden saw his sleeping face 
xVnd, spell-hound with its beauteous grace, 
Her wonder in sweet song express'd 
And placed it on the poet's breast ; — 
" If eyes when shut the heart can take, 
How bright their vict'ry when awake ! " 
Oh ! who can tell what beauty flow'd 
From feelings by such words bestow'd ] 
The Eve of his enchanted thought 
From hues of nature's heaven was wrought, 
And she of paradise the queen 
Embodied what his soul had seen. 

And could that Bard, whose mind was free 
And boundless as eternity ; 
Who seem'd on earth to have the skies 
Aye floating o'er his mental eyes ; 
To the low dust of life descend 
And with the base its glory blend 1 
How nobly hath awarding Time 
For Genius shaped the crown sublime, 
And silenced in oblivion's shade 
The war Opinion's fury made ! 
Till all the wounds and stabs of strife 
Which agonised his bleeding life 
Appear but like a mould'ring stain 
That lingers on some marble fane, 
But ere it rots one tint away 
Hath vanish'd in some heavenly ray ! 

Oh ! many are the pangs that wear 
A spirit into proud despair ; 
And many are the tears which flow, 
To swell the tide of human wo : 
But seldom doth the sicken'd heart 
From dreams of false perfection start 
With pangs of such convulsive poAver 
As when the great have ceased to tower, 
Desert the sky, and fold their wings 
To strive with earth's^ degraded things, 
Like eagles when their flight is o'er 
That wrangle on some weedy shore ! 

But one amid the poet-throng 
To whom the wreaths of heaven belong, 
From pride and coarser impulse free 
Stands out, in solemn purity ! — 
His heart, by woman's power array'd, 
The summons of high love obey'd, 
And beautiful, beyond the light 
Of language to reveal aright, 
The passion of a deathless pair, 
Who breathed on earth celestial air ! 
Before the dawn of being came 
They dreamt their lot was doom'd the same, 
And human love in heaven would be 
A wedded immortality ! 



And when his Meta dying lay 

And felt her spirit faint away, 

Like music from a falt'ring wave 

When sinking to its ocean grave, 

Beside her Klopstock meekly stood, 

And watch'd the pale and speaking blood 

In awful changes come and go ! 

But never was such loving wo, 

When Meta, to his fond request 

That round him her bright wings should rest 

While o'er the world his fate must rove, — 

Responded with a burst of love, 

" Who would not share that lot divine, 

To be thine angel ! thou art mine ! " 

A gentle stream which glides along 
And tones the breeze with lovely song ; 
And that same stream, when torn at length 
And arm'd with desolating strength 
As down some rocky steep it pours, 
And like a rival ocean roars, 
May typify the tranquil soul 
When calm'd by virtue's wise control, 
And one by passion's whirlwind force 
Compell'd to each disastrous course. 
'Tis thus, when sad-eyed memory turns 
From Klopstock to impassion'd Burns, 
Two streams of life at once appear 
In mild repose and mad career. 

The Shakspeare of the woods and fields, 
How wizard-like the sway he wields ! 
The heart-blood owns his lyric might 
And ripples with confess'd delight 
When Scottish valour fires the song, 
Like clarion-music, stern and strong ! 
Excitement, that immortal pain, 
The demon of a poet's brain, 
On him it wreak'd its wildest rage ! 
And all that poverty could wage 
Against a high and haughty mind 
His trampled heart was doom'd to find. 
Yet, cradled in dark misery's bed, 
How nobly was his genius led ! 
What Man denied, great Nature gave : 
His soul, no educated slave, 
The Elements and Seasons taught, 
Creation magnified his thought ; 
And when amid the foliage dim 
The blackbird piped his vesper-hymn, 
Or round him, like a lustrous pall 
He felt the Day's bright curtain fall, 
As tides th' attractive moon obey, 
So throbb'd his pulse to Nature's play. 
And Woman by her smile could throw 
A sunbeam o'er his blackest wo, — 
A ray whose beauty reach'd the soul 
And bade his burning numbers roll ! 



306 



WOMAN. 



Yet who can read the bitter fate 
So darkly chill and desolate, 
That brooded o'er the closing day 
Of him who sang as proud a lay 
As ever rose from Scottish lyre 
On inspiration's breath of fire, 
Nor weep to think that starless night 
Should blacken round a soul of light ! 
Or, who can mark his mind's undress, 14 
The agony of lone distress, 
The curse of want that crush'd his brain 
To frenzy, with a fiercer pain ! — 
Can hear the groan of anguish'd hours 
When Misery rallied all her powers, 
And thoughts like hidden scorpions tore 
The mind that could no longer soar, 
But prostrate in its ruin lay 
A blasted wreck and bleeding prey, — ■ 
Nor ask for Pity's brightest tear 
To tremble on his early bier ! 
Yet warmly while around him shone 
The worship that his genius won, 
Prophetic truth beheld afar 
The cloud that would conceal his star, 
And leave him, long ere life should close, 
To wither in degrading woes ! 
Yes, he whose lines are mottoes now, 
Whose genius veils his Country's brow 
With glory, when his stirring lays 
Are greeted with exalting praise, 
Was fated like an outcast thing 
To moulder in dark suffering 
Down to the grave, with scarce a bed 
To pillow his immortal head ! 

Alas ! how little can the great 
Feel the dread curse of blighted fate ; 
Or think that they, whose spirits throw 
Around the world a heavenly glow, 
Whose bright imaginations seem 
The fragments of a Seraph's dream, 
Whose words imparadise the hours 
And freshen earth with Eden-fiowers, — 
The martyrs of the mind have been 
Or suffer'd more than eye hath seen ! 
For, while the theme of Glory's tongue, 
Their homes were wreck' d, their hearts were 

wrung ; 
And songs which fiow'd so gaily free 
Gush'd from a fount of misery ! 

A noble Mind in sad decay 
When baffled hope hath died away, 
And life becomes one long distress 
In bleak and barren loneliness, 
Methinks 'tis like a ship on shore, 
That once defied th' Atlantic roar, 
And gallantly through gale and storm 
Hath ventured her majestic form ; 



But now in stranded ruin laid 
By winds and dashing seas decay'd, 
Forgetful of her ocean-reign, 
Must crumble into earth again ! 

To crown the lyric throng appears 
Another,* whose poetic tears, 
While a bruised spirit toils below 
Shall consecrate Affection's wo ; 
And ever by their passion tell 
The power of love's unfading spell, 
Which beautified with lone despair 
The visions that his lines declare. 

The anguish of his riven heart 
Hath ceased on earth to play its part, 
And o'er his laurel-shaded brow 
The damp of death lies coldly now ! 
The storm, the shadow, and the strife 
That made and magnified his life, 
Have sunk like winds along the deep 
And left him to untroubled sleep : 
But few, when Harold died, forget 
The fulness of our fond regret, 
As England echoed back the knell 
Which toll'd from Greece his last farewell ! 
Oh ! nought but some ignoble breast 
Where feelings, iced in stony rest, 
Can baffle with a stern disdain 
The lightnings of each lofty strain, 
That did not unto tears admire 
The dirges of his gloomy lyre, 
And speculate, if years had brought 
A blessed store of brighter thought, 
How much of all which mars his fame 
Had vanish'd in some purer aim. — 



* In common with the rest of those whose feelings 
offer homage to the beautiful, whether bodied forth in 
the breathing marble of the sculptor, the hues of the 
painter, or the burning language of the poet, — the 
writer of this once partook fully and dangerously of 
all that admiration which the genius of Lord Byron 
is so calculated to evoke. Both in this work, and else- 
where, he ventured to cast his votive wreath of 
eulogy on the grave of one, whose name was wont to 
be a spell-word to the lovers of impassioned song. 
But, although still retaining much of his admiration 
for the poetry of Byron, abstractedly considered, he 
cannot but feel that his language on this subject is 
by far too enthusiastic. As he advances in life, and 
learns to contemplate the vast responsibilities of 
mind, in reference to the Divine Tribunal, and to 
estimate the moral influence which popular verse 
must ever wield over the sentiments and ideas of the 
young and the romantic, — where is the Christian 
who is rash enough to rank Lord Byron among the real 
benefactors of mankind ? In the spirit of the same 
love for that Truth which alone can make us free, the 
author must also regret, that in the allusions to other 
poets in this volume, the ethical tendency, as well as 
the poetical splendour of their writings, was not more 
discriminately viewed. — Written in 1841. 



The earthquake that so rock'd his soul 

With dread and undefined control, 

Beneath some intellectual balm 

Had soften'd to melodious calm : 

Those feelings which were prompt to stray 

Where all the weeds of vileness lay, 

And linger with sarcastic stress 

Pound Nature's erring littleness, 

As though in man no trait was true 

But that which wore the meanest hue 

And Goodness were a dream that dies 

When dazzled by a poet's eyes, — 

Yes, feelings dark as these, perchance 

Had glorified by pure advance 

The regions of exalted mind, 

And loved the links of human-kind. 

The spots upon Creation seen 

For sorrow, not for scorn, had been, 

And genius, from its darkness free, 

Flash'd out in full divinity ! 

But, 'twas not so ; and man must wait 
The brightness of a better fate, 
To tell him all which Grief would learn, 
When back to dust the great return, 
E'en in that hour when most they seem 
To realise our noblest dream, 
And purify the hopes of Earth 
With promise of a second birth. 

The sanctity of Virtue stands 
Above the soil of human hands, 
And Genius, though the world it awe, 
Must bow to her corrective law : 
Yet who, unless his mind can be 
Transform'd to perfect Deity, 
Can judge how terrible the sway 
When Impulse leads the soul astray ? 
The meanest tongue can brand a sin, 
But who can probe the heart within, — 
The gloom of agonising strife 
When Principle resigns its life, 
Till Passion in her fiery reign 
Pours madness over blood and brain ! 
A soul, that like iEolian lyre 
Which faintest tones of air inspire, 
Was thrill'd by sound, and hue, and scene, 
As though its slumber ne'er had been ; 
A spirit, pining for the good 
Till dreams became its daily food ; 
Or revelling in satiric gloom 
Which mock'd at all above the tomb, — 
Oh ! these unite to arm a spell 
That few below have wielded well ! 
And, blended with a slakeless thirst 
To find the spot by crime uncursed, 
In Byron lived a haunting dread 
From moods of dark inquiry bred, 



Of that Unknown beyond the grave 
Where fancy's wings delight to wave : 
Hence, doubt and scorn, with anguish rife, 
Threw blackness on the stream of Life ; 
Till o'er each maze of erring man 
The reckless eye of Satire ran, 
Which finding nought but error free, 
Call'd vice the sole reality ! 

But where the grave of Harold lies 
May Virtue bend forgiving eyes ! 
The meek, whose time-worn spirits know 
How much that Heart must brave below 
When battling with the mystic gloom 
Which haunts it from the spectral tomb, 
No vengeance on his glory wreak 
But softly of each error speak. 
For who are they, if life had been, 
Like Byron's, one uncurtain'd scene 
Where every eye could point a gaze 
And level all its envious rays, 
Whose splendour would reveal no blot 
Which now lies faded and forgot ] 
While some regard with bitter eyes 
The tomb where buried Genius lies, 
And bid the gates of Mercy close 
On them whom Earth denied repose, — 
The hearts that wisdom's humbling power 
Has taught to fear the firmest hour, 
In tender awe will bend and weep 
Where Byron's noble ashes sleep, 
Nor love o'er sorrow's wildering track 
To trace the foot of Error back ; 
But thank him with a proud excess 
For all the poet's mightiness ! 
Oh, there he lies ! becalm'd in death, 
Whose being was a tortured breath; 
Whose years in whirlwind bore him on 
To the dread gulf where time is gone ! 
And stirless as the travell'd lake 
Whose waters down the mountain break 
O'er wood and wild, and ridge and rock, 
Convulsed and crash'd with many a shock, 
The turbulence of trial now ! — 
The rest can God alone avow. 

And was it nought to melt away 
The frost that bound the spirit's play 1 
To summon into startling view 
The deep, the daring, and the true, 
Or light the chaos of the soul 
And see its hidden waters roll ! 
Instead of polish'd rhyme, to raise 
The stormy breath of wilder lays ; 
Or make us, in his milder hour, 
Dissolve in dreams of beauty's power — 
Such beauty as our thoughts create, 
But never clad a mortal state ! 



308 



WOMAN. 



There are who call the Poet's bliss 
Too airy for a world like this : 
Alas, for Wisdom ! if her voice 
Can teach the heart no glorious choice ; 
If downward to the dust she try 
For aye to fix our slavish eye, 
And seldom bid one glance be given 
Aloft to mind's unclouded heaven ! 
The freshness of poetic thought 
From out the groves of Fancy brought, 
And wafted o'er the soul's domain, 
What is it, but a breezy strain 
From winds of vanish' d Eden lent 
To purify earth's element, 
And summon forth those dream-born flowers 
That grew in Milton's epic bowers ! 
'Mid all the waste of worldly arts 
Oh ! leave him yet some few fine hearts, 
That still the Poet's wand may raise 
A vision of unfallen days, 
And rescue from the fangs of time 
Some feelings that are yet sublime ! 

On Harrow, when the heaven of June 
Was garmented with glowing noon 
And not a cloud's minutest braid 
Along its liquid sapphire stray'd, 
I stood beneath that haunted tree, 
And heard the leaf-toned melody 
Which oft in Boyhood's dreaming years 
Had warbled on the pensive ears 
Of Byron, — when he loved to muse 
Beneath the quiet churchyard-yews. 
Oh ! who in such an hour could stand 
And look adown the sloping land 
Where meadow, vale, and roving stream 
So often charm'd his chequer'd dream ; 
And round him feel the fresh-wing'd air 
That lifted oft his waving hair, 
And press the same sepulchral stone 
His pressure loved to make its own, 
Nor feel a sense of fame and might 
That shook the heart with strange delight 1 

'Twas here he mused in Fancy's bower ; 
And in the mind's prophetic hour 
Would try with telescopic gaze 
To read the brow of unborn Days, 15 
Hail the bright orb of future fame 
And glory in a minstrel's name ! 
Or dared with dreadless eye to see 
A map of vision'd misery 
In lines of awful length outspread, 
Till darkness veil'd him with the dead ! 

And who with backward gaze can scan 
The burning course his genius ran, 
Nor feel how Woman's reigning star 
With fervid eye he view'd afar, 



And felt her beam of beauty cast 

A light which heaven alone surpass'd ! 

His primal love— it never died, 

But still within the soul supplied 

The waters of affection pure 

From fate and freezing time secure. 

'Twas thence ideal sorrow drew 

The pangs which pierce our nature through, 

Till love became the breath of song, 

And bore his inward life along. 

But had his heart with hers entwined 

Whose beauty struck his boyhood blind, 

The starlight of whose cloudless eyes 

Attracted his immortal sighs, 

If happiness could reach the great 

How bright had been his alter'd fate ! 

Instead of darkness, light would be 

Around the soul's divinity ! 

M'edora, Kaled, and Gulnare, 

Each ruin'd maid and reckless fair, 

Were vision'd from the shades of mind 

Despair and passion leave behind. 

But, once in home's attractive fane 

Oh ! had he worshipp'd woman's reign, 

And seen her, not in mock romance, 

Through daily paths of life advance 

As angel of domestic hours, 

How nobly might those lofty powera 

He lavish'd on a Corsair's bride 

Have been to purer love supplied ! 

While, feeling all which fancy drew, 

His genius would have brighten'd too, 

And Woman in his picture hail'd 

A model that had never fail'd, 

While love, by genius made divine, 

Could sanctify a poet's line. 

And such hath been fond Woman's sway 
Since angels hymn'd her natal day, 
By law of that instinctive love 
Whose archetype is God above ! 
And while yon heaven is o'er us hung 
For ever shall the brave and young, 
The free, the fervid, fond and true, 
Declare what female hearts can do ! 

And many a name as yet unknown, 
Embalm'd in some immortal tone 
Of genius, by a thrilling bard, 
Shall Time exult to read and guard : 
And Beauty, in domestic bowers 
Now fameless as secluded flowers, 
When buried queens forgotten lie 
And royal tombs can raise no sigh, 
In melody of deathless might 
Shall live to be the World's delight, 
While Love and Poetry can claim 
To twine a wreath round Woman's name ! 



WOMAN. 



309 



CANTO III. 

(In connection with Domestic Life.) 

"The mild majesty of private life." 

Akenside. 

" Show us how divine a thing 

A "Woman may be made." Wordsworth. 



ANALYSIS OF CANTO III. 

Introduction — Female Charms in all Climes — England 
paramount — Home-Scenery — Ideal Picture — Rural 
Landscape at Morning-Hour — Scenes, and Sights, 
and Sounds — Village-Cottages — Parsonage — The 
Hamlet-Queen — Her beauty and worth — An Angel 
of Social Mercy— Her little Sister — How trained and 
watched — The Brother — How remembered at Home 
— Village-reverence for the Pastor's Daughter — 
Dawning Emotions — Virgin Love — Its Depth and 
Delicacy — Transforming Power of the Affections — 
Courtship and its Charms — Progressive Love — 
Hopes and Anticipations — Tremors and Joys — 
Marriage Bells — Social Preparations — Bridal Room 
— Wedding-Scene — Departure — Moral Effects — A 
Domestic Future — Farewell ! 

Angel of life ! whose love hath been 
The master-charm of time and scene, 
Eomance in her Elysian mood 
Creating forms of fair and good, 
Hath not outsoar'd thy virtue's height, 
Nor imaged forth more purely bright 
Those lineaments of perfect grace 
Which yet adorn thy breathing race ; 
For Fiction, when her mould was cast, 
On truth might gaze , and feel surpass'd. 

But where is woman most array'd 
With all that mind would see display 'd? 
England ! round thy chainless isle 
How lavishly all blessings smile, 
And crowd within thy little spot 
A universe of glorious lot ! 
But never till the wind-rock'd sea 
Have borne us far from home and thee, 
Thy purer charms we learn to prize 
And feel the patriot's glow arise. — 
Though Nature with sublimer stress 
Hath stamp'd her seal of loveliness 
On climes of more colossal mould, 
How much that travell'd eyes behold 
Would sated wonder throw away 
To take one look where England lay ! — 
To wander down some hawthorn-lane 
And drink the lark's delightful strain ; 
Or floating from a pastured dell 
To hear the sheep's romantic bell, 
While valeward as the hills retire 
Peeps greyly forth the hamlet-spire, 
And all around it breathes a sense 



Of weal, and worth, and competence. 
But, far beyond all other dowers, 
Thy daughters seem Earth's human flowers 
The charm of young Castilian eyes 
When lovingly their lashes rise, 
And blended into one rich glance 
The lightnings of the soul advance, — 
Wild hearts may into wonder melt 
And make expression's magic felt. 
Or, girded by the dreams of old, 
In Sappho's Lesbian isle behold 
A shadow of primeval grace 
Yet floating o'er some classic face : 
But where, in what imperial land 
Hath Nature with more faultless hand 
Embodied all which Beauty shows 
Than round us daily lives and glows 1 
Here, mingled with the featured might 
Of charms that coldest gaze invite, 
Th' enamel of the mind appears 
Undimm'd by wo, unsoil'd by years ! 
To wedded hearts devoid of strife 
Here Home becomes the heaven of life ; 
And household-virtues spring to birth 
Beside the love-frequented hearth, 
While feelings soft as angels know 
Around them freshly twine and grow. 

A landscape of domestic love 
Which God's paternal eyes approve, 
Reflected from a homely dream, 
Shall form my lay's concluding theme : 
If there one heart its home can see, 
'Twill render more than fame to me ! 

A vale of beauty ! — lo, the Morn 
In clouds of crimson radiance born, 
Hath risen from the couch of night 
And fills the air with fresh delight ; 
While hues, like harmonies that range 
The world of sound with lovely change, 
In varied lustre o'er the sky 
Awaken, mingle, melt, and die ; 
Till full-orb'd on his flaming throne 
The sun-King is beheld alone ! 
And blue as Baltic waves asleep 
Before him lies a dazzling sweep 
Of azure, — in its deep excess 
Of morn- created loveliness. 

How exquisite this breathing hour ! 
As though awhile some choral bower 
Where Cherubim partake repose, 
Its crystal gates did half unclose, 
Till fragments of delicious sound 
Came wafted on the winds around, 
And bloom and balm to nature given 
Made earth a momentary heaven ! 
Hark ! to the choir of yonder wood 



310 



WOMAN. 



Where life exults in solitude ; 

On each unrifled bough is heard 

The lay of some melodious bird, 

And young-wing'd breezes as they float 

From brook and meadow learn a note ; 

And streams like tides of gladness, flow 

And in the earth there dwells a glow 

Of elemental youth and joy 

Unchill'd by one corrupt alloy. 

How dazzlingly with rosy dyes 

The fairies of the field arise ! 

And flutter on their insect-wings, 

As each a song of matin sings ; 

And where around the glitt'ring blade 

A liquid web of dew is laid, 

As early peasants' footsteps pass, 

How greenly shines the shaken grass ! 

While many a lark from out the ground 

Is startled, like a magic sound 

Which ere the sense be half aware 

Comes trembling through the lyric air ! 

And list, from out yon village-dell, 
Upon the breeze in broken swell, 
The goings-on of life begin 
To charm the ear with social din. 
The creak of hill-ascending wain, 
The shout of some exulting swain, 
The watch- dog baying far behind, 
The mill-sounds hoarse upon the wind, 
With voices from the child or crone, 
Are all in gay confusion thrown ; 
And murmur on the morning-breeze ; 
With notes whose human echoes please. 
From the thatch'd chimney now have broke 
The tinted wreaths of cottage smoke, 
Ascending delicately bright, 
And braided by a golden light, 
Like air-wing'd hopes that glide away 
Commingling with the boundless day. 
And see ! amid the straw-roof'd throng 
Of homes that to yon dale belong, 
As dwelt the patriarch on the plain 
Surrounded by his pastoral train, 
A mansion smiles ; whose neater state 
Though unallied to proud or great, 
A central grace around it throws 
And o'er each cot a charm bestows. 
Embower'd in laurels, green and calm, 
To view it yields the eye a balm : 
But when at eve its garden hath 
A lustre on each lilied path ; 
When bough, and branch, and grape-hung 

vine 
In rays of pensive beauty shine, 
While gladsome bee and quiring bird 
And leafy song are faintly heard, 
There often hath the worldling cast 
A longing eye, ere on he past, 



And while it wander'd o'er the scene, 
Mused, Oh ! that such my own had been ! 

But is it like gay hearts that hide 
With sunny brow a bitter tide 
Of anguish in their gloom below, 
Which they who suffer only know ? 
Have venom'd passions, fierce or wild, 
The pureness of its peace defiled, 
While outwardly its walls declare 
Life's inner-world most tranquil there? 
No : war and famine, blood and crime 
Have stain'd the ghastly scroll of time ; 
And tears, the rain of torture, flow'd, 
And conscience borne its burning load 
While twenty years o'er earth have roll'd, 
The aged die, and youth grown old ; 
Yet still, in unalloy'd content 
Eemains yon blissful tenement ! 
And, save the shadows which o'ersteal 
The brightest fate the good can feel, 
Around its heaven-protected scene 
A summer of the soul hath been ! 
And like a fount whose waters fling 
A freshness with faint murmuring, 
Perceived alone by desert-flowers 
That bud beneath its nursing powers, 
From thence hath Charity's sweet store 
Been scatter'd for the sick and poor. 
So noiseless were the feet that trod 
Those lovely paths which led to God, 
That Angels only heard their tread, 
And track'd them to some dying bed. 

But where the ivied gate expands, 
Within it what a vision stands ! 
More exquisite in brow and limb 
Than those aerial cherubim, 
Which painting in some starry dress 
Reveals on clouds of loveliness ! 
Around her like a viewless zone 
A fascinating might is thrown : 
Her brow is pure as thought can be 
And whiter than the foam-clad sea, 
Expanded with an arch of grace 
Like heaven's above a heavenly face ; 
And on that polish'd cheek, behold 
Her ringlets, by the breeze unroll'd, 
In gleaming motion dance and shake 
Like ripples on a restless lake. 
Her years are on the verge of heaven, — 
That period when to life is given 
The freshness of elastic youth 
Yet touch'd with woman's deeper truth, 
Again, behold that virgin face ! 
'Tis beauty in the mould of grace ; 
Incarnate soul lies sculptured there ; 
A feeling so divinely fair 



WOMAN. 



311 



Is dwelling in those dark-fringed eyes, 
That when they front congenial skies 
Pure spirits well might deem that Earth 
Had copied some celestial birth, 
Or beauty in the world had grown 
All spirit-like, to match their own ! 

Yet innocence with homely seal 
Hath stamp'd the power her looks reveal ; 
And should her form the rustic meet 
Amid some pent and crowded street, 
So artlessly each lovely hue 
"Would dawn on his delighted view, 
At once his mental eye would roam 
To scenery round a village-home, 
Till breeze and brook were heard again 
Exulting o'er his native plain. 

Companion of the morning hours 
To tend her own infantine flowers, 
Which grow beneath her guardian eyes, 
And let their lids of bloom arise, 
The garden-haunt she loves to pace : 
And oft is seen, with bending grace, 
And hand that scarcely wounds the air, 
To nurse each bud unfolding there ; 
Till Fancy where her touch presides 
Might dream the soul of flowers abides, 
And wafts abroad their sweetest sigh 
To greet her, as she glideth by. 
Before her nought is forced to flee : 
All undisturb'd, the rifling bee 
When hived in bloom, may hum and sip 
A banquet off the rose's lip : 
The butterflies, bright gems of air ! — 
Can hover round her silken hair ; 
And not a bird that quells its song, 
Or flutters when she moves along, 
But sings as though a sunbeam came 
Athwart the boughs with brighter aim. 

'Twas here amid this haunt of dreams 
Her childhood roved, and still it seems 
Alive with voices heard of yore, 
And breathes of them who breathe no more 
From out her casement's vine-clad height 
She views it, when the veil of night 
Lies dimly woven over all, 
Or glitters like a dewy pall : 
And here, when starry magic reigns 
Amid the sky's nocturnal plains, 
And moonlight with mysterious power 
Hath mantled yonder grey church-tower ; 
The pensive maiden loves to stand 
And let her night-born dreams expand. — 
Nor is the scene bereft of charm : 
The dusky roof of distant farm, 
The meadows in their dim array, 
The frowning coppice far away, 



And cot that shows its twinkling pane 
Adown the lone and green-bough'd lane, 
While yonder where the cloven hill 
Seems parted by a Tempest's will, 
The billows wreathed with moonshine play 
And warble forth an ocean-lay, — 
To hearts that feel the hush of night 
Enchanting is their mingled sight ! 

A daughter, beautiful and good, 
On the fair brink of womanhood, 
When all the debt of love-watch' d years, 
Of buried pangs and bosom'd fears, 
By filial worth can be repaid, 
Is more than words have yet portray'd. 
What links, which time nor death can part, 
Have bound her to a parent's heart ! 
Oh, deep beyond description lies, 
Pure as the ray of seraph-eyes, 
The love within parental souls ! 
Whatever tide of anguish rolls, 
Whatever wreck the world can make, 
Till God himself the good forsake 
Affection is the life of life, 
A power with more than feeling rife 
Above all base dominion free, 
A passion for eternity ! 

0, blest ! unutterably blest, 
The visions to their fancy prest, 
When sire and mother blend a prayer 
For thee, young spirit ! fond as fair. 
Thy being sways their mortal breath, 
And shouldst thou die, — 'twere more than death : 
For in thy tomb their thoughts would dwell, 
And darkness be their brightest spell. 
To think on all thine artless ways 
Since childhood reap'd its golden days ; 
From year to year delighted trace 
The magic dawn of mind and face ; 
To watch thee in Life's daily round 
With every trait of heaven abound ; 
And when some friend, whom time endears, 
Hath warbled in their tranced ears 
Of noble acts in secret done, 
And wreaths by silent virtue won, 
Oh, then around their hearts to feel 
A glow of admiration steal ! — 
Or haply, with prophetic truth 
To picture for thy wedded youth 
A Soul that shall be worthy thine, 
With feelings from as pure a mine ; 
And when the church-yard yews shall wave 
And darken o'er their cherish'd grave, 
To feel, whatever time decree, 
One Heaven their final home will be, 
A bliss so pure no words unfold, 
A joy so deep no eyes behold ; 



312 



WOMAN. 



That language must be taught Above 
Whose power reveals a parent's love ! 

And thou art worthy, on whose brow 
The stainless mind lies mirror'd now, 
Around their guardian hearts to twine 
Those feelings that are so divine ! 
No wish, or want, or hope, or joy, 
No dreams of time thy youth employ, 
But blended with their meaning lies 
Approval shed from parent eyes. 
And as a ray from out the sun 
Reveals its birth where'er it run, 
Thy virgin thoughts, howe'er they stroll, 
Retain the brightness of the soul. 
And often in thy sleep is heard 
The fragment of some duteous word, 
When lips of imaged parents seem 
To bless thee in thy girlish dream. 
How winning are those myriad ways 
By which a child fond homage pays, 
Those ministries of heart and hand 
Which none but parents understand ! 
When Morning reigns in dewy power, 
To hie and cull the choicest flower ; 
Or pluck the fruit whose bloom appears 
Bedeck'd with Night's refreshing tears; 
Or else with magic pencil take 
The likeness of some hill or lake, 
Some haunted spot, whose beauty hung 
Rich praises on her feeling tongue, 
And these to place in proud surprise 
Before a mother's greeting eyes ! — 
Affection, let thy voice declare 
How tender-sweet such trifles are ! 
For what is kindness, but the heart 
In action, without guile or art, 
Imparting by some nameless power 
A bloom to each attractive hour ] 



But when bleak winter bares the earth 
And Comfort hails the wonted hearth, 
Then, child of beauty ! thou art found 
The central star of bliss around. 
Some book divine, or antique tale, 
Or shipwreck, where the savage gale 
Swells howling o'er the black-waved sea, 
Perchance, the chosen page may be : 
Or Bard eterne with visions bright 
Shall charm the soul of taste to-night ; 
Or haply, Music's heaven-born spell 
Whose spirit thou canst wake so well, 
Shall melt fond memory into tears 
Or votive sighs, for vanish'd years : 
And then, adown the tides of song 
While thou enrapt art borne along, 
The throbbing chamber seems to glow 
With Melody's rich overflow ! 



And full before his bick' ring fire, 
Delighted sits a dreaming sire ; 
Nor blame the mother, if her gaze 
Be fill'd with more than fondest praise, 
And Nature whisper through the heart, 
" My child, how exquisite thou art ! " 

But, 'tis not in the noon of joy 
When Life endures no stern alloy, 
A daughter from her mind can pour 
The fulness of affection's store : 
For let but once a pang prevail, 
A limb be rack'd, or cheek grow pale ; 
Let the wild torture of disease 
Deny to heart and hand their ease ; 
Let sorrow once her frown impress 
On Earth's uncertain happiness, — 
Then, scorner of the sex ! advance, 
And learn the power of Pity's glance, 
The tender might of woman's gaze 
Unweaken'd by tormented days. 
Through hours of blackness, when the mind 
Seems prostrate, wreck'd, and unresign'd, 
What pathos in her pleading eye ! 
How gentle her devoted sigh ! 
One look speaks more than man could say, 
And each word wafts a pang away. 

And there are ties whose thrilling truth 
Pervade her uncorrupted youth 
With energies that breathe and move 
In daily acts of duteous love. 
Behold yon sister ! — fairy thing 
Whose forehead, like the brow of spring, 
Is ever-bright and ever-young, 
And with the glow of gladness hung ; 
So light in form, a breeze of life 
Secure from earth's contagious strife, 
Round her own orb of home and glee 
On wing'd delight she seems to flee ! 
Each pulse within her fine-wrought frame 
Is tuned to joy's unsleeping claim ; 
Whether a cloud-isle richly drest 
Her wonder-beaming eye arrest, 
Or magic from some household-word 
Young laughter into life hath stirr'd. 
And dear as Nature's dearest tie 
She grows beneath a sister-eye, 
Who watches with a star-like gaze 
Around her pure but perill'd days. 
And rather than the air might press 
Too bleakly on her loveliness, 
Or pain one fleeting pang awake, 
Would let the blood her heart forsake, 
And drop by drop dissolve away 
To win her life one pangless day ! 

And what, though years now intervene 
To veil her own from childhood's scene, 



WOMAN. 313 


To robe an infant's face with smiles 


Thou queen of Boyhood's cloudless day ! 


And summon forth its mimic wiles, 


In studious bower though far away, 


As playmate she can stoop to be 


Thy heart is haunted with a sense 


Transform'd to frolic infancy ! 


Of all a brother's charms dispense. 


Will echo back the bird-like sound 


His picture on thy bedroom-wall, 


Of tiny laughs in merry round, 


How frequently its lines recal 


Nor coldly shun the meanest toy 


Th' imperial face, the manly brow, 


That wings a moment's flight with joy. 


The eyes which dared the soul avow 


And well those cherub-features play 


And smile that knew no mean eclipse 


In answer to her sister's sway, 


But ever round those graceful lips 


Delighted, calm, or grief-array'd, 


In brightest welcome play'd for thee 


According as her words display'd 


In moods of unaffected glee ! — 


The tones which govern smiles and tears ! 


What tales of prowess, feats of mind 


And often when some cloud appears, 


Around thy memory intertwined, 


By pain, or temper's gloom begot, 


'Tis pure delight to oft unroll 


To shadow her infantine lot, 


In tones that touch parental soul ! 


That sister can alone restore 


Beside thee like a felt unseen 


The sunshine as it play'd before ! 


The shadow of his shape hath been, 


And duly as the car of Night 


Whene'er along some favour' d walk 


Returns, she bends with soft delight 


Thy spirit dreams him smile and talk ; 


Enamour'd o'er the precious sleep 


His voice is woven in the breeze 


Of lids too beautiful to weep ! 


That carols round the garden-trees ; 


No, never is the pillow prest 


And fancy, when the moon gleams bright, 


Before a parting gaze hath blest 


Can often on its mirror write 


That winning face ! — so brightly warm, 


Emotions 'twas divine to share, 


So tinted with the rosy charm 


When loth had fix'd their glances there ! 


Of slumber, that its beauty seems 


Through weal and wo, through cloud and 


The bloom of amaranthine dreams. 


change, 




Whatever clime or shore he range, 


But ah ! there is a dearer task 


Till nature can itself deny 


Whose toils a patient wisdom ask ; 


Undimm'd will shine affection's eye, 


And who beyond a sister knows 


And stainless those deep waters prove 


Where best the germ of knowledge grows, 


That well from out a sister's love ! 


When Infancy begins to look 




Abroad o'er Earth's unwritten book, 




To read the world with curious eye, 


And think'st thou, though thy smile afar 


And question truths beyond the Sky ! 


Hath vanish'd like a fairy star, 


Fondly to aid the budding mind 


Companion of her girlish lot ! 


When thought springs faint and undefined ; 


That thou art in thy home forgot, 


To teach her lips a word to frame 


Where memories like pulses play 


And prattle with some homely name ; 


Within the heart of each new day I 


Then day by day, as reason wakes 


So long our early feelings last, 


And mental twilight dimly breaks, 


Affection owns no faded past ! 


A delicate enchantment throw 


For aye the glow of what was dear 


Round each young truth the heart would 


Surrounds it like an atmosphere ; 


know, 


Eternal is the youth of thought, 


Thus nursing with a sweet control 


Whatever outward change hath wrought, 


The childhood of a cherish'd soul, — 


And distance, though like death it seems, 


none but she can paint the joy 


Is conquer'd by creative dreams 


Of such divine and dear employ ! 


Of fondness, acting o'er again 


In wing'd delight thus years will speed, 


The brother in his spirit-reign ! 


And still in language, look, and deed, 


For, all he fancied, felt, or did, 


Will sisterly affection be 


Her memory in fond silence hid, 


A power of guardian purity, 


And nought is trivial, wreck'd, or gone, 


And gently thus its magic wind 


He cherish'd, loved, or gazed upon ! 


Around an infant's growing mind. 


Like gems of earth his flowers abide, 




With dew and tender rain supplied ; 


A brother ! — oh, that thrilling name, 


The birds are fed with fostering care, 


It vibrates through thy very frame 

1 


His dog beneath the wonted chair 



314 



WOMAN. 



In unalarm'd repose may lie 

And fawn to win her playful eye ; 

The glossy steed, whose bounding limb 

O'er hill and mead had toil'd for him, 

Beside it she will often stand 

With greeting voice and gentle hand ; 

The page he read grows doubly sweet, 

For there communing thoughts can meet : 

Each melody whose magic sway 

Could best dissolve his soul away, — 

Delightful 'tis again to pour 

Around the room its richest store 

Of melting sounds, which ere they die 

Seem blended with a brother's sigh ! — 

But holier far is memory made, 

And deeper is its might display'd 

Whene'er the poor he loved to feed, 

The hearts he caused no more to bleed, 

She welcomes in some rustic cot, 

And finds his goodness unforgot ! 

And ye, whose locks with hoary truth 

Betray the flight of faded youth ; 

Whose hands have rock'd the cradled boy, 

Or ere he lisp'd his little joy, 

Full proudly may your tongues prevail ! 

For dear is each domestic tale 

The homely past untreasures now 

To brighten on a sister's brow ! 

But when arrives his well-known seal, 

What ecstacy young eyes reveal ! 

Warm on the page her lips impress 

A kiss of perfect happiness ; 

And well in that entrancing hour 

When feelings claim prophetic power, 

Since all unworn his heart appears, 

A sister may outwing the years, 

And vision round a brother's head 

The rays of future glory spread ! 

And wouldst thou trace her secret tide 
Of goodness to the poor supplied, 
Winding unknown its village-course 
From charity's divinest source % 
Angelic woman ! if to be 
On earth a child of Deity, 
Surpasseth all we deem renown, 
How peerless thine immortal crown ! 
For shipwreck' d hearts, sole haven thou ; 
With pity on thy pensive brow, 
And mercy in thy healing hand, 
A nd voice beyond all music bland, 
From cot to cell, oh ! thou hast been 
Life's angel in its blackest scene, 
And often with the dying good 
On the bright verge of Heaven hast stood ! 

And such thou art ; and many a dame 
Delights to hear thy darling name ; 



And many a tatter'd widow glows 
To bless the hand that heal'd her woes : 
While orphan babes in lane and street 
With bright'ning face thy welcome meet 
And many a tale of mercy lives 
The life which grateful Memory gives, 
When Feeling round a cottage-fire 
Can pay the debt thy deeds inspire ! 
And they are such as cannot die 
Though honour'd by no human eye ; 
Unchronicled in rolls of worth, 
Ungreeted by applauding earth, 
Silent and secret though they be, 
Their tablet is eternity ! 
Where graven by the Hand Divine 
The glories of the good will shine. 

And thus in virgin solitude, 
Unbroken by the waters rude 
Of that rough world, whose waves afar 
Billow with life's tempestuous war, 
Queen of the hamlet ! years have flown, 
And still thou art unwoo'd and lone : 
Yet time with magic unconfess'd 
Has moulded feelings in thy breast, 
Which now like buried music float 
With soft and secret under-note ; 
So delicate, they scarce appear 
To haunt thy spirit's maiden sphere, 
But waken'd once, — and they shall be 
A soul within a soul to thee ! 
Emotions, of themselves afraid, 
A temple in thy heart have made, 
Wherein they flutter, like a bird 
That trembles when a voice is heard ! 
And fancy loves a Being now 
Whom shaping words cannot avow ; 
A Form of fine imaginings 
To which attracted nature clings. 
At length he comes ! that nameless one 
The eye of Dreams had gazed upon ; 
The magic and the mystery 
Of life have now begun for thee, 
And thou the type of heaven wilt prove 
In primal, deep, and deathless love ! 

Emotion that is most sublime 
Of all which hallows earth and time ; 
That Principle from whence we draw 
The light of each celestial law ; 
Pervading Sense, victorious Power 
Whom death nor darkness can devour ; 
An omnipresent might and spell 
Wherein all mind and matter dwell, 
Is Love ! — by that bright word alone 
We vision forth The vast Unknown, 
The Euler of the seraphim, 
Whose glory makes the glorious dim ! 



WOMAN. 



315 



And not an element that glows 

But breathes the life which love bestows. 

So magical its wide command, 

The sternest rock, the bleakest strand 

Around an exiled wretch hath thrown 

A charm that paradise might own ! 

And who, when form and face depart 

Which seldom touch'd his deeper heart, 

Or e'en in hours of marring strife 

Disturb'd the pure serene of life, 

That feels not, while he says, " Farewell ! ' 

A love-born sense within him dwell ? 

A touch of heart, whose tenderness 

Provokes him with a thrilling stress ? 

And hence the captive, when the light 

Of freedom daunts his reeling sight, 

With something of a mute regret 

His gaze on dungeon-walls hath set, 

Though Misery's hand had graven there 

The words and weakness of despair ! 

There is but One who cannot love, 

The Anarch of the thrones above ; 

Apostate, in whose sleepless eyes 

A hell of burning hatred lies ; 

Whose torture is th' undying sense 

Of unadored Omnipotence ; 

A wither'd, dark, defeated Mind, 

That curses Heaven, and scorns mankind 

And will the loveless, stern, or grave, 
Think human fancies wildly rave, 
When young affection's meteors play 
In dazzling falsehood round their way? 
Oh ! take him to some towering mind 
Whose Orphic words entrance mankind, 
And, when the mask is laid aside, 
And backward rolls the blood-warm tide 
Of feelings, rich with early truth, 
And vital with the flush of youth, 
How wither'd, wan, and leafless, grows 
The laurel which Renown bestows. 
To that bright wreath affection wove 
Round the fair brow of youthful love ! 
That love, whose faintest impulse wrings 
The bosom's agonised strings, 
And even in its mildest reign 
O'erpowers him with a yearning pain, 
A feeling that is unforgot, 
Which seems the core of life to rot 
And deaden it with slow decay, 
As water frets the rock away ! — 
Thus passion forms the bane or bliss 
Of being, in a world like this ; 
The day or night of inward joy, 
Which years may dim, but not destroy ; 
Love reigns but once, yet that will be 
Affection's true eternity ! 
All future love mere echo seems 
Of vanish'd hope's melodious dreams ; 



A dying tone of lost delight, 

A fragment of those feelings bright 

That once when youth and heart were whole 

Excited, charm' d — and crush'd the soul ! 

But, maiden ! in thy vernal bloom, 
On thee attends a calmer doom ; 
No clouds along thy placid heaven 
With heraldry of gloom are driven ; 
No ! all is open, bright, and blest : 
And hopes may wander unreprest, 
Like birds of beauty when they fly 
And wanton in their genial sky. 
And not for thee are voiceless fears, 
The rack of unrelieving tears, 
The agonies which coil and wind 
In secret round a wasted mind 
Like vipers with envenom'd tooth, 
To canker all the spirit's youth ; 
Nor Circumstance, with eye averse, 
For thee hath framed a fearful curse ! 
That long as life's dull waters roll, 
With broken heart and blighted soul 
Thy feelings, on the rack of fate, 
Shall live to mourn thy wedded state ! 
Serene as thy soft brow appears 
The countenance of coming Years ; 
Consenting parents' blended voice 
Hath sanction' d Love's ingenuous choice; 
And nought descends from dreams above 
More exquisite than woman's love, 
When passion in its virgin morn 
Within a soul like thine is born ! 
Thy love by self is undefiled 
And foster'd like a spirit-child, 
Revered and watch'd with heart and eyes ; 
To whom each thought would sacrifice, 
Each hour devote its deepest care, 
Each feeling give its fondest share ; 
And earth, and time, and joy, and youth 
From hence derive their only truth. 
Let one deceive, and dead would lie 
The living world before thine eye ! 
And thus, when withered years depart, 
They leave no wreck like woman's heart ! 
The ruin of her mind remains 
Haunted by dim and dreary pains ; 
And pining thoughts each chamber throng 
Where once arose the breath of song, 
Till Sadness, link'd with cold Despair, 
Unites to fix its dwelling there. 

With man's compare her feelings fine, 
How delicate, how half divine ! 
Torn by the slightest breeze of life 
And shatter'd by each varied strife, 
When wrong, or wo, or accident 
Perturbs the spirit's element, 



316 



WOMAN". 



In fragile bloom they seem to be 
Like leaves on some majestic tree, 
That often when the boughs are still 
Regardless of the breeze's will, 
Are shaken by a touch or tone, 
And perish, ere the blast hath blown ! 

But thou art loved, and unbetray'd ; 
And who can paint, enamour'd maid ! 
The paradise where dream and rove 
Those moments dedicate to love ? 
For One there is, whose eye repays 
The fervour of thy fondest gaze, 
Whose language with its melting tone 
Of tenderness can match thy own ; 
Whose visions of the beautiful 
When most his yielded heart they rule, 
Are woven out of thoughts of thee 
Like rainbows from a lovely sea ! 

Has the world changed, more heavenly 
grown, 
And every taint of darkness flown ? 
That brightness is the sudden birth 
Of feelings which ennoble earth, 
Of passion in its stainless prime 
Just risen on the brink of time ! 
By these transform'd, creation glows 
With each warm tint the mind bestows ; 
A deeper verdure decks the grass ; 
The clouds with richer glory pass, 
The winds a sweeter welcome chant, 
And wheresoe'er her footsteps plant 
Their printless beauty, smile and sound 
Of new enchantment hover round ! 
To her 'tis mystery ; — but the mind 
Grown exquisite and o'er-refmed, 
Can veil the universe with light 
Till all is heaven that meets the sight, 
And outward nature wears the dress 
Of mind's internal loveliness. 

Commingled souls ! 'twere vain to tell, 
Around them as rich evening fell 
And clouds of calmest beauty lay 
Like dreams of air along the way 
Where wan and far th' horizon wound, 
While nought but ocean breathed a sound, 
How often on the placid shore 
They rambled, till the light was o'er, 
What rapture on each radiant cheek, 
While softer than the billows speak 
Responsive to the pleading wind, 
The murmurs of each happy mind ! 
The waves beneath, the skies above, 
All sights and sounds were born of love ! 
So all unstain'd by earth's alloy 
Their very blood grew liquid joy ; 



So full their hearts, they fain would reel, 
And make delight too deep to feel ! 
Th' aroma of all mortal bliss 
Enrich'd an hour so charm'd as this ; 
Till soul-enrapt, they seem'd to be 
Attracted nearer Deity ; 
While each to each immortal grew, 
And saw the spirit beaming through 
A glowing face, where Love had given 
The features that were form'd for Heaven ! 

All hours are sweet, when love is there 
A loveliness to make and share ; 
All scenes delight, when eyes adored 
The magic of their gaze afford ; 
No rock is bleak, no desert rude, 
When Beauty walks the solitude : 
But moonlight charms the outward eye 
Like music heard by memory ; 
And temptingly the moonbeams play 
Around young lovers' lonely way, 
As though fond Nature glow'd to meet 
The pressure of their timing feet. 
Belated, like a starry train 
When loth to quit the azure plain, 
Yon vision'd pair, behold them now 
While Dian bares her crested brow, 
And clouds of alabaster white 
Float on the soundless breath of night. 
How beautiful Creation's sleep ! 
So innocent, so calm, and deep : 
The air is rock'd to voiceless rest; 
The bird within his woven nest ; 
The dew upon unshaken leaves 
A web of filmy lustre weaves ; 
And onward as the lovers steal, 
You'd deem the fairy ground could feel 
Their shadows o'er its silence fall, 
So rapt a stillness veileth all ! 

But they have reach'd a woodland-shore, 
Where billows, now the breeze is o'er, 
Are blended into one broad mass 
Of heaving glory, — like a glass 
Reflecting forth with twinkling change 
The heaven-lights, in their lofty range. 
Magnificent, and mute, and bright, 
To feel it, is to worship night ! 
And there they stand, absorb'd and blest, 
In adoration unexprest ; 
Yet drinking in with eye and soul 
Earth's beautiful and boundless whole. 
And when that tranced delight is o'er, 
They glide along yon glittering shore ; 
Where tones of whisper' d feeling take 
The heart from each ! as lips awake 
In words which Love design'd to be 
The heart's revealing masonry. 



WOMAN". 



317 



A past, in its undying truth 

Still vocal with the vows of youth : 

A future, with each promise rife 

Of tranquil home and wedded life, 

Of these they talk, and plan, and scheme, 

Indulging hope's oracular dream : 

So soft the hour, the future rolls 

Obedient to prophetic souls 

By banks of bliss, and meads of flowers, 

As though from wishes came the hours ! 

But night hath deepen'd : now they roam 

Enchanted to expecting home ; 

And see ! where downward hills retire, 

In dim repose the village-spire ! 

Around it smiles a yellow moon 

Gilding the leafy flush of June. 

But home is reach'd, the room is gain'd, 

With many a blush the walk explain'd, 

Whose length 'twas not for time to meet, 

For what can weary lovers' feet ! 

And smiles on each parental face 

Have risen with forgiving grace ; 

And on the mother's brow is read 

A tale which truth might thus have said, 

" How often when my age was thine, 

Were walks as long and lonely mine ! " 

And say, can aught but death unbind 
Affections round her soul entwined ] 
Though distance may bereave the eye 
And o'er him hang a stranger sky, 
The sun that brings her spirit's day 
Is born of his illuming sway. 
The ground he trod a glory wears ; 
The twilight- walk his step declares ; 
No melody so sweetly heard 
As fancy's love-repeated word ; 
His picture on her heart portray' d, 
(Soft mem'ry asks no other aid) 
Bright o'er her face she oft can feel 
His vision'd gaze of fondness steal ! 
The breathings of his soul begin 
To thrill her echoing soul within ; 
And then, ere mind is half aware, 
Her lips address the tongueless air 
In words of unregarded tone, 
As sunlight on a. rock is thrown 
Where flower nor herbage, fruit nor stream, 
Exult to drink the offer'd beam. 
Against him raise a slanderous breath, — 
And blooming looks the cheek of Death, 
Compared with that appall'd distress 
That blights her features' loveliness ! 
Applaud him, and the heart will rise 
Dissolved within her dewy eyes ! 
Lustrous, and fill'd with tearful light 
Like rain-beads when the moon is bright. 
Voiceless her tongue, but what a glow 
Of spirit's grateful overflow, 



In eloquent excess appears 

To glitter through those dawning tears ! 

And ah ! forgive, if fondly weak 

Too soft of one her soul will speak ; 

And faintly interweave his name 

With hours when love should hide its claim. 

For thus chance-words will oft betray 

How secret thoughts roam far away ; 

And hence by soft and sudden tone 

The dreamings of the mind are shown, 

Like rays of beauty when they dart 

From out a cloud's divided heart, 

And dazzle into gay surprise 

The lids of unexpecting eyes. 

Too much of pomp and aim is seen 
Where'er the pen of man hath been ; 
But, lovely one ! how sweet for thee 
Within thy trellis'd room to be, 
And there to language yield thy mind 
As bends a flower before the wind ! 
And, aimless save the soul to show, 
What magic will thy words bestow, 
As bright they rush with fondest speed 
To visit eyes which yearn to read 
Each syllable that love can frame, 
When hallow'd by so dear a name ! 
Between its banks as roams the stream 
And murmurs like a liquid dream, 
Surrender'd to the guiding force 
Of nature in its beauteous course, — 
So artlessly is woman's mind 
To tones of untaught grace resign'd, 
And wanders down the fairy tide 
Of words whose sweetness love supplied ! 



Bells on the wind ! hark ! peal on peal 
Comes wafted with melodious zeal, 
Making the morn so bright and clear 
To thrill like joy's own atmosphere ! 
A bird-song from each holly flows ; 
The bee hums loudly in the rose ; 
And like a soaring dew-drop seems 
The butterfly to shed its gleams 
Of hue and lustre, in wild play 
Of rapture round its winged way. — 
Creation, like a human soul, 
Feels gladness through each fibre roll ! 

And mark ye, where yon churchyard shows 
The tombs' and turfs' sepulchral rows, 
And sunbeams o'er the graves advance 
To touch them with as bright a glance 
As once around each living head 
The beauty of their joyance spread, — 
A crowd of village forms attends ; 
Their lip with lip loud welcome blends ; 



318 



WOMAN. 



And homeward by a rose-strewn track 
The gay-eyed young are wending back, 
To drink around a festive board 
Such health as loving hearts afford. 

But whence the joy 1 — behold yon room, 
And there in hymeneal bloom 
Array'd like clouds of fleecy mould 
When round the moon their grace is roll'd, 
And bending like a human flower, 
With beauty for her matchless dower, — 
The bride, the daughter, and the queen 
Whose virtues crown our vision'd scene ! 

Poet and painter, each may bring, 
Fresh from the spirit's fountain-spring 
Full many a truth and many a tone 
Which Nature shall confess her own. 
But there, in yon bright room are met 
Feelings which ne'er were mirror'd yet, 
Save by the features when they start 
To life from out the living heart ! — 
The old, the tried, whose years retain 
The light of early friendship's reign, 
From childhood holding firm and deep 
The faith unworldly bosoms keep ; 
A sire, upon whose honour'd head 
A silvery grace of time is spread, 
Beholding like a priest of joy 
The smiles which every face employ, 
(Though mellow'd is the meeker smile 
That slumbers on his own the while) 
Again unite : — and she is there, 
Whose heart becomes one voiceless prayer, 
That life may round a daughter pour 
Exhaustless mercy's heavenly store ! 

And thou ! 'mid all the bridal star, 
Thy bosom is one tender war 
'Tween fond regret for faded hours, 
And love whose fulness overpowers ! 
Deep tears within thy heart arise 
Though scarcely yet they dim thine eyes, 
Lest shades of grief should haply fall 
Upon thy wedding-carnival, 
And eyes parental catch from thee 
A tear thy soul would shake to see ! 
But when the sad adieus are sigh'd 
Thy spirit to its core is tried, 
As garden, ground, and village-mead 
From the wing'd chariot fast recede : 
One look ! so long it seems to cling 
Around the spot of Life's dead spring ! 
One rapid glance at paths of yore, 
Where roam'd the Days which breathe no 

more ! 
And nature, wrung beyond control, 
In tears will then express thy soul ! 



And let them fall ! for tears like thine 
Might hang on eyelids half divine ; 
And love in their excess can see 
How soft a woman's soul can be. 

And she is gone ! the wedded maid 
Whose loveliness a home array'd 
With lustre caught from every gaze, 
Her look, her laugh, her winning ways. 
How are they felt as unforgot 
In each young scene and household-spot ! 
Dismal the once glad room appears ; 
And eyes are charged with coming tears, 
When haply to their pensive sight 
Some little gift is brought to light, 
Some token of departed hours 
For memory left, like waning flowers ! 
The fairy harp her fingers loved 
In tomb-like calm stands unremoved ; 
And o'er her pictured face is sigh'd 
A deeper thought than words supplied, 
When silent, sad, unwatch'd, and lone, 
A mother lets her grief be shown ! 
Yon garden, too, now reft and lorn, 
Methinks its alter'd features mourn, 
So droopingly the flowerets bend, 
So dyingly their leaves depend, 
To what they were, when dew-bright Dawn 
Beheld her on the breathing lawn 
The goddess of the matin hour, 
Arraying each expectant flower 
With life and beauty ; while the bird 
Sang in the laurel-boughs unstirr'd, 
And each coy breeze which caught her hair 
Enamour'd hung, and nestled there ! 
Her sister, she whose tiny feet 
Were wing'd when one was there to meet, 
Now prattles in her dream and walk, 
As though the lisping mind could talk 
Of nothing, save that dearest one 
Her bosom yearns to rest upon ! 
And many a Home her hand relieved 
For one so pure hath pined and grieved ; 
Whose presence to the cottage grew 
Like heaven before a martyr's view, — 
So bright the change her blessing made 
When sorrow had the soul betray'd. 

But what remains for Minstrel-art 1 
Aught further can his page impart 
Of feelings whose domestic sway 
Conducts the hours of life away 1 
Then picture for thy pensive mood 
A tranquil home in solitude ; 
And there, behold ! the maid we drew 
In Nature's soft but sterling hue. 
Those budding traits, when girlhood smiled, 
Of heart and mind, which all beguiled, 



WOMAN. 



319 



Expanded now to full-blown grace, 
Have alter' d not with time and place : 
Each added year has hail'd the birth 
Of some new charm and noble worth ; 
And, save that on her brow appears 
A mellow tinge of matron years, 
And in her eye serenely glows 
The magic of the mind's repose, 
A girl in spirit still is left 
Without one ray of youth bereft. 

She is a mother ! what a bliss 
Celestial fills a name like this 
With meaning, whose concentred might 
Is mock'd by that mean word — delight ! 
For sooner may cold earth describe 
The glories of th' angelic tribe, 
Than any save a mother tell 
What mysteries in her being dwell. 
How spirit-fill'd her loving face ! 
How beautiful ! thereon to trace 
The imagery of rising thought 
By feeling's hidden sculpture wrought ! 
When infant-voices round her roll 
Like echoes of maternal soul ; 
And words like shatter'd music rise 
Faint on her ear, in fond replies 
From lips that quiver lisp and play 
Like blossoms on a breezy day. 
But, ah ! should malady destroy 
Each fairy bud of infant joy, 
And broken cries but half reveal 
The buried pangs dark moments feel, 
What wrung Despair in tragic stone, 
What Misery in marble shown, 
In eloquence of grief can vie 
With all that speaks her loving eye ! — 
When bending o'er a tortured child 
By fits 'tis fervent, sad, or wild, 
And prompt, if pain might thus be quell' d, 
To drink the anguish she beheld 
Into her soul, with one deep gaze, 
And bear it with immortal praise ! 



Home of my fancy, fare thee well ! 
Unbroken be thy guardian spell ; 
Though not unmarr'd may be thy fate, 
Since darkness girds our brightest state, 



And Life along each path of hours 
With thorns hath intertwined the flowers : 
Yet hearts where home and love unite 
Share more than bleakest years can blight 
The sky may frown, the tempest fall, 
But Woman can o'ercome them all, 
While calm within affection's eyes 
Endures that beaming paradise, 
Where sorrow seeks a bright repose 
And basks beyond the reach of woes. 

Land of my soul ! maternal Isle 
Array'd by Freedom's holy smile ; 
Whose throne is founded on the cause 
Of native worth and noble laws ; 
Oh, long may Private Life be found 
The glory of our British ground, 
And Woman on her stainless brow 
Wear the bright soul we honour now ! 
For though thy fleets o'erawed the main 
Till every billow felt thy reign ; 
And captive Empires drew the car 
Of victory from triumphant war, 
Thy strength is canker' d, if the core 
Of private life be sound no more. 
Consumption on the cheek can bloom, 
When Beauty but declares a tomb ; 
And eyes their brightest meaning shed 
While every ray foretells the dead; 
And thus may fatal glory be 
An Empire's garb of infamy, 
If once that spring of manly pride, 
True gallantry, be stain'd or dried : 
Or Woman from her high domain 
Must dwindle into meaner reign. 

The touching grace, the tender glow 
Of what our fondest moods bestow ; 
The hopes which keep the heart awake 
And self from out the selfish take ; 
The softness and the spell of all 
That bridal dreams elysium call, 
Born of her magic, blend their sway 
To charm the clouds of time away : 
And if there be a home on earth 
Where nature most unveils its worth 
And earth and heaven can intertwine, 
Angel of Life ! that home is thine. 



320 



WOMAN. 



NOTES. 



Note 1, Page 291, Column 2. 
The mountain's dim and dusky form, 
Which, like a dying thunder-storm, 
Glooms on the air with awful swell. 
A rocky elevation, that seems to rise from the 
bosom of the sea (well known to the mariners of the 
North), is here alluded to: it is termed the Koll, 
whose aspect perpetually changes with the changing 
atmosphere. 

Note 2, Page 292, Column 1. 
Grey Cronburgh lifts her storied pile 
And darkens o'er the Banish Isle. 

The Castle of Cronenburgh, in the vicinity of 
Elsinore, was built by Frederick II. in the boldest 
style of Gothic architecture. Mr. Boeson, an honest 
old historian of the place, while describing the posi- 
tion, solidity, and magnificence of the castle, affirms 
that it may rank with the noblest castles, not only in 
the North, but in all Europe. 

This venerable edifice is connected with subjects of 
traditional, dramatic, and historical interest. On 
descending into the casemates, the story of Holger 
Danske, (or Ogier the Dane, as he is called in the 
French romances,) will amuse the mind in these 
damp and dismal vaults. It is thus related by 
Mr. Thiele: — "For many ages the din of arms was 
now and then heard in the vaults beneath the Castle 
of Cronenburgh. No man knew the cause, and there 
was not in all the land a man bold enough to descend 
into the vaults. At last a slave, who had forfeited 
his life, was told that his ciime should be forgiven if 
he could bring intelligence of what he found in the 
vaults. He went down, and came to a large, iron 
door, which opened of itself when he knocked. He 
found himself in a deep va\ilt. In the centre of the 
ceiling hung a lamp, which was nearly burnt out ; 
and below stood a huge stone table, round which 
some steel-clad warriors sat resting their heads on 
their arms, which they had laid cross-ways. He who 
sat at the head of the table then rose up. It was 
Holger the Dane. But when he raised his head from 
the arms, the stone table burst right in twain, for his 
beard had grown through it. ' Give me thy hand, ' 
said he to the slave. The slave durst not give him 
the hand, but put forth an iron bar, which Holger 
indented with his fingers. At last he let go his hold, 
muttering, ' It is well : I am glad that there are yet 
men in Denmark.'" 

Leaving the casemates, and ascending the ramparts, 
Englishmen will find themselves on classic ground. 
Here they may indulge the fancy of Mr. Matthison, 
the celebrated Swiss poet, who made the venerable 
ghost of Hamlet's father appear on the platform when 
he exclaimed, — 

" There are more things in heaven and earth, 
Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." 
But a still deeper tragedy will awaken the sym- 
pathies of an Englishman on his visit to Cronenburgh 
Castle. For, (to use the words of a distinguished 



author, already quoted,) "here Matilda was confined, 
the victim of a foul and murderous court intrigue. 
Here, amid heart-breaking griefs, she found consola- 
tion in nursing her infant ; when, by the interference 
of England, her own deliverance was obtained, and 
as the ship bore her away from a country where the 
venial indiscretions of youth and unsuspicious gaiety 
had been so cruelly punished, upon these towers she 
fixed her eyes, and stood upon the deck, obstinately 
gazing towards them till the last speck had dis- 
appeared." 

During her imprisonment in the Castle of Cronen- 
burgh, it was Queen Caroline Matilda's chief enjoy- 
ment to ascend the square tower, which commands 
one of the finest prospects in the world. No spot 
could better soothe the anguish of her mind. The 
animated appearance of the Sound, in which the 
English flag is so frequently displayed, would fill her 
mind with cheering images of the greatness and 
prosperity of her native land. A.nd, in gazing on the 
beauties which nature has scattered with so lavish a 
hand over Denmark, her contemplations on the great 
First Cause of all good would create in her the best 
disposition to forgive her "enemies, persecutors, and 
slanderers. " 

Note 3, Page 292, Column 2. 
The victim of a roya I hate. 
" Sacrificed in the bloom of life, being born the 
22nd of July, 1751, and married the 1st of October, 
1766, she was first sent an inexperienced victim to a 
court, in which, surrounded with spies and emissaries, 
who interpreted the most trifling levities of youth 
into enormous crimes, the young and unsuspecting 
queen could not long remain without giving her 
enemies too favourable an opportunity to effect her 
fall. They succeeded ; and induced the wretched king 
to become the engine of their malevolence, by signing 
the order for her imprisonment. The interposition of 
the British Court saved her from further violence, 
and conducted her to an asylum in the Electoral 
dominions of Hanover. Here she appeared in her 
true and native character. Divested of the retinue 
and pomp which, on the throne of Denmark, veiled 
her in a great degree from the inspection of nice 
observers, the qualities of her heart displayed them- 
selves in her little court at Zell, and gained her 
universal love. Her person was dignified and grace- 
ful ; she excelled in all the exercises befitting her sex, 
birth, and station. She danced the finest minuet in 
the Danish court, and managed the horse with un- 
common address and spirit. She had a taste in 
music, and devoted much of her time, while at Zell, 
to the harpsichord. The characteristic style of her 
dress was simplicity, not magnificence ; that of her 
deportment, an affability which, in a personage of 
such high rank, might be termed extreme condescen- 
sion. Her talents were liberal and diffusive, and, 
cultivated by reading, displayed themselves on all 
occasions. She conversed, with the most perfect 
facility, in French, English, German, and Danish ; 
and to those extraordinary attainments she added a 



WOMAN. 



321 



thorough knowledge of the Italian, which she studied 
and admired for its beauty and delicacy. Her man- 
ners were the most polished, soft, and ingratiating ; 
and even the contracted state of her finances could 
not restrain that princely munificence of temper which 
made her purse ever open to distress or misery. 
Naturally cheerful and happy in her disposition, 
adored and beloved to the highest degree by the 
circle of her court, even the dark cloud of adversity 
could not alter the sweetness and serenity of her 
tamper. Banished, with every circumstance of in- 
dignity, from the throne of Denmark, she yet retained 
no sentiment of revenge or resentment against the 
authors of her fall, or against the Danish people. 
Her heart was not tinctured with ambition ; and she 
looked back to the diadem which had been torn from 
her brow with a calmness and superiority of soul 
which might have made a Charles the Fifth or a 
Victor Amadeus blush. It was not the crown she 
regretted ; her children only employed her care ; the 
feelings of the sovereign were absorbed in those of 
the mother; and, if she wept the day when she 
quitted the island of Zealand, it was because she was 
then bereft of those dear objects of her maternal 
fondness. Two or three months before her death, 
she showed, with transports of joy, to Madame 

D'O , her first lady of the bedchamber, a little 

portrait of the prince-royal, her son, which she had 
just received. It happened that this lady, some few 
days after, entered the queen's apartment at an 
unusual hour. She was surprised at hearing her 
majesty talk, though quite alone. While she stood 
in this attitude of astonishment, unable to retire, the 
queen turned suddenly round, and addressing herself 
to her, with that charming smile which she alone 
could preserve at a moment when her heart was torn 
with the most acute and agonising sensations, — 
' What must you think, ' said she, ' of a circumstance 
so extraordinary as that of hearing me talk, though 
you find me perfectly alone ? But it was to this dear 
and cherished image I addressed my conversation; 
and what do you imagine I said to it? nearly the 
same verses which you sent not long ago to a child, 
sensible to the happiness of having found her father. ' 

Madame D'O could not speak; she burst into 

tears, and overcome with her own emotion, retired 
hastily from the royal presence. " 

Note 4, Page 292, Column 2. 

As, gazing from a rampart's height, 
Her eye might gather free i 



The note on Cronenburgh Castle will explain the 
above allusion. 

Note 5, Page 292, Column 2. 

Or, musing, saw in verdant rest 
The garden once by Hamlet prest. 

This is the spot which Danish tradition assigns for 
the scene where Hamlet was poisoned. Of the cha- 
racter of Hamlet, which has occasioned so much 
critical theory, Goethe (Meister's Apprenticeship, p. 4, 
c. 13,) says:— 

"It is clear to me that Shakspere's intention was 
to exhibit the effects of a great action, imposed as a 
duty on a mind too feeble for its accomplishment. 
In this sense I find the character consistent through- 
out. Here is an oak-tree, planted in a China vase, 
proper only to receive the most delicate flowers. The 
roots strike out, and the vessel flies to pieces. A 



pure, noble, highly moral disposition, but without 
that energy of soul which constitutes the hero, sinks 
under a load which it can neither support nor resolve 
to abandon altogether." 

Dr. Farmer, in his argumentative essay on the 
learning of Shakspere, refers the origin of the plot in 
Hamlet, not to Saxo Grammaticus, but to the 
"Hystorie of Hamlet," from which he quotes the 
following applicable fragment : — 

"It was not without cause and juste occasion that 
my gesture, countenance, and words seeme to proceed 
from a madman, and that I desire to have all men 
esteeme me wholly deprived of sence and reasonable 
understanding : bycause I am well assured that he 
that hath made no conscience to kill his owne 
brother will not spare to saue himselfe, with the like 
crueltie, in the blood and flesh of the loyns of his 
brother ; and therefore it is better for me to feigne 
madnesse than to use my right senses as Nature hath 
bestowed them upon me. The bright shining clearnes 
thereof I am forced to hide vnder this shadow of dis- 
simulation, as the sun doth his beams vnder some 
great cloud when the weather in summer time ouei - 
casteth ; the face of a madman serveth to couer my 
gallant countenance, and the gestures of a fool are fit 
for me, to the end that, guiding myself wisely therein, 
I may preserue my life for the Dane's .... Neuer- 
thelesse, I must stay the time, meanes, and occasion, 
lest, by making ouer great haste, I be now the cause 
of mine own sodain ruine and overthrow ; for, seeing 
by force that I cannot effect my desire, reason alloweth 
me, by dissimulation, subtilitie, and secret praises, 
to proceed therein." 

Note 6, Page 298, Column 2. 

And, while they scorn'd a hero's crown, 
To woman give the heart's renown. 

"II est une sorte de supe'riorite', que les femmes 
doivent conserver sur nous, et qui tient m§me a leur 
foiblesse, un respect qu'elles inspirent. Elle est plus 
facile a sentir qu'a exprimer. II en est une autre qui 
tient a la dignity de l'homme, que non seulement sa 
compagne reconnoit, mais qu'elle ne lui pardonne 
meme pas de lui sacrifier." — Les Femmes, by Segur. 

The same author remarks elsewhere that — "If we 
review the conduct of women in every country, we 
shall be convinced that, without exercising any par- 
ticular office, they have rendered as great a service as 
men." — As examples of great intrepidity, we may 
adduce the characters of Marguerite of Anjou, Mar- 
guerite of Bethune, (wife of the Duke of Rohan,) 
Theresa, Countess of Montford, &c. 

Note 1, Page 299, Column 2. 

Refinement's moral dawn awoke. 

Dr. Miller, ("History Philosophically Illustrated," 
vol. i. pp. 17, 18,) after alluding to the character of 
"the tribes of ancient Germany who acted a part so 
important in the modern system/' says that Tacitus, 
' ' disgusted with the vices of a decaying government, 
seems to have sought a refuge for his feelings in the 
contemplation of the uncorrupted simplicity of its 
barbarous neighbours, and to have described their 
manners with the same enthusiasm which is expe- 
rienced by the inhabitant of a crowded city when he 
beholds freedom and nature in some rural retreat." 
Another distinguishing quality of the Germans was 
" the reverence which they appear to have entertained for 
the female character, neither degrading their women 



322 



WOMAN. 



into slaves, like other barbarians, nor into objects of 
merely sensual gratification, like those who called 
themselves civilised. The German woman was the 
companion of her husband, participating his cares 
without servile drudgery, and influencing his actions 
with the gentle sway of respect and affection. The 
countenance belonging to this character formed the 
most obvious contrast with the corrupted manners of 
the empire." 

Note S, Page 300, Column 1. 

Devotion in its grandest shape. 

Vide Kenelm Digby's delightful work, entitled 
" The Broad Stone of Honour," whose pages breathe 
the fine air of chivalry, and whose examples of 
heroism conjoined with piety are exquisitely de- 
scribed. 

Note 9, Page 300, Column 1. 



E'en there apostles might have 

A faith whose firmness match' d their own. 

"Even women amongst us have sustained the most 
cruel and unrighteous suffering, and finished in 
patient faith their cause, and received, notwithstand- 
ing the weakness of their sex, the prize of Christian 
heroines." — St. Clement's JEpist. to Corinth. . 

For a truly sublime instance of female magnani- 
mity, read the account of the martyrdom of Blandina, 
as recorded by Eusebius. 

Note 10, Page 300, Column 1. 

How much to female hands they owe 
Their power to lessen human wo ! 

If it were only to please the imagination, the cha- 
racter of a devout lady is essential to complete the 
personages of the draraa of the world. If the knights 
in the field were brave and faithful, the ladies in the 
castle gave alms to the poor, and prayed to God in 
their chapel. To go back still further ; it was Placi- 
dia, daughter of Theodosius the Great, whose in- 
fluence upon Adolphus secured his favour to the 
Romans. It was Prisca and Valeria, empress and 
daughter of Diocletian, who protected the Christians 
of that era. It was Clotilda who converted Clovis, 
the King of France, to the Christian faith ; it was the 
Princess of Olga who introduced Christianity into 
Russia. The history of the middle ages, romances, 
family portraits, records of public foundations, every- 
thing that is venerable in antiquity, are associated 
with the piety of our English ancestors. Eleonora 
commanded that there should be no other inscription 
on her tomb than this : — 

"Eleonora, pauvre pecheresse." 

The great Maria Theresa was in the habit of attend- 
ing service daily in the church of the Capuchins, and 
of visiting the vault which contains the coffins of her 
family. There is also at Vienna an Institution to 
which none but ladies of the highest nobility belong, 
for the purpose of superintending and promoting 



public charities. In our United Kingdom there is not 
one useful religious or charitable institution which does 
not derive support from the influence and munificence, 
and even personal exertion, of the female nobility. Let 
us hope, then, that the successor of Mr. Gibbon may 
repeat his remark, that " Christianity must acknow- 
ledge important obligations to female devotion." 

Note 11, Page 302, Column 1. 

The gloom of his remorseless fate. 

"The memory of his injuries pursued him into the 
immensity of eternal light ; and, in the company of 
saints and angels, his unforgiving spirit darkens at 
the name of Florence. " — Hallam. 

Note 12, Page 303, Column 1. 

When darh-eyed bea,uty rack'd and wrung 
A heart round which the world had clung. 

Shakspere alludes to this unfortunate attachment 
in several of his sonnets. 



Note 13, Page 304, Column 1. 
The dream that wore his mind away. 
See Contemporary Histories. 

Note 14, Page 306, Column 1. 

Oh! who can mark his mind's undress, 
TJie agony of lone distress. 

The dark bursts of pathos continually occurring in 
Burns's letters must be well known to all who have 
read his correspondence. 

Note 15, Page 308, Column 1. 

And in the mind's prophetic hour 
Would try, with telescopic gaze, 
To read the brow of unborn days. 

It has been said by the greatest of metaphysicians 
(Aristotle) that we all possess by nature a — /^avnuuee, n 
— a kind of mental divination. In his letters, Lord 
Byron continually alludes to "a fear of what is to 
come, a doubt of what is, a retrospect of the past, 
leading to a prognostication of the future." In one of 
his darkest moods he writes: — "My friends fall 
around me, and I shall be left a lonely tree before I 
am nipped. Other men can always take repose in 
their families. I have no resource but my own 
reflections, and they present no prospect, here or 
hereafter, except the selfish satisfaction of surviving 
my betters. I am indeed very wretched. My days 
are listless, and my nights restless. I have very 
seldom any society, and when I have I run out of it. 
I don't know that I sha'n't end it with insanity." 

How often must his bruised heart have translated 
that saddest of all sentences ! — 

My (pvvxt — rov cliroLVTa vtxee. hvyov ! 

That not to be, alone is bliss ! 



SATAN 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



SATAN. 



325 



SATAN 



OR, 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



PEEFACE 

TO THE FIFTH EDITION. 

(1838.) 

" Thou sealest up the sun, full of wisdom, and perfect 
in beauty. Thou hast been in Eden the garden of 
God — thou art the anointed cherub that covereth ; 
and I have set thee so : thou wast upon the holy 
mountain of God ; thou hast walked up and down 
in the midst of the stones of fire. Thou wast perfect 
in thy ways from the day that thou wast created 
till iniquity was found in thee. " — Ezekiel, xxviii. 
12, 13, 14, 15. 

In acceding to the demand for a new edition 
of his Poems, the author regrets that pastoral 
avocations will not allow him to effect that 
complete revision which these works may yet 
seem to require. So far, however, as limited 
opportunity will allow, he trusts the more 
prominent deficiencies will be found removed ; 
and casts the remaining imperfections on the 
candour and indulgence of those who read with 
a desire to be gratified, rather than become 
censorious. 

Having, in the preface which accompanied the 
fourth edition of this poem, ventured some 
observations on the consistency of the cha- 
racter there intended to be developed, it is 
unnecessary to fatigue the attention of the reader 
with additional argument. After all, on a subject 
around which the Bible itself has thrown a sacred 
darkness, beyond the light of present faith, much 
less of mere reason, entirely to remove, — there is 
room for variety of judgment and differing views, 
without the rashness of caricaturing folly on the 
one hand, or the sternness of adamantine dog- 
matism on the other. Previously, however, to 
concluding these transient remarks, the writer 
may perhaps be permitted to observe, that the 
tendency of our Age is to sensualise almost every 
subject with which its energies come in contact. 
Hence, any form of literature, whether in prose 
or verse, which helps to withdraw the mind from 



what is material and earthly, and to centre its 
regards on what is spiritual and unseen, — may 
contribute to purify the heart, and refine its 
moral susceptibilities. Supremely ours may be 
called the Age of Facts. Expediency is our 
authenticated Moloch ; and every effort of the 
mind must pass through his idolatrous fire, 
before it can venture to be recommended for 
public service. All this while, the foundation - 
truth, that utility itself is a relative thing, and 
therefore a pregnant term capable of almost 
boundless application, is practically forgotten. 
In pronouncing our verdict on what is useful or 
useless to man, how much would it tend to lift 
us out of the blinding materialism in which we 
are so content to grovel, if utility and eternity 
were conjoined in our sympathies and principles, 
and we looked less to the gratification of temporal 
desire, and more to those elements of character, 
which are now in actual formation, and which 
are destined to expand themselves in everlasting 
illustration. It is this mortal which is to 
put on immortality ; the Now and the Here- 
after of the conscious spirit are destined to 
act and re-act on each other with never-ending 
relationship. 

But if a proneness to degrading utilitarianism 
confined its exhibition to the arena of what is 
merely human, we might hope to surmount it by 
the speedy return of nobler taste, and loftier sen- 
timent. But the case is otherwise. The passion 
for analytical science and mathematical demon- 
stration, not content with endeavouring to unshroud 
the secrets of the material universe, and expose 
to the scrutinising gaze of philosophy the venerable 
mysteries of Nature, is proceeding to desecrate 
the Grod-founded temple of Revelation itself; and 
by a bound of infidelity to leap at once from the 
dim guesses and half-discovered facts of physical 
truth, to a full and fearless denial of the great 
principle of moral truth. Hence the phrenologist 
presumes to talk of the " hypothesis of the 
fall !" And death itself, which Christians, who 
live in the light, and on the truths of the 
Bible, have ever considered as the penal result 



32(5 



SATAN. 



of transgression, * is now discovered to be one of 
the original organic laws of the human being ! 

From those who thus reject mysteries of 
revelation, the bare mention of Satan as a real, 
personal, and intellectual Agent, provokes a 
withering smile. In their view, such a Being 
can only find existence in the benighted brain of 
a priest, or the dreaming fancy of a poet ; and 
thus, resolving the most express, vivid, and 
appalling announcements of the Bible into mere 
accommodation of language to the craving infir- 
mity of our human Idea, they expunge the 
personality of Satan from the creed of every man 
worthy the name of a "Philosopher." 

Meanwhile, the humble Christian, "taught of 
Grod " to submit, though not to sacrifice, his 
reason ; and convinced, moreover, that the 
developments of physical science can never 
conduct the mind into an acquaintance with 
those moral purposes of the Almighty which 
pertain to Him as the offended legislator of 
a guilty creation, — clings to his Bible with as 
much holy confidence as ever. With him sim- 
plicity is strength ; and in all the acquiescing 
docility of childhood he receives every an- 
nouncement of truth which descends from a 
region round the Throne, where clouds and 
darkness dwell, but where also righteousness 
and judgment have their seat. His texts are 
his philosophy; and from the secure eminence 
of scriptural light, he can look down with the 
undisturbed eye of faith, and behold the storms 
of infidelity contending harmlessly at his feet. 

" His hand the good man fastens on the skies, 
And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl." 

Young. 
Glasgow, Nov. 12th, 183S. 



PEEFACE 

TO THE FOURTH EDITION. 

(1834.) 

Among the high Mysteries which Scripture 
reveals, there is one which relates to the existence 
of a ruined Archangel ; and the faint but awful 
notices which are imparted to us of his character 
and agency, are calculated to awaken the sub- 
limest feelings of poetry. He withered the glory 
of paradise, and helped to darken the bright 
image of The Eternal in the soul of man. Our 
holy faith, also, teaches us to believe that he 
conditions the world by an invisible sway, and 
that till the dread consummation of men and 
things, this terrible Being is permitted, more 
or less, to reign as the ' ' Prince of the Powers of 
the air." 



* "As by one man sin entered into the world, and 
death by sin ; and so death passed upon all men. " — 
Rom. v. 12. 



There have been two ways in which the 
character of Satan has been illustrated : — as the 
active Antagonist of the Almighty, braving the 
thunders and lightnings of Jehovah, and seeking 
to avenge his exile from heaven in the "first 
disobedience" of created man; or as a dark 
Visiter from below, holding sarcastic colloquy 
and mysterious intercourse with the children of 
Earth. In the first light, the genius of Milton 
has portrayed him, and thereby achieved the 
grandest Epic which Poetry can boast; in the 
second, Goethe's "Faust," and Lord Byron's 
dramatic " Mystery," introduce him as the Hero 
of their verse. 

There remains another view in which a 
spiritual agent, bike Satan, may be contemplated, 
— as reflecting on himself, his destiny, and deeds. 
Let the existence of Satan be granted, and there 
will appear no inconsistency in conceiving his 
monodramatic character to be such as the author 
has endeavoured to describe ; not a caricature of 
monsters, nor the long- tailed spectre of nursery 
romance, but an intellectual Being who hates the 
good, but must, from his very nature, admire it. 
The eternal difference of things abides alike in 
heaven and hell ; and to imagine a fallen arch- 
angel incapable of whispering unto himself his 
own perceptions of right and wrong, or of appre- 
ciating what is sublime, beautiful and fair, both 
in the moral and physical world, is neither a 
consistent nor rehgious view of the Truth. Though 
he is a Devil now, we should remember that he 
has been an Archangel once. To imagine him 
a Spirit who loves the good, would be absurd ; 
but to describe him as one who understands it, 
harmonises both with reason and revelation.* 



* The late Rev. S. Drew, the author of a sublime 
work on "The Immortality of the Soul," in his review 
of this poem, introduced the following pertinent 
remarks :— 

" There can be no question that his infernal majesty 
may be exhibited in a variety of attitudes. Cloven 
feet, a long tail, and a frightful pair of horns, are not 
essential to the fidelity of the representation. He 
may transfer himself into an angel of light, visit the 
pulpit, the senate, or the bar, or admire the paintings 
at Somerset House, without displaying those terrific 
appendages to which fanatical superstition has given 
a monstrous birth. There are not many positions in 
which he can be placed, that will be wholly incon- 
sistent with his real character. Satan is the only 
personage who either meditates or speaks. It (the 
poem) is a long soliloquy, which proceeds from begin- 
ning to end, without any interruption, containing 
observations on historical incidents, on passing occur- 
rences, and on events which are as yet embosomed in 
futurity. To the dark workings of the infernal mind, 
no one is supposed to be privy ; the poet has therefore 
a fair opportunity of representing Satan under the 
influence of feelings, and as uttering expressions which 
he can have no inducement to disguise. Thus cir- 
cumstanced, we feel no astonishment that he should 
bear his testimony to the truths of Revelation, and 
half regret the miseries, as well as triumph, over the 
degraded condition of human nature. 



SATAN. 



327 



Many of the strictures bestowed on the peculiar 
nature of this poem might have been avoided, if the 
author's aim had been more candidly reviewed. 
Satan, as the tempter of man, and as a reflecting 



"If 'the keen, keen vibration of bright truth be 
hell, ' we may well allow Satan in solitude to become 
a genuine moralist, and even a preacher of righteous- 
ness, when there is no hearer to be benefitted by his 
discourse. In much of this character the poet repre- 
sents him to our view. " 

To this discriminating review, the author begs to 
append another, from the pen of the lamented and 
accomplished Dr. Cooke Taylor, of Dublin. It ap- 
peared originally in an Irish periodical. His critical 
eulogies on the poem are, of course, omitted ; and the 
extract is confined to Dr. Taylor's contemplations of 
the Evil Being, considered as a moral tempter in rela- 
tion unto mankind : — 

" The nature of Superior Intelligences must for ever 
remain a secret which the limited faculties of man 
cannot discover; but this very uncertainty more 
forcibly recommends them to the poet, since he is 
supplied with creatures possessing certain feelings 
with which men can sympathise, and yet so far raised 
above human nature as to render credible the 
'speciosa miracula rerum' with which imagination 
invests their character and actions. That an Immor- 
tal Being, possessed of powers beyond conception, 
dared to rebel against the Omnipotent, that he hurled 
defiance at the ' Most Highest, ' that he was punished 
by an eternity of anguish, but that sufferings have 
left unchanged his pride of soul — these are matters 
which, detailed in plain prose, fill the mind with that 
indistinct awe which is the very essence of sublimity. 
To embody these thoughts, to arrest the flitting 
dreams of power, grandeur, and feeling, which hurry 
through the soul, is the office of the poet — he giveth 
to these airy nothings ' a local habitation and a name.' 
But few are those who dare to venture on the deli- 
neation of superhuman enei-gies, — there is danger in 
every step of their progress ; genius shrinks from the 
encounter until it has mustered up all its energies, 
and concentrated all its vigour. 

" The embodied principle of evil has been already 
made the subject of immortal verse by Milton and 
Byron ; the Satan of the one and the Lucifer of the 
other are at bottom the same character, but, being 
described in different relations, assume a different 
aspect. The Satan of Milton is described in all the 
energies of rebellious ambition — a proud intelligence 
combating with the Almighty for the dominion of the 
universe. The Lucifer of Byron has given up the 
contest, and has substituted fraudful cunning for the 
'pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war.' 
The former describes the relation of the Evil Being to 
Deity, — the latter, his relation to man. Another yet 
remained ; — neither of these poets had described the 
relation of such a being to himself, and endeavoured 
to unfold the thoughts, the speculations, the intel- 
lectual workings of a fallen spirit. There was in 
another respect also a gap in the poetical character of 
Satan — the time chosen by Milton was when the 
world had first started into life and beauty ; the time 
selected by Byron was when sin and sorrow were 
just beginning to blight its moral loveliness; the 
period when ages had rolled over the history of the 
human race — when guilty passions and ferocious de- 
sires had written the annals of crime with indelible 



spirit in relation to himself, — is a distinct charac- 
ter. The former we conceive to be the machinator 
of all that is evil ; the latter we may suppose to 
look back, ever and anon, on visions of departed 
glory ; and, as he watches the stream of time 
rolling into eternity, to believe and tremble ! 

diri conscia facti 

Mens habet attonitos, et surdo verbere caedit, 
Occultum quatiente animo tortore flagellum.* 



characters on the face of nature — when nations, and 
not individuals, were the subjects of the demon's 
observation, had been left untouched. 

"This hitherto untouched field has now been 
occupied by Mr. Montgomery, in his poem of ' Satan : ' 
he has chosen the present hour as the time in which 
the proud competitor for the dominion of the universe 
should revisit the earth and survey all its extremes of 
ennobling virtue and debasing crime ; he has por- 
trayed the thoughts of mingled scorn, sorrow, envy, 
and the maddening sense of degradation which such a 
spirit may be supposed to have felt from the view of 
such a spectacle. The world is shown to us as it may 
have appeared in his reflections, and the inmost 
workings of his soul are delineated with an intensity 
— with almost a profusion of power, rare at all times, 
and never more rare than in the present day. 

" The subject chosen by Mr. M. required much ab- 
straction, much condensation of thought; it must, 
consequently, be read slowly and with care. To sum 
up the character in one word, the reader will find this 
a purely intellectual poem, in which the universe of 
matter is made subservient to the development of 
the universe of mind. 

"Avery foolish notion seems to prevail in the world, 
that Satan must possess a mind in which evil is 
constantly looked upon as good : this arises from the 
mistake of supposing that the object at which he 
aims in his fallen state is that which he believes 
would in any state have been the best; but it is 
perfectly absurd to imagine that the innate excellence 
and beauty of virtue could be hidden from any 
Superior Intelligence. The curse pronounced on the 
disappointed demons more probably included the 
bitter punishment which Persius prays may be 
inflicted on tyrants — 

' Virtutem videant intabescantque relicta.' 

Accordingly, we find Satan a very equitable judge of 
human nature — indeed, it would be hard to assign a 
reason why he should be a bar to himself — and 3-et 
there have been people who deem it inconsistent with 
demoniac nature that Satan should even whisper to 
himself his perceptions of moral loveliness, his con- 
tempt for the sensual slaves who are dragged bound 
to his chariot-wheels. They forget that ' the devils 
believe and tremble, ' and that the greatest triumph 
of Milton's genius is when he describes Satan in the 
full consciousness of all he had lost, subduing by 
innate energies the intense agonies of hopeless de- 
spair. It is the fidelity, with which Mr. M. has 
preserved in Satan the wisdom of his former high 
estate amid all the degradation of present misery, 
that gives the principal charm to his poem. Utterly 
depraved as a moral agent, Satan still maintains the 
dignity of superhuman intellect : though a devil, he 
is still an archangel." 

* Juv. Sat. 13. 



328 



SATAN. 



Briefly, then, let the writer be allowed to state 
the design of his work ; — it is, to embody in a 
poetical form, the reflections of the dark Enemy 
of souls, while viewing the effect of his tempt- 
ations on the world of Nature, and the world of 
Mind. As a Tempter, he must perceive the 
majesty of virtue, the power of beauty, and 
examine all the philosophy of religion and morals. 
Man, as the supposed heir to some of his lost 
glory, is not only hateful, but interesting to him ; 
and therefore the magnificent scheme of his 
Redemption by Incarnate Deity excites his 
wonder, awe, and dread. Being the "god of this 
world," nothing which developes the character of 
the human soul can remain unregarded. The 
whole universe of man, character, and circum- 
stance, demand his deepest attention ; genius, 
art, science, and literature, as connected with the 
ultimate state cf an everlasting mind, — all are 
summoned before the eye of contemplation. Let 
the reader, then, distinguish between the cha- 
racter of Satan reflecting on himself, and when 
tempting man, and nothing will be found incon- 
sistent, or improbable, in the doctrinal aspects of 
this poem. Admiration and hate often co-exist ; 
and if Milton could make his sublime hero 
"sigh,"* what may the Evil One not be 
conjectured to feel now ! He was once the 
innocent Adorer of The Supreme; and as all 
that is glorious in creation, and divine in the 
soul, is a faint reflection of the Great Archetype 
of all, — he cannot but admire what is admirable, 
by virtue of his primeval nature ; though he 
detest the dominion of the same over our hearts 
and affections, f 



* "Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth; at last 
"Words, interwove with sighs, found out then- 
way." Par. Lost, book i. 

t The metaphysical divine, Jonathan Edwards, in 
discussing the text which appears on the title-page of 
this work, among other doctrinal illustrations, has 
the following remarks, which it is presumed will be 
neither uninteresting nor inapplicable on the present 
occasion : — 

' ' The devil, before his fall, was among those bright 
and glorious angels of heaven which are represented as 
morning-stars, and flames of fire that excel in strength 
and wisdom — and though he be now become sinful, 
yet his sin has not abolished the faculties of the 
angelic nature ; as when man fell, he did not lose the 
faculties of the human nature. Sin destroys spiritual 

principles, but not the natural faculties." "As 

the devil has a faculty of understanding of a large 
capacity, so is he capable of a great speculative 
knowledge of the things of God, and the invisible and 
eternal world, as well as other things. Before his 
fall, he was one of those angels who continually 
beheld the fa.ce of the Father in heaven : and sin has 
no tendency to destroy the memory, and therefore 
has no tendency to blot out of it any speculative 

knowledge that was formerly there." "Thus the 

devil has undoubtedly a great degree of speculative 
knowledge in divinity; having been, as it were, 
educated in the best divinity school in the universe, — 
viz. the heaven of heavens. He must have a very 



Hence, the warning lesson which is here at- 
tempted to be enforced, is one of the profoundest 
which can be impressed on the contemplative mind : 
namely, — The highest intellectual refinement may 
be associated with the greatest moral debasement. 
Religion, philosophy, and experience, — all may 
be cited to confirm the awful truths which such 
an assertion involves. But divine Scripture 
abbreviates the whole subject, when it thus 
addresses the mystic Babylonian, — "Thy wisdom 
and thy knowledge hath perverted thee : and 
thou hast said in thine heart, ' I am, and none 
else beside me.' " — (Isaiah xlvii. 10.) 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 

(1853.) 

In addition to those views of the Evil One, pro- 
pounded in the preface, which introduced the earlier 
editions of this poem, it may be useful to append 
the following extract which touches on the theology 
of the subject. It is derived from a Christian 
Essay* of the author's, which is now out of print. 

ON THE PERSONALTY AND AGENCY OF 
THE EVIL ONE. 

No one, we presume, can take even a rapid and 
superficial glance at the writings and letters of 
Luther, without being struck with the bold 
prominence and uncompromising simplicity of 
statement with which the Reformer introduces 
his allusions to the Evil One. For instance, 

great knowledge of God's works of providence. He 
has been a spectator of the series of these works from 
the beginning. He must have a great degree of 
knowledge concerning Jesus Christ as the Saviour of 
men, and the nature and method of the work of 
redemption, and the wonderful wisdom of God in 
this contrivance. It is that work of God wherein, 
above all others, God has acted in opposition to him, 
and in which he has chiefly set himself in opposition 
to God. He must have a great knowledge of the 
holy scriptures, for it is evident he is not hindered 
from knowing what is written there, by the use he 
made of the words of scripture in his temptation of 
our Saviour. He must have a great knowledge of 
the nature of mankind, their capacity, their dis- 
positions, and corruptions of then hearts. And it is 
evident that he has a great speculative knowledge of 
the nature of experimental religion, by his being able 
to imitate it so artfully, and in such a manner as to 

transform himself into an angel of light." "The 

devils have a great sense of the vast importance of 
the things of another world. They have a great sense 
of the worth of salvation, and the worth of immortal 
souls, and the vast importance of those things that 

concern man's eternal welfare." "Devils have a 

strong and most affecting sense of the awful great- 
ness and majesty of God." And " some kind of con- 
viction and sense of all the attributes of God ; both 
natural and moral, that is strong and very affecting. " 
* "Christ our All in All." 4th ed. Hatchard & 
Co., London. 



SATAN". 



329 



in his Patmos, on hearing of the dissenting 
tumults and disorganising heresies of Carolstadt, 
he writes thus to his Royal defender : — " Other 
agents besides merely human are at work. Don't 
be afraid, but be prepared for more events 
of this sort. This is only the beginning of the 
business : Satan intends to carry matters much 
further yet. Believe me in what I now say ; I am 
but a plain, simple man ; however I know some- 
thing of the arts," &c. Almost countless indeed 
are the references made by Luther to Satanic 
temptation, guile, and dominion over the hearts 
and purposes of evil men. And here it is that 
the majority of those who have written on Luther, 
have thought it right to say a great many soft 
things, and utter many apologetic tones about 
the dreaminess of the German mind, superstitions 
of a barbarous age, heats of imaginations, relics 
of popish darkness, &c. ; all of which, if con- 
centrated into a moral result, seem to amount to 
this — that though Luther was indeed a brave 
man and a great one, yet in all his ideas and 
creed concerning the devil there is much to be 
lamented as savouring of that religious imbecility 
which borders on fanaticism and superstition. Now 
with all deference to these writers, the question 
may fairly be asked, whether, on the whole, 
Luther be not justified by Scripture, as to his 
principal doctrines concerning the agency of 
Satan in the affairs of this fallen Creation ? Let it 
be allowed (as indeed all sober Christians readily 
grant) that in his ideas of visible and personal 
Manifestation of the Evil One, the Reformer was 
under the illusion of an over-heated brain : yet 
when we are assured by the infallible Spirit of 
God, ' ' for this purpose the Son of God was 
manifested, that He might destroy the Works of 
the Devil;" when we call to mind that Christ 
Himself was humanly placed in a perpetual 
antagonism with Satan, and warned a disciple 
that "Satan" had "desired" to have him, 
that he might sift him "like wheat;" and 
finally, when we recollect the inspired teachings 
of one who in many respects (when regarded in 
his individual experience) resembled Luther, 
both before and after his conversion, — even those 
of St. Paul : when we do this, and look fairly 
and honestly - in the face of the matter, few 
Christians who take their entire theology from 
the revelation of God and not from the reasoning 
of man, — will hesitate to admit that Luther is not 
an object of pity for his belief in the constant 
agency and actual personality of Satan. On the 
contrary, he will rather admire and reverence 
the glorious simplicity of a great Mind, which was 
enabled by divine grace to "watch and pray," 
that it entered not into temptation ; and which 
was deeply convinced that if the Master was 
tempted, and tried, and wrung by the Evil One, 
it was not to be doubted that his disciples should 
be subjected to an experience like his own. 

And who will deny (except those who consider 
God's solemnities to be man's frivolities) that a 
penetrating conviction that Satan is no theological ' 



Abstraction conjured up from the depths of super- 
stition ; but an actual, living, intellectual Person, 
moving to and fro among the hearts and homes of 
mankind, curtained with Immateriality, — who 
will deny that such a conviction received into the 
public mind, would operate with power upon 
Christian vigilance and warfare ? Surely it 
appertains to the infidelity of a professing Church, 
that while in Scripture we are perpetually warned 
to "resist the devil," — in the common experience 
of mankind, Satan is allegorised away into a 
Nonentity; while (as might be expected) the 
entire subject of Hell is smiled down by the 
sneer of the sceptic, as the imbecility of a childish 
mind, or the bugbear of a weak and womanish 
heart. Yet amid all this, the truth of God 
touching Satanic agency remains unshaken ; and 
albeit that agency be inexplicable in the mystery 
of its principle, it is highly practicable in the 
doctrine of its application. Still is it a scriptural 
revelation, that this Creation is the haunt of 
Devils, and especially tried and tempted by a 
vast and immitigable Adversary, moving inaudibly 
around us with a sleepless desire for the ruin of 
souls, acting on us through sensible media, and in 
us, by moral and mental delusion. And would 
to God the Devil were more preached, proclaimed, 
and all his infernal wiles more scripturally and 
faithfully set before the people ! Then would 
our Christianity become not a mere nominal 
distinction, but a felt contest; and instead of 
coolly resolving the doctrines of St. Paul, when 
speaking of the Evil One, into a metaphor, we 
should realise their counterpart in our own expe- 
rience, and pronounce them — description. 

We need hardly say, that the wish to resolve 
the statements of the Bible concerning a Personal 
Satan into mere Orientalisms or poetical imper- 
sonations, is to be traced to the native dislike of 
the unrenewed heart to admit into its experience 
any principle that calls for "reasoning pride" 
to submit itself, and be dumb before God. But 
beyond this, no thoughtful watcher over the 
times can hesitate to allow that for the last 
twenty years the habits, literature, science, and 
philosophy of this country have been gravitating 
with a fearful impetus towards the adoption of a 
Sensual Heresy ; or towards the practical belief 
that the Real is bounded by the Visible; and 
that no evidence which does not convince our mate- 
rialism (in some mode or other) can be admitted 
by a truly philosophic mind. Thus the hands, 
and eyes, and ears are lifted into a more than 
logical dominion over the intellect; and Faith, 
or "the evidence of things not seen," ceases to 
be retained in the canons of our world's orthodoxy. 
For much of this infidel carnality we are indebted 
to that heartless libel on all that is spiritual in 
taste and pure in feeling, Utilitarianism : — a 
system that concentrates within its grasp the 
elements of a most debasing grossness ; adapted 
only to a world peopled with bodies out of which 
the soul has been evaporated; and which, if 
carried out in all the fearless enormj^y of its 



330 



SATAN. 



principles, would speedily transform the Empire 
into a mere national shop, and Creation into a 
huge warehouse. There is, however, one encou- 
ragement derived even from the cultivation of 
the Physical Sciences themselves — viz., that true 
philosophy cannot receive a single principle into 
its system, without authenticating the reality of 
the Invisible. For, after all, what are electricity 
chemical affinity, galvanism, and gravitation, 
but the expressions of Something Unseen, of 
which all the visible phenomena of matter and 
sensitive life are only the tokens and signifi- 
cances? Physical Science, therefore, if consis- 
tently faithful to the law of analogy, cannot 
reject the statements of Scripture with reference 
either to the Deity or the Devil, on the simple 
ground of invisibility ; inasmuch as science itself 
cannot exist without a belief in the viewless 
agency of some Master Principle. 



BOOK I. 

" Earth's kingdoms and their glory." 

Milton. 

Awake, ye thunders ! — and with gloomy roar 
Deepen around me, while a darkness shrouds 
The air, as once again this World I greet 
Here on the haughty mountain, where of old 
The God Incarnate, in the heavens re-throned, 
Was tempted and withstood me. 

Lo ! the powers 
Of Nature, by my dread command sublimed, 
Mount into rage, and magnify the storm 
To elemental grandeur ; while as Prince 
By whom the spirit-peopled air is bound 
In bondage, from my viewless throne I gaze, 
Prompting the Tempest; whose convulsive 

swell 
Heaves like the echo of my spirit's war, 
The moral earthquake that makes hell within ! 
Hark ! to the crash of riven forest-boughs 
In yonder waste, the home of Hurricanes, 
That catch the howlings of the cavern'd 

brutes 
And waft them onwards to Arabia's wild, 
O'ercanopied with flying waves of sand 
Like a dread ocean whirling through the 

skies. 
But Thou alone, eternally sublime, 
Thou rolling mystery of might and power ! 
Rocking the tempest on thy breast of waves 
Or, spread in breezy rapture to the sun, 
Thou daring Ocean ! that couldst deluge worlds 
And yet rush on, — I hear thy deep-toned wrath 
In ceaseless thunder challenging the Winds 
Resoundingly ; and from afar behold 
Thine armied billows, plunging in the blast, 
And the#vild sea-foam shiver on the gales ! 



Exult, ye waves ! and, whirlwinds ! sweep 

along 
Like the full breathings of almighty ire, 
Whose sound is desolation ! Where the sail 
Of yon lone vessel, like a shatter'd cloud, 
Is moving, let the surges mount on high 
Their huge magnificence, and lift their heads, 
And like Titanic creatures tempest-born, 
In life and fury march upon the main ! 
Rave on, thou Tempest ! in thy fiercest 

roar; 
To me thy reckless mood is fearful joy ; 
A faint memento of that direful scene 
When proud rebellion shook the walls of 

heaven, 
Till, girt with thunder, dread Messiah came, 
And hurl'd us downward to the deep of hell. 

The Tempest dies ; the winds have tamed 
their ire ; 
The sea-birds hover on enchanted wing ; 
And save a throb of thunder, faintly heard, 
And ebbing knell-like o'er yon western deep 
Which now lies panting with a weary swell 
Like a worn monster at his giant length 
Gasping, with foam upon his troubled mane, — 
The sounds of elemental wrath retire. 
The Sun is up ! look, where He proudly comes 
In blazing triumph wheeling o'er the earth, 
A victor in full glory ! At his gaze 
The heavens as with emotion smile, and beam 
With many a sailing cloud-isle sprinkled o'er ; 
While forest-woodlands and enliven'd flowers 
The central monarch of the skies salute. 
Now hills are gleaming; rich the mountains 

glow; 
The streams run gladness, yellow meads ap- 
pear, 
And palm-woods glitter on Judaean plains ; 
Beauty and brightness shed their soul abroad : — 
Then let me, whom no mortal space can bound, 
The Earth survey, and mark her mighty 
realms. 

Why, what a stately Orb is this ! how wide 
In range ! how wonderful in scene ! the 

grace 
And crown — the paragon of worlds ! 
And Thou, for whom all elements exist, 
A second nature from thy soul hath sprung, 
And made wide earth a new creation seem ! 

Deserted isles, with oceanic wastes, 
Heaving and wild, monotonous and vast ; 
Terrific mountains, where the fire-floods dwell, 
Or snows in iced eternity congeal ; 
And haggard rocks uplifted, huge, or bare, 
The hoary frame- work of a ruin'd world : 
And rivers deep, exulting as they glide, 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



331 



And forests high, and dales by woods o'erhung, 
With meadows greenly bright, and champaigns 

broad ; 
And flowers, whose beauty blush'd in Paradise, 
By streams that murmur of their mountain- 
birth ; 
With high-domed cities, crown'd with misty 

clouds, 
And shadow'd interchange of hamlets lone 
Which deck the verdure of retreating vales, — 
Before me, like a panorama, spread ; 
Far as the ice-clad North hath bared its brow, 
To where the burning South extends, from 

East 
To West this theatre of man I view. 

Jerusalem, forlorn Judsean Queen ! 
Girt with the grandeur of prophetic hills, 
How art thou fallen from thy sacred height 
Of splendour and renown ! Unhallow'd now, 
Save by the tombs and memory of the past ; 
Hush'd are thy Trumpets, which enrapt the air 
With Jubilee,* when Freedom burst the chain 
Of captives, heart with heart embraced, and eye 
To eye beam'd fellowship ; while not an ear 
But feasted on that soul-awakening sound ! 
Thy Temple vast, whose architect was God 
Himself, when first the giant fabric grew, 
That matchless Pile ! on which Religion gazed 
With haughty glance, where Glory dwelt 

enshrined ; — 
Where is it now ] Dead as the Roman dust, 
That erst, with living valour fired, uncrown'd 
Thy queenly pride, and palsied thy vast walls, 
Strewing the plains with atoms of thy strength. 
And yet, where yonder marbled courts, and 

mosques 
With sun-gilt minarets, like glitt'ring peaks 
Of mountain-tops, are seen, a Prophet stood, 
And in stern vision saw predestined Time 
Advancing, with dark ruin on his wings, 
To shatter thee, and sprinkle the wide earth 
With orphans of thy race. How scornful rang 
Thy laughter, when such vision was unroll'd ! 
But when thy rocks were echoed with the cry 
Of Desolation, moaning her despair, 
Many a Demon on the viewless winds 
Exulted, shouting, with revengeful joy, 
" Thus sink the glories of great Palestine ! " 

Alas, for human Grandeur ! in the pomp 
Of Temples, and the stony Wonders, rear'd 
In rebel majesty against the might 
Of ages, let Ambition learn her doom. 
Bagdad, o'er famed Chaldea proudly raised 
In tow'ring splendour by the Tigris' banks ; 



* The Jubilee was proclaimed by the sound of a 
trumpet throughout the whole land. — Joining's Jewish 

Antiquities. 



And hoary Smyrna of Maeonic fame, 
All beautiful in ruins, where the fruits 
And flowers yet flourish o'er deserted Art 
And laughing streamlets run with liquid joy ; 
With Tyre and Sidon, where rich Commerce 

ruled 
Showering her treasures o'er the sunny East ; 
And gay Damascus, whose delicious plains 
Of verdure, striped with water's radiant flow, 
Shine green as ever, — in your wrinkled piles 
Are lessons for the loftiest eyes to read, 
That mark ye now, and dream of vanish'd 

might 
When merchants rivall'd Kings ! But far 

o'er all, 
Where yonder mountain mingles with the 

plain 
Of billowy sand, gigantic, dread, and lone, 
Great Heliopolis in ruin mourns. 
And next, yon ancient desert-Queen behold, 
The blasted Genius of the wilderness, 
Palmyra ! pillar'd yet in temple-pride, t 
Decayless arches show past glory still ; 
But wither'd down from her Zenobian pomp 
"When there the sun-idolatries were seen 
And Grandeur call'd the streets her own, — 

but now, 
Let Solomon arise, and read her fate ! 

But, sadder yet, beyond the Libyan wild 
Sepulchral Egypt lies ! Come royal heirs 
Of Ptolemy, and patriarchal kings, 
And see the shadow of your once sublime 
And storied Egypt ! True, her fostering JSTile, 
That flowing wand'rer of mysterious birth, 
Her annual life-flood generously yields ; 
But where the soul of Science 1 where the fount 
Of Wisdom, from whose deep and dateless 

spring 
The Greek and Roman drank] Colossal 

Thebes, 
How grimly sleep thy ruins ! where of yore, 
Like billows trooping at the whirlwind's call 
Forth from thy hundred gates the battle-cars 
Out-roll'd ! Thy tombs and arches, Temples 

huge 
As sculptured mountains, darkling yet remain, 
But sadness broods o'er all. And ye august, 
In blighted majesty of stone up rear'd, 
Stern Pyramids! which point your heads to 

heaven 
As pillars that could prop the spheres, a day 
Is coming when ye moulder into dust, 1 
And melt like dew-dops by the wind annull'd ! 

So sink the monuments of ancient might, 
So fade the gauds and splendours of the World. 
Her empires brighten, blaze, and pass away, 
And trophied Fanes, and adamantine Walls 



332 



SATAN. 



Which challenged an eternity, depart 
Amid the dying change, or lapse of things : 
Enthroned o'er all, bleak Desolation frowns, 
Save mind — omnipotent, surpassing Mind ! 
One scintillation of the soul inspired 
Though kindled in an atmosphere of gloom 
Or loneliness, will strengthen, glow, and live, 
And burn from age to age, till it become 
The sun and glory of a thinking world 
When thrones are shatter'd, and their kings 
forgot ! 

The revolution and the wrath of Time, 
Rolling his years with an avenging flow 
Alike o'er all, hath been a thread-worn theme 
Which tunes the sentiment of many an Age. 
And thus, the musing lover of the past, 
Romancing idly o'er the name of time, 
Untombing empires, and re-crowning kings, 
In sighing wonder ends his moral strain ! 
Thou fool ! and martyr to a feeble word ; 
'Tis Thought and Action, those unslumb'ring 

two, 
Which give to time solemnity and dread ; 
And he who marks mere havoc, not the war 
Of passion, and inclining will, but prates 
And lulls his moral in a dream of words. 

Let him who muses on the awful wreck 
Of Empires, wailing in the dust, and thrones 
Reversed, or cities in their ruin vast, 
Here History and her inspirations dwell, 
Dive deeper, till he stretch a thought to Me ! 
Ere man was fashion'd from his fellow dust, 
I was ! — and since the sound of human voice 
First trembled on the air, my darksome power 
Hath compass'd him in mystery, and in might ; 
Upon the soul of sage Philosophy 
And Wisdom, templed in the shrines of old, 
Faint shadows of my Being fell ; 2 a sense 
Of me thus deepen' d through the onward flood 
Of ages, till substantial thought it grew, 
A certainty sublime, in that great soul, 
The epic-god of ancient song, who down 
The infinite abyss could dare to gaze, 
And summon forth the imagery of Hell. 

And in that Book, where heaven lies half 

reveal'd, 
By words terrific as the herald-flash 
That hints the lightning-vengeance of a 

storm, 
Am / not vision'd 1 as the Prince of Air, 
A Spirit that would crush the universe, 
And battle with Infinity 1 Yet Truth, 
So unrelenting in her solemn task, 
A chilling welcome in the eyes of men 
Hath found, denying what they dread to feel. 
Kind Infidel ! satanic praise accept ; 



Friend of the guilty, solace of the vile, 
And teacher of the vain, mankind instruct 
And make one world, my own. Oh, few 

believe 
When condemnation awes the spirit back ! 
Save hearts, where all simplicities of faith 
Abound, and warn each hell-born doubt away 
Or men, self-tortured, Avho at midnight dream 
Of oceans foaming with eternal fires, 
Or ghastly air-fiends, writhing as they howl, — 
Save unto these, and souls of kindred hue, 
The Powers of Darkness are a cheat of words, 
Framed by a Priest to juggle fools. Alas ! 
Yet oft they frown upon the mocker's path 
And feel they could, did Nature not prevail, 
Burst into life, and blast him with a gaze ! 

" What understanding cannot grasp, belief 
Can never claim," — a wisdom most divine ! 
Why, all around him, from the race of flowers 
That woo his unadmiring gaze, to hosts 
Of orbed wonders which the sky pervade, 
Is Mystery, robed in some material pomp ; 
Then why should mysteries of awe within, 
Themselves resolve to charm a sceptic mind ?- 
Religion acts, but unexplain'd abides ; — 
The beatings of the heart resemble this, 
And men may wonder, but it still beats on ! 

But when the balance of sublunar Things 
Is tried, amended, and for ever fix'd, 
Belief for unbelief shall then atone 
By sad conviction : — then shall it be proved, 
The Sin that violated and deform'd 
This World, and all true harmonies profaned, 
(In dread similitude to mind o'erthrown) 
Hath been the evil which my power hath fed, 
By dark communion with this mortal Scene. 
No ! not a havoc Nature's kingdom feels ; 
No sound of Ocean when her wings rise plumed 
With wrath ; no frenzy of the tragic winds, 
Those viewless pirates whom the pathless seas 
Endure, — no terror in the darkest reign 
Of Elements that lord it so sublime, 
But images that dreadful curse I reap'd 
For Nature and for Man ! And ye, dead 

Climes ! 
Where high of old my bloody Altars blazed, 
Where oracles from cave or temple breathed, 
And Monsters, vision'd out of monstrous 

thought, 
With stock and stone idolatries, were bred, 
My hand was on ye, and your heathen soul ! 
And now, Ambition trampling out the heart 
Of earth ; the demi-gods of false renown ; 
And all the giants of heroic crime, 
Are demons of my will ; and by their doom 
Shall testify the Genius whence they spring ! 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



333 



Might vanish'd ages be renew'd, and built 
Again those daring Empires once renown'd, 
From that huge one the haughty Ninus rear'd 
And great Cambyses crush'd, to Rome and 

Greece 
Of commonwealths the glory, — what a scene 
"Would time reveal ! Who bow'd them into 

gloom ] 
They fear'd me not ; but from the primal stone 
Which mark'd the birthday of their city- 
queens 
1 mingled with them, and beheld them rise : 
From dim obscurity my minions watch'd 
Their growth to greatness, and imperial sway, 
That over-shadow'd the far Isles. The Sea 
Beneath them, like a suppliant crouch' d ; the 

Winds 
Sang victory ! where exulting banners waved ; 
But now, uplifted to a fearful height, 
They courted vilely-enervating Arts, 
Unthroned the Virtues, let the Passions loose, 
And pour'd corruption through their rank 

domain : 
Then came the Nemesis ! — that moral Curse 
Whose ruin more than desolation brings. 

But see, where Persia's beauteous clime ex- 
tends, 
How gloriously diluvian Ararat 
Hath pinnacled his rocky peak in clouds ! 
Who thrones a winter on his heights untrod, 
While summer laughs in roses at his feet ! 
Time cannot mar his glory : high he swells 
As when that Ark was balanced on his brow, 
AVhich saw the raging of the far-off floods 
Beneath, and heard the Deluge die away ! 

But here, as in her day of olden might, 
Ascendant Nature proves the God of souls 
Who deify mere elements, and dream 
Them symbols of their Maker. On the peak 
Of mountains, the Chaldean hail'd the Sun 
In the rich brightness of its morning-birth, 
And bow'd his forehead to the flaming East ; 
The Night, ennobled with her stars, pour'd 

love 
And worship into hearts, that from the fields 
Beheld their throbbing radiance, as the face 
Of Prophets, bright with their intelligence : — 
And still upon the Gueber's fateful eye 
The Fire darts gleaming magic ; and his mind 
Through nature darkly struggles on to God.* 

A mightier scene upon the map of earth ! — 
Forests immense, and pine-wastes fiercely wild, 
And ice-rocks, rear'd upon a dead-white sea, 



See Herodotus, Gibbon. &c. &c. 



Far to the north where hoary deserts gleam 
Dawn on my view in all their Arctic gloom. 
But not Siberia, desolate and grand, 
Nor Dneiper, thunder'd on by cataracts 
That whiten o'er her howling waves, appear 
So wondrous, as those battle-hosts that rush 
Like rivers swelling from their deep abodes, 
Precipitately o'er the regions round. 
A King hath spoken ! and the trump of War 
Hath sounded like a herald through the land, 
" Awake ! great Peter is alive again." 

A word of Kings, what potency it wields ! 
These delegates of God, yea, gods themselves, 
Upon whose lips the fate of Empire hangs, 
Tremendous is their charge : one speaks, 

and lo ! 
Up springs infernal War, and stalks abroad, 
Unrolls his blood-red banner on the wind, 
And in the groan of widow'd Nations hails 
The music of his fame ! Another speaks, 
And Peace, with olive in her radiant hand, 
Glides like an angel through the world, and 

prints 
A trace of blessing wheresoe'er she treads. 

And who could ponder on this war-doom'd 

scene, 
Nor dream thy shadow swelling into life, 
Napoleon ! On the island-rock thou sleep'st ; 
But such a storm thy spirit raised, so full 
The swell of feeling born of thee, that Time 
Must lend his magic to allay the strife 
And tempest of opinion into truth, 
Which, taming wonder, stamps thee, as thou 

wert, 
A tyrant ! 3 in whose passion for a power, 
Above all liberty and law enthroned, 
I hail, thee as a Paramount ; thy pride 
Of domination tow'ring far o'er heights 
Of monarchy, — a shadow of mine own, 
Which scorn'd an equal though He proved a 

God! 

And therefore did I crown thee, Kingly 

One! 
And those who worship thee, my thanks 

inspire ! 
Mean crimes are branded with avenging scorn, 
While great ones, that should water earth 

with tears, 
Can dazzle condemnation into praise, 
And praise to pity, when false greatness 

fails ! 
The throneless, in the heart a throne acquires, 
And Admiration in one sigh can drown 
The wail of millions, haunting each red field 
Of havoc, where some Desolator trod ! 



334 



SATAN. 



The wish is hated, but the deed caress'd, 

Of mad Ambition ; " glory " heals all wounds ! 

Yet, what a cloud on Liberty was thrown ! 
How deep a gash her dreadless form profaned, 
When thine ambition march'd upon the world, 
Till Europe quail'd beneath thy scepter'd 

arm ! 
Then, crumbled hopes which centuries will not 

build 
Again ; then god-like spirits felt a pang- 
That now, when canonading battles pause, 
And Peace sits musing on the tomb of War, 
Is felt, — an agony too deep for words 
To fathom, too sublime for slaves to feel ! 

Lo ! where the Tyrant felt a flood of wrath 
From Heaven pour'd down upon his guilty 

head, 
And first he knew himself a Man ! — Yon 

spires 
With golden pinnacles that pierce the clouds, 
And river, winding by those pallid walls, 
Proclaim where unforgotten Moscow stands : 
There raged a scene* which ruin'd angels love 
To witness, when the vaunting sons of Clay 
Grow demon-like, and shudd'ring Time beholds 
The fellest misery Despair can feel ! 
As when, all wildly through the unbarr'd gates 
Like savage war-fiends his marauders swept, 
And saw the city billow'd into flames, 
Like some far ocean blazing through the storm ! 
Then Havoc started with a thrilling shout ; 
The shriek of violated maids, the curse 
Of dying mothers, and despairing sires, 
And dash of corpses, torn from royal tombs 
And plunged amid devouring flames, were 

heard 
Till hell in miniature wild Moscow seem'd. 

But who, when Rapine could not pillage 
more, 
While cannon-thunder chased the daunted 

winds, 
Paused on a desert-heath, in speechless ire, 
And mark'd the remnant of a ruin'd host 
Flying, and pale as phantoms of Despair 1 
Napoleon ! in the earthquake of thy soul, 
The elements were reaping -vengeance then ! 
While slaughter turn'd the tide of victory 
And roll'd it back upon thy powerless host 
Of famish'd warriors, freezing as they died ! 
That hour of agony, the crushing sense 
Of danger and defeat, the broken spell 
Which blasted all thy triumphs into shame, 
Sublimed thy spirit with so proud a pang 

* See Relat. Comp. de la Campagne de Russie, en 
1S12 ; par E. Labaurne. Paris, 8vo. Segur, &c. 



It long'd to swell into a million souls, 
And shake the universe to save a throne ! 

Thy race is o'er : and in the rocky isle 
Of ocean, canopied with willow-shade, 
In death's undreaming calm thou restest now. 
But all the splendid infamy of War, 
The fame of blood and bravery, is thine : 
Thy name hath havoc in its sound ! and Time 
Shall read it when his ages roll : — 'twill live 
When time and nature are forgotten words ! 
For, as a noble fame can never die 
But proudly soareth on from earth to heaven, 
There to be hymn'd by Angels, and to crown 
With bright pre-eminence the gifted mind 
That won it gloriously ; so evil fame 
A fiery torment to the soul shall be 
For ever : — let Ambition think of this ! 
Who murders kings, to make her heroes, gods. 

In contrast wilder than the rude-faced globe, 
Appear the workings of immortal mind. 
Russia, through each great limb of empire, feels 
Proud animation play ; a panting wish 
For high dominion, and sublimer rule 
Than Nature's rugged vastness yields. But 

Thou — 
Of immemorial birth, whose massy wall 
Of ages, with her thousand war-towers flank'd, 
Majestic winds o'er many a savage hill 
And mountain, China ! thou art motionless, 
Or like the Dead Sea, sullenly reposed 
Amid the surging restlessness of Time. 
Those burden'd waters, whereon breed and die 
Thy generations ; fancy-mountains, graced 
With temples ; or pagodas gaily deck'd, 
And artful wonders, by the hand or tongue 
Completed, — such are glories form'd for thine 
Ascendancy ! Thus bulwark'd in with pride 
And baseness, virtues, arts, and vices act 
From year to year, unchallenged and unchanged. 
Antiquity, the childhood of the world, 
Broods like a torpid vapour o'er thy clime, 
And dulls its vigour into drowsy calm ; 
So let it sleep ! till Revolution wake, 
And summon spirits who shall cry, — Reform ! 

Lo ! in the East, enormously uprear'd, 
What ice-peak'd mountains point their roseate 

heads 
Amid the richness of an Indian sky, 
Soundless and solemn as cathedral-towers 
Made dim and spectral by the wintry moon ! 
Hills of the North ! not all your Greenland- 
pomp 
Can more sublimely scale the clouds. And 

where 
Bright Ganga ! mountain-born, careers the flood 
That matches thee 1 The vassal rivers mix 



Their spirit with thine own ; the rock-hewn 

caves 
Shake as they hear thee sounding through their 

depths, 
Then, upward springing with a glorious swell 
And brightness on thy waves, to course green 

plain 
And valley, like a charger in his pride 
Let loose to lord it o'er surrounding meads ! 
Monarch of rivers ! thy redeeming flow 
Is life and beauty to the sun-brown lands 
That border thy rich banks ; but on thy stream 
How Superstition glasses her dull creed ! 
Eeligion ! — why, the undiscerning brute 
Hath more divinity than vaunting slaves 
"Who, spirit-darken'd, oft blaspheme Her name : 
For sun and shower by him are not unthank'd. 
He bathes his forehead in the fresh'ning gale, 
And, by enjoyment, pays the gift of life. 
But how is reason carnalised and crush'd 
When hell-rites are religion ! — while it chants 
Of mercy in the ways of heaven revealed 
Can offer female holocausts to Hell 
In burning widows, gasping forth their souls, 
Or drowning babes, for sacrifice to God ! 
Oh, Wisdom ! never thou the heart redeem, 
Nor cast the cloud from Superstition's eye ! 

Another gaze, bright Hindostanic clime ! 
How beautifully wild, with horn-wreath'd heads, 
Thy antelopes abound ; and, thick as clouds 
Paving the pathway of the western heav'n, 
On wings enamell'd with a radiant dye 
Thy birds expand their plumage to the breeze, 
And glitter through air ! Primeval woods, 
And patriarchal trees, and forest-haunts, 
And deserts spotted with their verdant isles, 
And fruits, with showers of sunbeams on their 

heads, 
Grow mingled there in magical excess ; 
The grand and beautiful, their glowing spell 
Combine ; Creation makes one mighty charm. 

But let it pass : again the voice of waves J 
Faint as the rush of rapid spirit-wings ; 
An Ocean, dreadful to the gazing eye 
As dark eternity to human thought, — 
Atlantic ! where the whirlwinds are the scoff 
Of billows, rocking with eternal roar, 
Thou art a wonder e'en to me, whose eyes 
Have fathom'd Chaos ! 

Thou astounding Main ! 
Time never felt so awful since his birth, 
Angels and demons o'er thy terrors hung, 
As when by hope prophetically wise, 
On thine immensity Columbus launch'd. 
Yet thou wert well avenged ! for Storm and 

Doubt, 
Despair and Madness on the billows rode, 



And made deep Ocean one dark agony ! — 
Dismal as thunder-clouds, the fated hours 
Toil'd on ; a living solitude still howl'd 
And heaved, in dread monotony around ; 
Yet hope was quenchless ; and when daylight 

closed, 
The ocean-wanderers, in the placid glow 
Of sunset, soothing their despondent brows, 
Hymn'd o'er the mellow wave their vesper- 
song ; 
Ave Maria ! mingling with the choirs 
Of billows, and the chant of evening- winds. 

But he was destined! and his lightning- 
glance 
Shot o'er the deep, and darted on thy world 
America ! — Then, lofty, long, and loud 
From swelling hearts the hallelujahs rang, 
And charm'd to music the Atlantic gales ; 
While, silent as the Sun above him throned, 
Columbus look'd a rapture to the heavens 
And gave his glory to the God they serve ! 

Thou fated Eegion of the varied globe 
Where all the climates dwell, and Seasons rule 
In majesty, hereafter when the tides 
Of Circumstance have roll'd through changing 

years, 
What Empires may be born of Thee! — thy 

ships 
By thousands, voyaging the isle-strewn deep ; 
Thy banners waved in every land ! E'en now 
Defiance flashes from thy fearless eye, 
While Nature tells thee greatness is thine 

own. — 
Who on those dreadful giants of the South, 
Those Pyramids by man's Creator rear'd, 
Thine Andes, girdled with the storms, can 

gaze; 
Or hear Niagara's unearthly flood 
Eival the thunder with impassion'd roar, 
Nor think the spirit of ambition rules 
Thy moral nature. What a grandeur lives 
Through each stern scene ! — in yon Canadian 

woods, 
Whose stately poplars clothe their heads with 

clouds, 
And dignify creation as they stand ; 
Or in the rain-floods, — rivers where they fall ! 
Or hurricanes, which howl themselves along, 
Like fierce-wing'd monsters, ravenously wild : — 
Sublimity o'er all a soul hath breathed, 
And yet my ban is on thee ! — 'tis the curse 
Of havoc, 4 which the violators reap'd 
For thy young destiny, when first amid 
Thy wilds the cannon pour'd its thund'ring 

awe, 
Shaking the trees which never yet had bow'd, 
Save to the storminess of nature's ire. 



336 



SATAN. 



Hath. Gentleness thy guilt of old redeem'd ? 
Hath freedom heal'd the wounds of war, and 

paid 
Her ransom to the nameless and unknown, 
The unremember'd, but immortal still, 
T,he Dead, whose birthright was sublime as 

kings' 1 
Approach, and answer me, dejected One ! 
Art thou the remnant of a free-born race, 
Majestic lords of nature's majesty? 
Of them, whose brows were bold as heaven, 

whose hands 
Have tamed the woods, whose feet outfled the 

winds, 
Who faced the lightning with undazzled gaze 
And dream'd the thunder language of their 

god: 
The earth and sky, 'twas Freedom's and their 

own! 
But thou — the Sun hath written on thee, 

Slave! 5 
A branded limb and a degraded mind 
The tyrants give thee for infernal toil 
And tears ; or lash thy labour out in blood. 

And some are Saxons, who enslave the free; 
Then boast not, England ! while a Briton links 
The chain of thraldom, glory can be thine. 
Vain are thy vows, thy temples, and the rites 
Which hallow them, while yet a slave exists 
Who curses thee : each curse in Heaven is 

heard; 
'Tis seal'd, and answer'd in the depths Below! 

From dungeon and from den there comes a 

voice 
That supplicates for Freedom : from the tomb 
Of martyrs her transcendency is told, 
And dimm'd she may, but cannot be de- 

stroy'd. 
Who bends the spirit from its high domain 
On God himself a sacrilege commits ; 
For soul doth share in His supremacy ; 
To crush it, is to violate the power 
And grasp the sceptre an Almighty wields ! 

For freedom, such as proud ambition call'd 
A freedom, a Heaven I lost; and therefore 

slaves 
On earth are victims whom I scorn to see. 
No ! let them in their liberty be mine ; 
Or, what if foul Oppression fill the cup 
Of crime, that Hell may have a deeper draught? 
My kingdom is of evil ; and the crowns 
Of many an earth-born Despot sparkle there ! — 
Then let the pangless hearts of Tyrants beat 
Unblasted, till from deepest agony 
With the proud wrath of ages in Her soul 
Freedom arise, and vindicate her name ! 



BOOK II. 

" Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts, 
Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs, 
Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes 
Above the height of mountain interposed." 

Paradise Regained. 

Sceptres are mighty wands, and few are found 
With strength to wield them ; yet how many 

dare ! 
And kingdoms are the agonies of Thrones, 
Yet men will die to face them ! thus the Heart 
Exceeds itself, nor calls the madness vain. 
But, were it mine from kingliness to take 
The tyrant witchery, I'd bid some young 
Idolater of throne-exalted power, 
In the deep midnight when the World lies 

hush'd 
In her humility of sleep, to gaze 
Upon a prince's couch. The crimson pomp 
And glare of palace-chambers round him lie ; 
But on his cheek the royal spirit stamps 
A weariness which mocks this outward show 
Of kings ; a prison would have graced it more ! 
A sad rehearsal of unhonour'd youth 
When years went reckless as the rolling waves, 
Till passion grew satiety ; a proud 
Regret for trait'rous hearts ; and that keen sense 
Untold, which monarchsmore than subjects feel, 
Of slavery ; (for servile is the pomp 
Of kings, though gorgeously it dares the eye) 
With a dim haunting of the dreary tomb, 
That often through the banquet-splendour 

gapes 
Like darkness that defies a sun ! — such dream 
From out his slumber that calm beauty steals 
Which Innocence delights to wear. Then, watch 
His features, when some trace of dreadful thought 
Endows them with a spirit-eloquence, 
That speaks of Judgment, with its thronging 

host 
Of terrors ; Monarchs cited, and the vast 
Account of sceptred kingdoms render'd up ; 
Could Envy listen to his waking groan, 
How poor, how perilous, the state of kings ! 

Away with this : — transcendently endow'd 
And in her mass of mind concent'ring more 
Of awfulness, than nature in its might 
Of rock or mountain feels, proud Europe spreads 
Her living map before me now ! What hearts 
And souls commune ! what countless tides of 

thought 
And feeling, in electric flow, from breast 
To breast, from clime to clime, prevailing here ; 
Here is the throne of Mind ; th' arena vast 
Where principles and passions run their course 
And pant and struggle with conflicting play, — 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



337 



Where men and angels, heav'n and hell are met, 
And Life flings shadows o'er eternity ! 

Region of wonders ! who yon scenes can trace, 
Or on thy many -featured visage mark 
Each motion of thy spirit, in the glow 
Of changing impulse, and creative power ? 
There, is an ocean, darken'd by the wings 
Of vessels, leaping like the waves they front, 
While thund'ring to and fro their country's 

wrath 
They tell her glory to the list'ning skies ! 
And there, a river like a liquid sweep 
Of light, where Commerce welcomed by the gale, 
Sails onward in the sun ; but here, a scene 
Of battle, crimson'd o'er with clotting blood ! 
Banners are playing, rich as unroll'd clouds 
Hung loose upon mid air ; the gleam of arms 
Incessant flashes through the misty fray 
Fierce as the lightnings when they flutter wild ; 
While mute and sad, a City waits afar 
With Doubt and Anguish in her desert-streets, 
Who catch the war-notes from the travell'd 

wind 
And answer them, with living echoes there. 
In dream-like contrast, 'mid the hush of noon 
How meekly yon romantic village lies 
Beneath a canopy of cloudless blue ! 
With elm-trees twinkling as they wave, the 

meads 
Made golden for their harvest, and yon spire 
In peaceful beauty pointing to the heavens. 

Sprinkled with mountains, and with cloud- 
capt hills, 
Helvetia swells majestic on my view, 
In her primeval glory. Free-soul'd Land ! 
Summer and Winter for thy smile contend, 
Witching thy prospects into fairy pomp 
With beautiful abruptness. Yerdure-clad 
And deck'd with flowers, these undulating vales 
Extend, while vines the terraced hills embrace, 
And Landscapes, laughing o'er the clouds, may 

hear 
The Tempest-howl in cavern gloom below ! — 
But Winter hath his triumph ; let the rush 
And roar of cataracts ; the darksome lakes, — 
Convulsive rolling in the midnight-storm ; 
The glaciers, billow'd like a frozen sea 
Iced in the plunging madness of the storm ; 
And, chief o'er all, the silent Alp-king rear'd 
Like Grandeur risen from eternity, — 
Let these declare thee for a land sublime. 
Home of the dauntless ! on thy patriot-soil 
While sternness of simplicity can breathe 
A Eoman vigour, and the name of Tell 
Haunts bike a harrowing spirit every vale 
And mountain-hollow, Time shall honour thee, 



When many an Empire shall have pass'd away, 
And forests wave where Capitals are seen ! 

Southward of thee, where shining rocks 
ascend, 
Pointing their cannon to the broad blue main 
Defyingly, what region of the sun 
Is that, with green-dyed olive groves, and fruits 
Whose ripeness glitters on the laden boughs ] 
'Tis Spain ! the glowing clime of Luxury, 
Of Chivalry, and dead Romance : her hills 
Where aromatic odours scent the skies, 
And bright-hued flowers, that in the mountain- 
breeze 
Of wafted freshness dance their beauteous 

heads ; 
Her dark-eyed dames, and stately cavaliers 
Whose brows are haughty with the dreams of 

eld; 
Her pomp of palaces, her fountain-walks, 
And many-templed Capitals, — betray 
Her form'd for Pleasure's undisputed reign. 
And yet, on History's most heroic page 
Hath Andalusia an undying seal, 
And Arragon a print of fame : — but deeds 
Of blood, and Inquisition's torturing rack, 
For vengeance when the world's arraignment 

sounds, 
Will rise ; and woe to Tyrants ! they shall read 
The chronicle stern Justice keeps in hell ! 

Here, too, the passions are despotic slaves 
For me ; and prove how features can reveal 
The voiceless language of the varied mind. 
The languor of luxurious eyes, for Love 
Abounds ; for Jealousy, the livid gaze 
Which looks a murder where its meaning falls ! 
And for Revenge, an aspect darkly still 
Like savage thunder sleeping in a cloud ! — 
And midnight is the mantle for them all. 

Enchanting as thou art, romantic Spain, 
The home of beauty and the queen of climes, 
Loved Italy, whose oriental heavens 
Are rich enough o'er Paradise to hang, 
Outdazzles thee in splendour. 'Tis the hour 
When noon-shine, dying into sunset-glow, 
Suffuses, like a gorgeous wing .outspread 
In wanton glory, gleams of magic hue. 
How radiantly adown those heaven-bright hills 
The young streams tremble ] Arno, mountain- 
born 
With lingering progress writhes along the vale : 
And groves and gardens on the cool wind shake 
Their fragrance ; while around vine-laden meads 
Flush with their produce, and the playful breeze 
Ruffles the golden corn-fields. Near yon lake 
Mark sea-throned Venice in her island-pride, 



338 



SATAN. 



Resentful dares the Adriatic-roar ! 
And o'er the river, where gondolas throng, 
'Mid Palaces that frown with haggard Pomp 
Out-arches her Rialto : — she hath reign'd 
Her day ; ducal tyrants are no more, 
And blighted fabrics but reveal her fame. 

And what is Venice to the wreck of Eome 1 
That Giantess of empire ! blacken'd, bow'd, 
And desolated on her seven-hill throne 
Behold her seated by worn Tiber's banks ! 
Colossal ruin, like a noble mind 
In desolation thou art haughty still ! 
Though Time hath conquer'd, can he equal 

thee 1 
Thy Temples huge where ages are enshrined ; 
The trophied porches, theatres august 
Which heard the beating often thousand hearts; 
And Fane sublime, on that Tarpeian rock, 
Where Yengeance grasp'd eternity ! — when 

Rome 
Could trample kingdoms and o'erawe the world 
What grandeur rivall'd these 1 Their very shades 
Are solemn : but around them when the rush 
Of life was heard ; when chariots, bright as clouds 
Which throne the morning sun, victorious came 
Amid the tramp of war -steeds and the shout 
Of millions swelling with their country's 

fame,— 
Thy glory was a terror, and thine arm 
Omnipotence to nations ! Through all realms 
The throbbing of thy faintest anger thrill'd, 
And when thou frown'dst, what kingdom dared 

be free 1 

Men look on thee, as Seraphs gaze on Light, 
With silent rapture solemnised to awe, 
Till the dead Past in resurrection-pomp, 
Arises, and the Roman lives again ! 
Heroes and sages start beneath their feet ; 
Their eyes are dazzled with a starry dream 
Of old renown ; and, like thy vassal-states, 
They deify thy name. And I forgive 
The weakness of their worship, when the sun's 
Bright mockery plays along thy mould'ring 

piles ; 
Or when the moonbeam through some cypress- 
tree, 
Sheds rays of sorrow on thy weed-tress'd walls 
And gray -worn monuments ; from thy young 

dawn 
Of being, ere thy roofless huts were piled, 
To the proud noon of greatness, thou hast 

proved 
A theme of wonder to infernal hosts, 
Half demons and half gods thy heroes were ; 
And Roman teachers, — are they not still felt 
And follow'd ] deities of mind, whose words 
Are wings of knowledge to the daring. — Rome 



Is dead ; but mental Rome is reigning still 
With vaster sway than Pompey's eagles won ! 

Long may it reign so ! that a fiery love 
Of fame and battle, which defeatures earth 
With scars eternity shall fail to heal, 
May live by inspiration fierce as Rome's. 
Many a " hero " hath by Her been crazed ; 
And fancied " Caesars " yet will come, to chain 
The world, or fool it with disastrous fame ! 
Yea, at this moment, in tyrannic hearts 
Ambition hath a mass of burning thought 
In secret treasured, like volcanic ire : 
Kindle it, Time ! and rear thy second Rome. 

Pew years have fleeted o'er this tomb-like 
haunt 
Of ruin, since a Spirit who appall'd 
The world, by giving thoughts a thunder-tone, 
And feeling, that terrific lightning-flash, 
That show'd the storm-depths of the soul within ; 
Who pour'd himself in passion o'er mankind 
Making each heart to quiver with delight, 
Like water thrill'd by an electric sound,— 
Amid thy canker' d fanes and crumbling halls 
Mused in the deadness of the midnight-hour. 

It was a haggard night ; when mortals dream 
That conscious Nature in dejection pines ; 
As though the elements were all diseased, 
The moon hung rayless, and the few faint stars 
Gleam'd pale and glassy as the eye of death. 
Alone, the victim of his darkest mood, 
In the stern shade of ruin'd Palaces 
And pillar'd wrecks of desolated shrines 
The wanderer roam'd ; and when some sickly 

break 
Of moonlight lit his features into play 
With all their lines of passionate excess, 
The haunting Genius of the spot he seem'd 
Lost in the workings of a wilder'd mind. 
He sigh'd, and mused ; and then from earth to 

heav'n 
His eye was raised, but moisten'd with a tear 
Of tenderness, wherein the pride of years 
Had melted out from his rebellious soul, 
Most haughty in abasement :— blighted man ! 
His nature was a whirlpool of desires, 
And mighty passions, perilously mix'd, 
That with the darkness of the demon-world 
Had something of the light of Heaven. He 

breathed 
The sighs that after-ages will repeat, — 
The selfish eloquence of tortured thought 
In words that glow with agony ! Yet far 
From him that deeper sadness of the mind 
Which, gather'd from the gloom of mortal things 
In moments of mysterious sway, o'erclouds 
A soul, yet sanctifies those thoughts which feel 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



339 



Eternity a spirit's home to be, 

And time mere exile, which the man endures. 

So worshipp'd, and so sad ! — Oh, were not 

hopes 
Destroy 'd, the moral landscape Devils love 
To witness, idols of this world might win 
My pity for their portion. How deceived 
And how deceiving, is the race they run ! 
The King and Hero, Bard and Sage, with all 
"Who in the storehouse of departed time 
Have heap'd such treasure, as great deeds and 

words 
Beget, what bright delusions have they been ! 

To fancied Edens of poetic bloom 
On wings of sentiment can Genius roam, 
And meditate on worldless Things, whence 

comes 
A glorious panting for a purer State, 
Than Adam saw, when Earth's anointed Priest 
In purity, his life was incense breath'd to God. 
But, martyrs to unhealthy thought abound, 
Who out of earthly elements have sought 
A happiness to reap whose soil is heaven, 
And, failing, sunk to profitless despair. 
Thus Learning, Luxury, and laurell'd Fame, 
Yain phantoms, what a worship have they won ! 
The first, a shallow excellence ; the next, 
A malady of brutish growth, debased 
And most debasing, turning soul to sense 
Till nature seems unspirited ; the last, 
Magnificent betrayer ! while afar 
Beheld, the crown of heaven itself seems thine ; 
But when attain' d, how oft a brilliant Lie 
Whose lustre was but hollowness conceal'd ! 
Oh ! many an eye that in the glow of youth 
Hath brighten'd, as it gazed on pictured worth, 
Or linger'd round those everlasting shrines 
Where tombs have tongues, and monuments 

are speech, 
Where great inheritors of Glory rest, — 
Hath wept the laurels that it once adored ! 

The atmosphere which circleth gifted minds 
Is from a deep intensity derived, — 
An element of thought, where feelings shape 
Themselves to fancies, — an electric world 
Too exquisitely framed for common life, 
Which they of coarser metal cannot dream. 
And hence, those fascinating powers of soul 
That robe the heavens with beauty, and create 
Romance which makes reality untrue, 
Upon the rack of quick excitement live ; 
Their joy the essence of an agony, 
And that, the throbbing of the fires within ! 

And thus, while Fame's heart-echoing 
clarions ring, 



The voice and visions of ideal renown 
In one vile whisper may be overwhelm'd. 
Made mighty by its littleness, a word 
Of Envy drowns the thunder which delight 
Hath voiced ! so oft the phantom of a cloud 
In single darkness cowering on the air, 
Looks fiercer for the frownless heaven around ! 
So Fame is murder'd, that the dull may live ; l 
Or, to Herself grows false ; then hideous dreams 
And tomb-like shadows thicken round the mind, 
Till, plunging into dread infinity, 
It rides upon the billows which Despair 
Hath summon'd from the stormy gloom of 

thought. 
Dark victim ! thus so ruinously famed, 
What misery haunts thy smile of happiness ! 
Beneath the mountain of thy vast renown 
There lives a mortal, unendow'd by aught 
That Learning, Luxury, or Fame can yield, 
And yet a Crcesus in his store of joy 
With thine compared ; the man whom sullied 

earth 
Enslaves not, on whose soul the Truth hath 

smiled — 
Truth which I loathe, but Hell cannot destroy ! 

A model first, and then the captive made 
Of desolating Rome, the classic Isles 
Of ancient Greece, beside yon full- waved sea 
Laugh in the bright unbreathing air of noon. 
Antiquity reigns here ; see ! on her throne 
Of Athos, whence the giant-shadow sweeps, 
As new alighted from a cloud she stands, 
Waving her wand triumphant o'er her scenes; — 
To hoar Parnassus, where the fabled spring 
Of Castaly still flows ; and time-awed wilds, 
And mountain-pass, and Marathonian plain, 
To every haunt heroic feet have trod 
Her wand is pointed, — till the Past untombs 
Her treasure ; Athens is revived again ; 
The slave-isles hurl their shackles o'er the sea, 
And Greece awakes to glorify the world ! 

Surpassing Clime ! though man thy charms 
profane, 
Nature bedecks thee with a bridal robe. 
When moon-tints tremble on the Adrian-waves, 
What sea so beautiful ! what sun so bright, 
So ravishingly deck'd with golden beams 
As thine unequall'd orb ! — And still yon skies 
Are canopies of crystal ; rich-leaf 'd flowers 
Ope radiant as the fairy wings of birds, 
And fruit and tree wave luscious in the wind. 

Again, thou upstart World, thy doom behold ! 
Where Yalour with the sword of freedom fell'd 
Her myriads down, like grass before the scythe ; 
Where Art and Science in perfection reign'd, 



340 



SATAN. 



And Sculpture miracles of grace achieved ; 
"Where Eloquence her spirit volley'd forth 
In words that palsied Empires with their sound, 
As shakes a forest in the deep-toned storm ! 
AVhere Poetry, by stirring passion bred, 
From Feeling's heart responsive numbers drew, 
While heavenly Wisdom to the soaring eye 
Of sages half reveal'd her perfect form, — 
There in that Land, surpassingly endow'd 
With all that beauty wealth and art bestow, 
Corruption in her darkest spirit dwells. 
Then learn, Adorers of Athenian gods, 
Learn, at the tomb of Glory laid in dust, 
How human passions wither while they sway ; 
The Curse is living ! — think of my revenge ! 

Northward of Greece, behold illustrious Gaul, 
Britannia's rival, gaily doth outspread 
Her scenery, and blooming flush of life. 
She, too, hath beauty ; and her sun-warm hills, 
Which bare their bosoms to the mellowing sky, 
With vine and fruitage, bountifully glow ; 
While rivers of romance, by wood and vale, 
And bord'ringtown, their sparkling waters lead. 
Young, fresh, and gay, elastic as the breeze, 
All spring and sunshine, her full spirit bounds ; 
Here vanity is virtue : out of hearts 
Which seem to echo but what woman loves 
Awaking valour, prompt to dare, and proud 
To die. And yet, true nobleness of mind 
Is faintly seen ; sincerity, too harsh 
To please, is polish'd into courtly lies, — 
The frothy incense of a faithless soul. 

Once France and Freedom were a mingled 

name ; 
And now, when all their wrathful clouds are 

roll'd 
Away, the shadows which they cast endure, 
Clothing the soul of memory with fear. 
Her Eevolution, who that saw forgets, 
Or who that felt, and does not feel ? — The storm 
Which makes a midnight of affrighted day, 
Is weak, to that rebellion of despair 
When buried passions, like an earthquake burst 
From out an injured Nation's heart. And such 
Was thine, afflicted France ! the far-off Thrones 
Of tyrants stagger'd, distant Empires quail'd 
When, like th' embodied spirit of thy wrongs, 
Dread Eevolution darken'd on the world, 
Einging a peal that echoed Europe round 
And died in thunder o'er th' Atlantic deep ! 
But thou wert too unholy to be free, 
Too grasping to be great ; and when thy thirst 
For havoc brutalised the scene of blood, 
As though re-action for all human wrong 
Were centred in it for one dire revenge, 
A madness fired thee ; and thy human fiends 
Rivall'd their lord in blasphemy and blood ! 



Bounding with gladness, by yon castled 

banks 
Roll the green waters of the glorious Ehine 
In fullness and in freedom, swelling on * 
For ever. There, amid some minds which hold 
Each hallow'd creed by dreading Hell abhorr'd, 
While Men to "Ego" germanise their God 
Dark Speculation does my brain-work well 
In many a school, where reeling heads grow wild 
And godless ! Hence, all moral basis fails 
Wherein the judgment can alone repose 
Secure and solid ; while the eye of faith 
Is darken'd, sacred conscience half extinct, 
And doubts, refracting heaven's unbroken light 
From Scripture, make the Man himself 

untrue, — 
In reasoning pride irrationally lost ! 
Free though they look, my slaves all sceptics are ; 
Through mental fogs, or pantheistic gloom, 
Blindly they grope their miserable way 
And make confusion more confounded still : 
Then, all is chaos, and the Spirit mine ! — 
Love, Faith and Law, a trinity of powers 
Which shape the will, or sanctify the heart 
For heaven, my human miniatures disdain : 
Not grace for discipline, but truth for thought 
Proud, worshippers of Indecision love 
Like mental antichrists : till God becomes 
Impersonal, a Problem for the soul 
To scan — mere Principle, and nothing more ! 
Hence, German thought a German Christ 



From misty depths, to speculation dear 
Because unfathom'd. Now, my reign begins : 
Let darkness be, where Deity said, light ! 
Till creedless mind call God an inward Myth 
Of man's creation ; and thus will sceptics prove 
The incarnations of that Lie first-born 
In Eden utter' d, when I whisper' d, — doubt, 
Eenounce Jehovah and thyself believe ! 

Fronting the wave-en viron'd shore of France, 
And bulwark'd with her everlasting main 
O'er which the guardian-cliffs sublimely lower, 
Like palaces of stern defence, behold 
The Isle-queen ! — every billow sounds her fame ! 
The Ocean is her proud triumphal car 
Whereon she rideth ; and the rolling waves 
The vassals which secure her victory ; 
Alone, and matchless in her sceptred might 
She dares the world. The spirit of the brave 
Burns in her ; laws are liberty ; and kings 
Wear crowns which glitter with a people's love ; 
And while the magna-charta of their rights 
Is guarded, royalty is kept secure ; 
But let the cause of Liberty be wrong'd, — 
The throne is shaken ! patriot-voices rise, 
And, prompt as billows by the tyrant-gale 
Excited, loud and haughty is their roar ! 



Heaven-favour'cl Land ! where fitful climates 

reign, 
And home-life from the ever-clouded skies 
A bliss concenter'd more than France enjoys, — 
Of mountain-pomp, and poetry of hills, 
Though other climates boast, in thee supreme 
A pastoral grace and gentleness abound ; 
Here all which quiet feeling love, or charms 
The sweet sobriety of tender thought, 
Is thine ; a heaven whose beautiful, is change ; 
Or sunshine tinged by unreposing clouds, 
That make bright landscapes when they blush 

abroad ; 
The dingle grey, and wooded copse ; with hut 
And hamlet, nestling in some bosky vale ; 
And spires brown-peeping o'er the ancient elms, 
And steepled cities, faint and far away, 
With all that bird and meadow, brook and gale 
Impart, — commingle for romantic eyes 
Which catch the sentiment thy scenes inspire. 

But Ocean is thy glory : and methinks 
Some musing wanderer by the shore I see, 
Weaving his island-fancies. — Round him rock 
And cliff, whose grey trees mutter to the wind, 
And streams down-rushing with a torrent ire : 
The sky seems craggy, with her cloud-piles 

hung, 
Deep-mass' d, as though avenging thunder lay 
And darken'd in its dream of havoc there. 
Before him, Ocean, yelling in the blast, 
Wild as the death-wail of a drowning host : 
The surges, — let them each a tempest roll, 
Or lash their fury into living foam, 
Yon war-ship shall outbrave them all ! her 

sails 
Eesent the winds, and their remorseless beat ; 
And when she ventures the abyss of waves, 
Eemounts, expands her wings, and then — 

away ! 
Proud as an eagle dashing through the clouds. 

And well, brave scion of the empress-Isle, 
Thy spirit mingles with the mighty scene, 
Hailing thy Country on her ocean-throne. 
But she hath dread atonements to complete, 
And burning tears to shed. Thy lofty dreams 
England ! may be humbled yet ; behold ! 
Thy curse is coming ;— mark ! for in thine own 
Great heart the darkness of rebellion breeds, 
And frowns of Heaven hang awful o'er thy 
doom ! 

And now, the World before my view hath 
pass'd, 
With multitudinous array of pomp 
And power, of Kingdom, Plain, and Desert 

rude, 
Of Oceans, garnish'd with their glitt'ring isles, 



And the vast heaven which o'er-arches all ! 
How crime and havoc in dread union leagued 
The fortunes of this fated earth have changed ! 
The present still is echo to the past ; 
Of both the future will an echo prove ; 
A rise and fall, — a fall and rise — the doom 
Of men and empires thus gone ages tell. 

And what of this proud Age, whose wings 

unfold 
In bright expansion ] Is she Wisdom's child 1 
From the dark catalogue of sin and shame 
Is aught erased 1 Are passions more subdued, 
The virtues laurell'd, and the vices dead 1 
The same in spirit doth the earth exist 1 
If so, then, Time, I hail thee ! and the Curse 
Shall multiply ; new thrones and dynasties 
May come, but Desolation shall foredoom 
Their fate, though haughty be the aspect 

worn. 
And as among the myriads who have lived 
On earth, not many have our thrones regain'd, 
So from the myriads yet to be reveal'd 
In life and suff 'ranee, few shall face the heat 
Of trial scathless ; few shall overcome 
The world, or win the crown apostles wear. 

But lo ! the day declines ; and to his couch 
The Sun is wheeling. What a world of pomp 
The heavens put on in homage to his power ! 
Romance hath never hung a richer sky, — 
Or sea of sunshine, o'er whose yellow deep 
Triumphal barks of beauteous foam career, 
As though the clouds held festival, to hail 
Their god of glory to his western home. 
And now the earth seems mirror'd on the skies ! 
While lakes and valleys, drown'd in dewy 

light, 
And rich delusions, dazzlingly array'd, 
Form, float, and die, in all their phantom-joy. 
At length the Sun is throned; but from his 

face 
A flush of beauty o'er creation flows, 
Then faints to paleness, for the Day hath sunk 
Beneath the waters, dash'd with ruby dyes, 
And Twilight in her nun-like meekness comes : 
The air is fragrant with the soul of flowers, 
The breeze comes panting like a child at 

play, 

While birds, day-worn, are couch'd in leafy 

rest, 
And calm as clouds the sunken billows sleep : 
The dimness of a dream o'er nature steals, 
Yet hallows it ; a hush'd enchantment reigns ; 
The mountains to a mass of mellowing shade 
Are turn'd, and stand like temples of the 

Night : 
While field and forest, fading into gloom, 



342 



SATAN. 



Depart, and rivers whisper sounds of fear ; 
A dying pause, as if th' Almighty moved 
In shadow o'er His works, hath solemnised 
The world ! 

But that hath ceased; the herald-stars, 
In timid lustre twinkling into life, 
Advance ; and, faint as music's rising swell, 
The moon is rounding as she dawns. Fair orb ! 
The sentimental child of earth will say, 
The sun glares like a warrior o'er his plain 
Of morning sky ; but thou, so wan and meek, 
Appear'st a maiden of romance, who walks 
In placid sorrow, beautifully pale. 
Behold thy power ! on tree and meadow falls 
The loveliness of thine arraying smile. 
How silverly the sleeping air is robed 
Around me ! Clouds above, like plats of snow 
Which linger on the hills, and laugh the sun 
Away with their white beauty, yet remain ; 
And now they vanish, and the soundless heaven 
Forms one deep cope of azure, where the 

stars, 
Bright pilgrims voyaging an unwaved sea, 
Are strewn, and sparkle with incessant rays 
Of mystery and meaning. Yet not heaven, 
When islanded with all those lustrous worlds, 
Nor cradled Ocean with the waves uproll'd, 
Nor moonlight weaving forth its pallid 

shroud, 
Is so enchanting as that stillness felt, 
And living with luxurious spell, through all, — 
Silent as though a sound had never been ; 
Or, angels o'er her slumber spread their wings, 
And breathed a sabbath into Nature's soul. 

No wonder moonlight made idolaters, 
That their Creator in creation merged 
As one surpassing Whole : for even I, 
I who have look'd with archangelic love 
On all the beauty and the blaze of heaven, — 
E'en I, the burning of my soul can feel 
Allay'd, when nature grows so near divine. 
And man, when passionless and pure awhile 
Amid the trances of unbreathing night 
With adoration in his eye and heart, 
He walks abroad, and measures at a gaze 
The starr'd immensity above, becomes 
Sublime ; a shade of his primeval Soul 
Returns upon him ; chaste as e'er it fell 
Heaven-ward the prayer-winged heart of faith 

ascends, 
Beholding Angels in excess of light, 
And joining in their chorus round The Throne ! 
Sublime, but impotent, he then appears : 
The Fathomless, oh, who shall fathom 1 Time, 
Eternity, and Truth, — those awful Three 
That make the mystery God alone resolves. 



BOOK III. 

" On man, on nature, and on human life, 
Musing in solitude." Wordsworth. 

And such the nature of this noble world ! 
Magnificence and beauty, pomp and might 
Supremely glorify God's earth for man, 
The beatings of whose heart are heard in 

Heaven. 
The chant of seas, the jubilee of winds 
In forests heard, or playing their free wings 
Till the glad air is one abounding swell 
Of joy; Mortality's mysterious life 
And motion ; and the thrilling tones of mind 
Which sound so awful on the sleepless ear 
Of Angels, watching like pure sentinels 
O'er human hearts, — such fearful stir of things 
In viewless worlds might well an echo wake. 
And may not he, the monarch of the scene, 
Be crown'd with glory, when he champions 

Time, 
Proclaiming what a vassal he hath been, 
And how great Nature hath his charm obey'd ! 
The Elements — he made them servile powers, 
Or mix'd their spirit with his own ; the Eocks 
Uprear'd — he scaled them to the clouds ; 
The Ocean, thunder'd with her dreadful 

waves, — 
He braved them, and they bore him like a god ! 
Yea, more ; in haunts where desolation nursed 
The midnight Tempest howling for his prey, 
There hath the City piled her myriad domes ; 
And Life her human scenery unroll'd. 

So vast his triumph o'er the varied range 
Of elemental being ; but the soul 
For its omnipotence is most revered ; 
How darkly-wild, how grandly undefined ! 
Now sunk in dreams of unethereal bliss, 
Now glowing, gasping for infinity ! 
Of Senses, inlet to unnumber'd joys 
And pains, all exquisitely toned and true ; 
Of Feelings, wrapp'd as life-nerves round the 

heart 
Which throbs obedient to their lightning-call : 
And Passions, gods or demons as they rule, — 
Humanity may boast beyond decay : 
While Thought, — eternity is not too deep 
To fathom ! she can sweep immensity, 
Creating worlds, and soaring on the wings 
Of awe, till, drooping like a weary bird, 
She drop in wonder to the earth again. 

With god-like attributes, ethereal powers 
Developed as the living soul directs, 
What grand perfections, then, hath Earth 

produced ! 
Proud of his being, hear some child of clay : — 



" A Monarch holding empires in his grasp, 
Is great ; Philosophers who fathom depths 
Of mystery, and plunge their minds in gloom, 
That ages may grow brighter, are sublime : 
And Genius, when by inspiration wing'd, 
How gloriously the heaven of thought she 

mounts, 
Fronting Jehovah with undaunted eye 
As eagles gaze undazzled on the sun ! — 
Then, may She not the crowning laurel wear, 
The purest of perfections ? " — Further yet ; 
Methinks I'm challenged to admire a man 
Adorn'd with meekness, graced by holy love, 
And in the noiseless vale of humble life 
Content, and charitably good ; whose name 
Is nobly register'd in realms divine, 
Though unrenown'd below, — for men forget 
Th' obscure in earth are oft the famed in heav'n. 

These proud examples of terrestrial worth 
Oft deify man's nature, and exalt 
His dignity to such a seeming height 
Of inward greatness, that it spurns away 
The dimming memory of a primal fall, 
And magnifies him to his first estate 
Of glory. What am I, then, if this earth 
By sin be all unblasted ? Not a Shape 
Of woe, the prey of agonising fires, 
But Seraph, with his raiments roll'd in light 
The hierarchal prince of heav'n ! — If Man 
Be undegraded, Hell is but a sound 
Of falsehood, dwelling in the soul of fear. 
Yet, judge them by their greatness, what are 

men? 
Of imperfection is true wisdom born, 
And vaunting knowledge, ignorance confess'd. 1 
The Unknown, when reveal' d, is not the new ; 
It was, before his mental vision saw, 
And soar'd into a certainty ; when seen, 
The blindness of the past is proved, and Earth 
May wonder, but she might be humble, too. 

There are, who feel true glory but a ray 
Of triumph over imperfection shed, — 
Which looks the darker when the gleam is o'er — 
When night hath deepen' d, and the massy earth 
Lies cover'd with cathedral-gloom, abroad 
Some starry Watcher roams, and 'mid the far 
Array of planetary worlds, like Saints 
In bright procession marching to the Throne 
Of their Creator, spreads his wandering soul, 
Till in the contemplated God absorb'd 
The Man is nothing, and his wisdom, dust ! 

Nor dare he boast, as if perfection crown'd 
His being, who can most himself unearth ; 
And from immortal beauty of the mind 
Reflect the imagery of heav'n around ; — 
E'en he, whose gratitude in sunshine hails 



The smiles from God's own countenance 

reveal'd, 
Which flutter round his soul like fairy notes 
Of music melting into magic there, — 
Yes ! he is boastless ; though he soar aloft 
Till Fancy, awe-struck, wait with folded wing 
Before the blaze of Deity ! — for dark 
To him the meanness of this sin-worn earth, 
When, breaking from a cloud of holy thought 
Wherein he dreamt, and high communion held 
With visions of a viewless world, — again 
He hears the rolling waves of life, and sees 
The gloom and turmoil of created things. 

But if beneath the brightness of the soul 
A shadow of degraded nature sleep, 
To make it humble, then how far removed 
From primal virtue are the men whom Yice 
Imbrutes with her foul spirit ! Well, indeed, 
Hath Hell with Heaven divided empire won ; 
How widely, let the watching Angels 2 speak ! 
Who frequent shudder with regretful awe 
Yf hen gazing down the wild abyss within 
To view the passion-waves which billow there, 
The gloom, the stir, and tempest of the mind ! 
To such, the blackness of the Past is known ! — 
Within whose bosom lies entomb'd a mass 
Of crime, by sinful myriads heap'd : — the Curse 
Lies buried with it, till the trumpet-blast 
Be sounded and the sleep of Ages burst 
For retribution ; then will wrath awake, 
And I, the doubted One, shall stand reveal'd ! 

And what a burden of unheeded sin 
Upon the death of each departing hour 
Is borne into eternity ! the Past 
Was roughen'd into storms of savage guilt : 
The present, with a milder aspect tempts 
The judgment ; 'tis a most polluted calm ! 
Beneath it, in their soul-corrupting power 
The fest'ring tides of passion act and live ; 
And when they burst o'er all prudential 

banks 
To riot in the public view of man, 
Then, Evil ! thou indeed art god confess'd. 
Oh ! it is laughter which allays our pangs 
To see these clay -born Upstarts, who were framed 
To re-erect our fallen Thrones, — amerced 
Of favour, all their glory dimm'd and marr'd, 
And they, contented at the car of Yice 
To follow, fetter'd by the chains of hell ! 

First in my train of ministers behold 
Assuming Pride, who lifts her lofty eye 
To Heaven, as though in scorn of its dread 

height ; 
And when She bends it to the earth, surveys 
All creatures but to dwarf them in a glance 
Of stern comparison. But nobler far, 



344 



SATAN. 



Appears Ambition, whose prophetic voice 
So fired my own proud nature, that it dared 
Jehovah's thunders in full roar to face ! 
In all my tempters there is no such power, 
Such mingling of the demon and the god 
As that which in Ambition dwells. The soul 
Of Virtue, by her hallowing spirit touch'd 
May emulate bright seraphs, with a love 
Divine, through this dark pilgrimage ; but rare 
On earth is such sublime ambition found, 
Or seldom would she waft a soul to me ! 
She haunts the lowliness of life ; there, shapes 
Her phantoms wild, or glittering delights. 
But oftener she assumes a warrior-mien 
To make a hero ; stirs him with the sight 
Of banners flouting a defiance ; plains 
And battle-hills with throbbing echoes rung : 
He rides a charger in victorious dreams 
And wakes a Hero ! — let him gash the "World ! 

Ambition prompts that Genius in the mind, 
"Which mortals on a throne of Magic seat, 
Most heavenly-bright, without a shade of earth, 
Her nature a nobility ! the great 
She magnifies, the mean she can exalt, 
Lend virtue majesty, on vice a veil, 
The all-adored, — creation for Her charm ! 
Enrapt, and raised beyond the clouds of sense, 
And all which coarse reality perceives, 
She wanders forth, and views the budding morn 
Freshen the pale sky, like that infantine glow 
"Which o'er the cheek of waking Beauty steals ; 
And night, — the paradise of dreams expands 
Before her, when that sacred darkness smiles 
Unutterably glorious ! — not a sound 
Abroad ; the moon, an isle of loveliness ; 
The stars hung beautiful, as all new-born 
And lavish of their lustre ; She can dream 
Her spirit roaming some elysian Orb 
Deep in the luxury and bloom of heaven. 
All sights and sounds bring meanings to Her 

mind ; 
The seas are mirrors of Almightiness ; 
And winds, like terrible magicians reign 
And master ocean with a wizard spell. 
"Whate'er is vision'd, she can make her own, 
Shaping the world to an enchanted sphere ! 

Yet Genius oft is mad ambition's wing 
In shining motion flutter'd o'er mankind. 
Alone, she cannot conquer Virtue's height, 
Xor bask in her Elysium : for the Heart 
One single virtue wins a prouder claim 
Of eminence, than mighty Genius wears 
In deepest glory : — while that peerless race, 
Anointed demi-gods whom Fame adores, 
Are blinded into self-idolatry, 
Some unobtrusive child of "Woe, through want 
And anguish doom'd to meet his aidless lot, 



Hath pour'd his spirit into fervent prayer, 
And clung so faithful to the cross of Christ 
That he is famous in the rolls of Heav'n, 
"Where lies a Mansion waiting for his soul ; — 
A withering, but eternal truth, to me ! 

Xext Avarice and Envy, meaner powers 
Of evil, aid me while I weave the chains 
"Which bind the captives of Corruption down. 
The first, a boundless feeling : more or less 
A second nature to the human mind 
"Whose self-love is the life of thought and deed; 
But in some bosoms kindling all its fire, 
And rendering man a hideous slave of self; 
Till the bright universe and all it boasts 
Becomes a Xothing, when apart survey'd 
From what it ministers to gain and gold ! 
Mean wretch! the more he gets, the less he 

gives ; 
For ever greedy, as the hunger'd shark 
"Which scents the dead among the waves afar. 
Xature is nought to him ; the darken'd soul 
Hath dimm'd his eye, — it glitters but for gold, 
And that will gladden his departing hour ! 
For what so grateful to the clammy touch 
Of dying fingers, as to feel his gold, 
"While, sighing o'er it with a farewell-gaze 
He mourns the nothing of the wealthless tomb ! 

But though in such abasement I exult, 
There is an excellence which daunts my gaze 
"With blighting glory ; such is virtue's ray ; 
It trembles brightly through the gloom of hell 
And though 'tis hated, must be there 

admired ! — 
How nobly different lives that Son of earth 
Whose heart is large enough to hold the 

world ! 
Benevolence is life and breath to him ; 
He spreads it out like sunshine from the soul, 
Itself its own reward. "Whate'er he views 
Can waken sympathy ; the clouds and streams, 
The meadows, trees, and family of flowers, 
For each and all as livingly endow'd 
He feels a beauteous love, but gives to Man 
The throbs and throes of sympathy divine. 
For buried grief, and those retiring pangs 
Which prey unutter'd on the gentle mind, 
He hath a healing word : and from the joys 
That shoot and sparkle o'er the stream of life 
Who fetches out the flash of bliss, like he 1 
A hoary parent clasping his brave boy, 
"With eyes all running o'er with ecstasy ; 
A sweet and fairy-featured Infant, sat 
In laughing beauty on its mother's knee, 
That rocks it into rapture ; or a pair 
Of lovers, looking in each other's eyes 
As though the lustre of unclouded years 
"Were in them, beaming with prophetic glow, — 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



345 



O'er these, and every sun-burst of delight, 
Benevolence can wave her angel-wings 
And find in sympathy the soul of joy. 

To pay me for such pure excess of good 
Why, who art Thou with eye of dead-like gaze 
And care-worn aspect, on thy haggard cheek, 
The seal of woe, and stamp of agony ] — 
Fiend of the heart, on man inflicting Hell, 
And Envy is thy name ! though often crown'd 
For Emulation, by thy martyr'd slave ; 
But she, proud Spirit ! walks a nobler sphere : 
And when, amid the madness of the storm 
When skies are rack'd asunder, and the sea 
Lies rolling in the rapture of its strength, 
She longs, to be the queen of Elements 
Sublimely o'er a thousand tempests throned; 
Or views, the starry natures, till her own 
Seems panting to be bright and pure as they ; 
Or, fired by dreams of intellectual fame, 
Hath gazed on Glory till her eyes are dim, — 
A generous and god-like Thing appears. 
But Thou art unredeem'd ! a burning mass 
Of self-made misery, tortured by the curse 
Eoll'd back in vengeance on thy horrid Self, 
Though breathed for others with malignant 

scorn. 
Merit is misery to envious eyes, 
That look themselves to anguish, when they 

mark 
Some high-born quality of soul or mind 
They cannot rival; — yet their very hate 
Most cruelly a false perfection gives 
To that pure excellence they long to crush, 
Conceal, or wither : thus the secret worm 
Can gnaw the spirit to its vital core ! 
And hence, that scowling eloquence of eye : 
While Beauty, with her fairiness of form, 
And looks of light, like those by angels cast ; 
Or Wisdom, laurell'd with unfading wreath 
Well earn'd, and woven round an aching head 
Where thoughts have throbb'd like pulses in 

the brain, 
Each beat a torture ! — likewise Youth and Joy, 
Two smiling phantoms on the wings of time, 
Are blasting spectacles to envious hearts. 

Thus envy images the pang of hell ! 
In secret preying with its vulture-tooth, 
Or haply easing its infernal rage 
In deeds of horror, whose unslumb'ring guilt 
Is vengeance:* — how it haunts the craven 

wretch ! 
By writhing hell-flames o'er his tortured sleep, 
And building oft the gallows which he dreads ! 
What though he shroud his spirit with a veil 
Of outward gladness, artificial smiles 



auuvon ccra.. 



-Pind. Pyth. xi. 83. 



Are smiles of agony ; and when alone 
By some rude shore, where sullen waters roll 
Like gloomy fancies through a guilty mind ; 
Or, doom'd to hear the sobbing of the wind, 
The melancholy drip of midnight-rain, 
And death-tales, faintly knell'd from far-off 

towers, 
The calm is burst, the buried thoughts arise 
With ghastly violence from their fell tomb ; 
The spirit storms with anguish, and Despair 
Feels half the hell it shudders to foresee ! 

Far wider, and more deadly in his reign, 
Is Lust ; the malady of souls impure 
That fills the senses with lascivious fire, 
O'erheats the fancy, and to dalliant thought 
Presents all beauty moulded but for shame. 
And such is passion, when by truth survey'd, 
Anatomised, and seen ! Yet lewd-soul'd men 
Romantically vile, decoy the hearts 
Of virtue, and disease them by a word 
Whose smoothness hides the shame its meaning 

hath. 
Foul passion is the poetry of vice 
And beautifies corruption. Hence the mind 
That would have loath'dits undisguised attempt 
Enchanted by delusion, locks its eyes 
In fatal slumber, till the veil is torn, 
And all the terrors of remorse begin ! 

Yet Hell cannot deny on earth there glows 
A spirit scarcely weaken'd by the fall, — 
The soul of feeling, and the sun of life, 
Queen of the Passions, all-persuasive Love : — 
And could they with the bliss of man commune 
Fiends would be charm'd by pure affection's 
smile ! 

Ethereal essence, interfused through life, 
Is Love. In orbs of Glory spirits live 
On such perfection ; and on earth it feeds 
And quickens all things with a soul-like ray : 
The beautiful in its most beauteous sense ; 
And symbolised by Nature, in her play 
Of harmonies, — her forms, her hues, and sounds : 
In each, connexion aptitude and grace 
Reside. Thus, flow'rs in their infantile bloom 
Of sympathy ; the bend of trees and boughs ; 
The chime of waters, and caress of winds, — 
Betoken that they all partake a sense 
Of that sweet principle which rules the world. 
And yet, though Love a human seraph be 
When pure and blest, by circumstance deform'd 
It turns a Demon, in the heart enthroned, 
That drains the life-blood out of Virtue's breast ! 
For many, gentle as their wishes once, 
When Love smiled round them with prophetic 

ray, 
With hearts by disappointment torn and rent 



346 



SATAN. 



And spirits blasted with the blight of wrong, 
Are driven onward through a wild'ring course, 
Untemper'd and untamed. So flows the stream, 
Which ever nurseth its delicious calm, 
Till wrung by nature into torrent-force 
And foaming reckless through the wild ! 

And Thou, 
The Star of home, who in thy gentleness 
On the harsh nature of usurping man 
Benign enchantment beautifully shedd'st, 
Soft as a dew-fall from the brow of eve 
Or veiling moonlight on the tempest thrown, — 
Woman ! when love has wreck'd thy trusting 

heart, 
What port remains to shelter Thee ! Too fond 
And o'er-intense thy truthful nature is, 
Save for the heart's idolatry and dream ; 
And then, to virtue's path thy love allures : — 
It dawns, and withering passions die away ; 
Low raptures fade, pure feelings blossom forth, 
And that which Wisdom's philosophic beam 
Could never from the wintry soul awake, 
By love is smiled into celestial birth ! 
So love is wisdom with a sweeter name. 

But love attracts not Me ! — I cannot love ; 
For curses are the essence of each thought 
As writhes my spirit on a rack of fire. 
Oh, Yengeance ! ere I heard thy thunders roll, 
With what delight I roam'd Heaven's bowers 

among, 
With kindred Angels, and elysian Shapes, 
Amid revealings of seraphic love ! — 
But here, in low-sphered earth, a shadow dwells 
Of its divinity. In virgin youth 
When feelings are asfoster'd buds of joy 
And freshness, from the spring of soul within, 
While the full gush of tenderness awakes 
Like spirit-music in the mind, — the heart 
For love is made, and owns its magic true. 
And now, earth wears the attributes of heaven ! 
Two hearts are one, two natures are transform'd 
Each into each by sympathy of soul ; 
What words in looks ! what love in every tone ! 
Moonlight, and azure sleep of cloudless air, 
Eve-walks, their mildness and romantic hush, 
How beautiful for lovers' placid vows ! 
Then love, Enthusiast ! ere the drossy world 
Corrupt thee ; soon shall sorrow dash thy lot 
With bitterness ; the spell shall then unwind, 
And Evil woo thee to her envious arms. 
Love is the revel of a summer-ray, 
The shadow of a heaven-sent dream ; once 

gone, 
'Tis gone for ever ! darkness shall invade 
Thy spirit, and the green delights of youth 
Drop witheringly into barren age, 
When love remains a memory and a tear. 3 



Next, Jealousy, the curse of tainted love, 
Or causeless agOny, by selfish thought 
Endured, a minister of Evil makes : 
Who haunts unseen some haggard spot, to hear 
The night-air panting with a rueful swell, 
Like sadness from a loaded bosom heaved. 
Her victim ! — she hath blister'd his fond heart 
And through his veins a fiery venom pour'd ; 
His mind is torture, and that torture, hell ! 
The world is changed, corrupted, false ; and cold 
As autumn when the bleakest rain-dews fall, 
To his delightless gaze. For damning proof 
All shades of accident cohere ; he storms 
And doubts, — despairs and doubts again, — 

then tames 
His wild suspicion into sullen calm, 
Dark as the stillness of a thunder-cloud. 

And what of her, so fatally beloved ? 
Still beautiful and fair ; but on each charm 
The profanation of some fancied Eye 
Hath dwelt, which haunts him like a hideous 

gaze ! 
Thus Jealousy the mind gangrenes, till thoughts 
Feed on his soul like agonising fire 
And wither him to madness ! — oh, how oft 
He wakes, and watches the suspected One, 
When from her soul the light of slumber breaks, 
As though it dreamt of sunshine and of 

flowers ! 
But dreams it thus for him! — To-morrow 

comes 
And Jealousy renews her rack again. 

" This world how fleeting and how vain ! 
Our joys 
Are blossoms torn by each tyrannic wind ; 
Our pleasures, but the painted dreams of air ; 
Our hopes, they light us onward to the tomb! " 
Morality, how musical thy tones 
Upon the lip of smooth Hypocrisy ! 

And such a strain, how sweetly does it lull 
The idiot-ears of undiscerning men, 
Who see in words a shadow of pure deeds 
And think the tongue the heart translates. 

The world 
Is rank with hypocrites ! — a coward-race 
Of such ignoble vileness, that they shame 
Temptation, though they track its hellward 

path. 
Who bravely dares the censure of mankind, 
Pays dear for Vice, but reaps her value too, 
In full and free enjoyment : but the Slave 
Of hidden sin is ever Torture's fool, 
Proving his own avenger. Many seem 
The mantles which adorn your hypocrite ! 
Behold him now, a most unruffled man 
Smoother than waters sleeping in the sun, 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



347 



To common gazers, — now, a courteous Shape 

All delicately civil ! full of words 

Well rounded into gracious compliments ; 

Or else, benevolently mad, with purse 

In hand ; Misfortune, dip thy finger there ! 

Neglected Want ! for you it opens wide ; 

And, oh ! ye soft-lipp'd dealers in applause, 

Resound the dews of mercy as they fall, 

And crown him famous, Charity's own child ! 

But why ? — it pays a penalty for sin 

And bribes the Conscience, while it gilds a name. 

Then mark yon Hypocrite of pious mould, 
For ever putting on unearthly moods 
And looking lectures with his awful eyes. 
A sun-like centre of religious zeal, 
So pure, he would be better than the best ! 
True virtue is a heavenliness of mind 
That, in the mercy of a mild reproof, 
Sheds healing sympathy o'er human woe. 
But he is cold, uncharitably good; 
Dealing the thunder-bolts of sacred Wrath 
With apostolic vengeance. — Mighty heaven, 
What lip-work are his pharisaic prayers ! 
And like a sepulchre among the young 
Or gay, when, clouded with an envious gloom 
While death and judgment threaten from his 

brow, 
He comes where youth and innocence embrace 
To talk of Time and Change, — how gaping tombs 
Their dead await to sleep in darkness here ; 
Or sternly paints some portraiture of sin, — 
But feels himself the model whence he drew ! 

There is another and a fearful slave 
I love to train — the glory of revenge ; 
A ruin which develops Me, and prints 
The die of evil in its deepest hue 
On erring souls, — The Atheist ! with his creed 
Of darkness, brooding o'er the sunken mind 
Till Truth deny her nature ; and the man 
Live like a bubble dancing on the stream 
Of time, which sparkles, and is seen no more, — 
A Nothing with a name ! But since the soul 
Is effluence divine, the inward rays 
Of Deity cannot be quench'd : the God 
Is clouded, yet an indistinct and dread 
Religion, in the cowering spirit dwells. 4 
Since Egypt worshipp'd her material gods 
Through all the pantheistic gloom of Greek 
And Roman ages, Deity hath reign' d, 
Though hid in fabling wisdom. Where the mind 
To pure conceptions of a perfect God 
Ascended not, on wings of terror raised 
To see Him as he is, — the Awful One, 
Who wields eternity and portions time, 
Commands a deluge, or dissolves a world ! — 
The Passions shadow'd forth fantastic gods, 
As Fear, or Wonder, or the dreaming eye 



Of Pagan Luxury sensualised the soul, 

And fancied heaven the heaven of each desire ! 

An Atheist, — he hath never faced an hour, 
And not belied the name he bore. His doubt 5 
Is darkness, from the unbelieving Will 
Begot, and oft a parasite to sin 
Too dear to be deserted ;— for the truth 
That unveils Heaven and its immortal thrones, 
Uncovers Hell and awful duties, too ! 
Meanwhile, I flatter the surpassing fool, 
And hear him challenge God to bare His brow, 
Some Orb unsphere, and show Him all sub- 
lime. 
He challenge Heaven ! an atom against Worlds ! 
Why, angels and archangels, who have bow'd 
Within the shadow of His Throne, and felt 
The beams of an emitted glory burn 
Around them, cannot comprehend His might, 
Nor fathom his perfections : — what is Man ! 

If Nature fail, then Reason may despair. 
The universe with God is stamp'd : who sees 
Creation, and can no Creator view, — 
To him philosophy will preach in vain : 6 
A blinded conscience and a blasted mind 
Are his ; Eternity shall teach the rest ! 
Yet who the Summer, that bright season-queen, 
Hath hail'd, beheld the march of midnight- 
worlds, 
The Sun in glory, or the realm of Sky 
When kingly Thunders in sublime array 
Ride the dark chariot of the rolling clouds ; 
Who that hath seen terrific Ocean frown, 
Or moonshine ripple o'er the rocking waves 
In smiles of beauty, — all this living might 
And motion, grace, and majesty of things, 
Nor caught some impulse which believing heart 
Might share, and crown it with a creed 

sublime 1 
A soul so dark, so miserably vile, 
Is form'd to grace a burning throne below, 
And teach the Devils atheistic lore ! 

But there are others of unheavenly hue ; 
A mass of creatures, by the earth beloved, 
Who bear a seemly fame ; caress their limbs 
And senses ; smile on Nature, when they please, 
And walk through life, as children by a shore 
Who sport, and laugh, and pluck the sandy toys 
Which glitter on their path — yet sometimes 

pause 
With thinking eye, to mark the scene august 
Of ocean, like a vision, heaving wild :— 
Too mean for virtue, too polite for vice, 
The happy medium which their spirits keep 
Is fitly toned to temporal joys : — they live 
As though Hereafter were this life prolong'd, 
And drown all instincts of diviner growth 



348 



SATAN. 



In plots and plans whereby the hours are 

wing'd. — 
Lo ! one is fearful of the traitorous Winds 
Wafting a sailing palace o'er the deep ; 
What fancy-shipwreck overwhelms the soul ! 
What billows ever rocking in his brain ! 
Another hath some mountainous ascent 
Of Life to vanquish, where a rival stands 
And triumphs o'er him with a mocking gaze : 
Though Angels whisper to his heart, return ! 
Still must he onward up to Glory climb. 
Then comes your Zealot ! weeping Country's 

wounds ; 
And yet, with what a yell of pleased delight, 
As screams the vulture round his future prey 
His fancy revels o'er a ruin'd land ! 
And thus, protected by his patriot name, 
He lives on vileness which his tongue creates. 

And such are these, who make the middle 

class 
Of creatures, wedded to the dust they tread, 
But doom'd to wrestle with contrasted lots 
And Life's predestined woes. There droops a 

man, — 
Poetic sadness in his pensive eye, 
As haunting tombs, or scenes beyond the dead ! 
And here, a victim of tempestuous thought, 
Wolf-eyed, and glaring out his wilder'd mind 
In glances lit with-torture ! — while, to mock 
Their meaner anguish, see a soulless Thing 
Appear, whose spirit bubbles out in song : 
And such is life, — a paradox at best ! 

Here dwells my power ; in living things which 

grasp 
The spirit, or that blind it with a glare 
Keflected from bright scenes of earthly pomp 
That curtain up eternity. No truths 
Divine, no energies which pant for heaven, 
In the cold depths of carnal spirit play ; 
But he who from his soul the sensual chain 
Uncoils, and looks into Life's holier things, 
Wears attributes beyond the reach of Hell. 
Then, Time is no enchanter, though his cup 
May sparkle, and with brimming sweets be 

crown'd : 
The shadows of that far mysterious World 
Faith images, o'er time and scene prevail, 
And gather round him like a guardian-spell. 

Not such the earth-adoring million prove. 
When this world dies, the next begins to live ! 
With fearful sternness on the inward eye 
It flashes, till the daunted mind start back 
Aghast, like Fancy from a hideous dream ! 
At that deep hour, when dwindling to a blank 
Dim Earth departs ; and those dear sounds of life 
Which once prevail'd so eloquently sweet, 



Grow faint and dismal, as the dreary voice 
Of waters gurgling round a drowning man, — 
The solemn meanings of the past are known. 
What prophet spake in every funeral knell ! 
How oft the hearse-train, stealing through the 

rush 
Of sounding pathways with a spectral glide, 
The vision of a dying moment gave ! 
And he, the victim of unvalued hours 
As home he went from halls of festive glare, 
The moon, night-weary, and the sallow dawn 
In sickly lustre o'er the Orient spread — 
How oft the nothingness of life he felt, 
And dream'd the tragedy Death suffers now ! 

But these are moods unwelcomed and unloved, 
The sad intrusion of a sober thought, 
A cloud pass'd o'er the summer of his mind, 
And laugh'd away in lightness, or in joy. — 
The dead, the faded and forgotten dead ! 
The progeny of Ages, who have breathed 
That breath of life which all the living breathe, 
Have walk'd beneath the same blue sky, and 

hail'd 
The Lord of brightness which illumes their path, 
Inherited the same mysterious dust, 
And form'd like them a link in nature's chain, — 
Have shrunk away, like shadows into gloom, 
And who laments them 1 They, the fair and 

young, 
In the prime bloom of spousal years, who seem'd 
Too beautiful to die ; and Fame's proud race 
Of Heroes, o'er whose bier a Nation wept ; 
With all that number multiplied can dream 
Of mindless creatures dancing round their 

tombs, 
And mocking at eternity ! — are plunged 
And buried in the unremember'd past, 
Yet, few dare meditate their dying hour ! 
Oh i did the living but the dead recal, 
As often as the dead the living do, 7 
The Sun would gaze upon a purer world 
Than now ; — but let the dead remain the dead ! 
Thus Pleasure teach thou my philosophy ; 
Thy truths are sweet, thy curses all conceal'd ! 

Never may Wisdom's heaven-communing eye 
To these, the earthly and the low, reveal 
That sounds of Folly pierce the gloom of hell ; 
That tongues of Torture syllable their names 
In regions where inflamed whirlwinds roar ! 
Back, — back to this forsaken Orb of life 
Fain would a perish'd Father come, to dart 
One glance upon an unbelieving child, 
To breathe one sigh of warning round his 

soul ! — 
May never men of whisp'ring Angels learn 
How heaven is brighten'd when the earth 
adores. 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



349 



BOOK IV. 

" We gather honey from the weed, 

And make a Moral of the devil himself." 

Shakespere. 

So weak and yet so wonderful ; so frail 
In act, and yet so splendidly endow'd 
For action, are the race of Men abhorr'd, 
That, view them in whatever rank they move, 
Through fields of Glory which the warrior 

treads, 
Or in proud realms of wisdom, fame, or power, 
An awful distance from their primal State 
Th' Inheritors of our scorn'd heaven have 

stray'd ! 
No longer now the bright and palmy Sons 
Of God, but giants of iniquity, 
Or Anakims of intellectual vice, 
And helmeted with sin, the rebels stand, 
Who fight against the Lord of life and death, 
And make their crimes immortal as them- 
selves ! 

That primal State ! — had evil not prevail'd, 
A heaven in miniature this world had been. 
Her paradise ! I see it as it rose 
In youthful splendour on my savage eye ! 
A starry jubilee still rang ; the wings 
Angelical of many a hovering Shape 
Still hung and glitter'd on the virgin air, 
Which seem'd one atmosphere of melody ! 
As yet, no cloud was born ; the sunshine fed 
The flowers with beauty, till the twilight dew ; 
Birds exquisite, with dazzling plumage clad, 
And butterflies, bright creatures, rich as they, 
Like showers of blossoms from a tree upwhirl'd, 
On starry wing hung trembling in the breeze, 
More glorious yet ! — from Eden's mount I 

gazed, 
The emerald bloom of whose untrodden hills 
Lay jewell'd o'er with amaranthine flowers, 
And saw two Creatures of celestial mould. 
Till these were made, companionless the World 
Appear'd ; and like a heart suspended lay, 
All throbbing for the Vision that should dawn ! 
And they were fashion'd,— breathing shapes of 

life, 
With radiant limbs, whose robes were inno- 
cence, 
And eyes that spoke the birth-place of the Soul ! 
Again the star-chimed Hallelujahs rang 
With wonder ! while a gush of rapture thrill'd 
Creation to her centre, till each breeze 
Was gladness murmur'd out of Nature's heart ! 

And thus they rose, — that new-created Pair, 
In loveliness complete, with forms of light, 



Eeflecting glory wheresoe'er they moved. 
The one did mark the blue immensity 
Above, with a majestic gaze, and eyed 
The Sun, as though he felt himself akin 
To his pre-eminence, and kingly state : 
The other, in her fair perfection seem'd 
A Shape apparell'd by her own pure smiles, — 
Surpassing beauty, and subduing love ! 
While ever as she moved, the blush of flowers 
O'erveil'd her, and a breezy host of sounds, 
Like magic birds, embosom'd in the air 
In sweet attendance caroll'd round her path : 
Never hath young romance, or shaping 

dream, 
Divined the vision which in Eden lay, — 
Each sound was music, and each sight a 

heaven ! 

Oh ! it was glory, that with blighting rays 
Flash'd in fell triumph on these envious eyes, 
Thus to behold the darlings bright of heaven, 
Created, form'd to fill our Seats above ! 
Obedient, and they vanquish'd me ; my doom 
Of darkness would have set, without one gleam 
Of vengeance for the living pangs I feel. 
I plotted, — tempted, — and the earth-born sunk 
From heaven's embrace into the arms of hell, 
Henceforward to enclasp a world of souls ! 
Then, what a withering the Elements 
Of life and being felt ! — corruption pass'd 
Through human into natural Things: the 

Earth 
Was barren-struck ; the guilt-abhorring Sun 
His beams withdrew ; the rivers howl'd with 

dread, 
And deep the blast of desolation blew : 
A curse came down, and Eden was no more ! 

And now, from his primeval state dethroned, 
His very form o'ershadow'd by the sin 
That, like a breath-stain on a mirror cast, 
The beauty of his god-like mien eclipsed — 
I look'd on Man, a remnant of despair, 
But gloried as I gazed ! — for then, the tongue, 
That tameless member which o'ermastereth all, 
E'en in an atmosphere of God himself 
That grand deceit of erring souls began, — 
Where guilt is flatter'd, and the heart secure ! 

Creation shudder'd ! for mankind were lost, 
Till God the seal of mystery should break 
In him foredoom'd to bruise the Serpent's head, 
And re-awake the hymns of Paradise. 
Meanwhile, the Evil triumph'd o'er the Good : 
And, exiled from their Eden-home, begirt 
And guarded with an ever-living flame, 
Two fallen Creatures on the race of life 
In sorrowing loneliness appear'd. Time lash'd 
His years along ; but evil with them moved, 



350 



SATAN. 



Till Death in fratricidal fury came ! — 
How Life hung shudd'ring o'er his glazing eye 
When pale, and dash'd with many a bloody hue, 
The prostrate Abel in the gasp of death 
Lay stretch'd; while Cain, a maniac child of 

Hell 
With lines of anguish working on his face, 
Stood by, and knew himself th' embodied 

Curse ! 

Crime revell'd on, the peopled earth sank deep 
In ruin, till the great Avenger woke ; 
Then came a Flood, a desolating tide, 
Which deluged sixteen hundred years of sin ! 
Methinks I hear it now ! so fiercely howl'd 
The waves and whirlwinds of that dreadful 

hour. — 
Dark prodigies, disasters in the sky, 
Announced it; yet these heralds were con- 

temn'd : 
Still Blasphemy went hooting at the heavens, 
And mock'd the Elements with impious joy. 
The sun went down in sorrow ; and the moon 
Rose pale and icy, as an orb congeal'd ; 
While, ever and anon, there came a sigh 
Of Air, so spiritually deep and sad, 
It seem'd to issue from an Angel-heart 
That ached to look upon a dying World, 
Unconscious of her coming pangs : — thus Hell 
Prevail'd, save o'er the sacred few. And one 
The wicked counsell'd, glorious, and as good ; 
A hoary Patriarch, who would haunt the 

shore, 
And hear a prophet speaking in the wind, 
And prescient terror in the sound of waves, 
Like mystery, mutter'd into Nature's ear ; 
Then darkly muse on some high-gazing rock, 
And shape out Immortality ! — But when 
The skies were blacken'd to a cloudy sea, 
Whose rage came down in cataracts, Despair ! 
The racking universe was all thine own. 

And never were such horrid shadows frown'd 
Upon the Waters, as thy victims threw, 
When all aghast, in their avenging ire 
They heard them ravenously sweep along, 
As roaring for their human prey ! Such sounds 
Of wo, such shrieks of madness never rang, 
Such eyes were never to a God upturn'd, 
As mark'd this dread, unutterable hour ! 
A palpitation in the womb of Earth 
Began, then upward burst a buried sea,* 
That whirl'd the mountains on her waves, and 

heaved 
The rocks, and shook the rooted hills abroad, 
Till darkness and a deluge cover'd All ! — 



* See Burnett's chapter on the Deluge. 



Save that which in the wilderness of waves 
Triumphant o'er a weltering chaos rode, 
And bore aloft the burden of the world ! 

Yes ! these were dread catastrophes of old, 
Loading with awfulness the tongue of Time ; 
Unparagon'd as yet : but 'tis decreed, 
Another Day of unimagined doom 
Shall come, a deluge of devouring fire 
That now is redd'ning in the cavern-depths 
Which eye hath pierced not, ravenous for the 

hour 
When Earth shall wither into shapeless air ! 
And I, — no matter ! mortal years remain, 
And souls for ruin, ere my sun can set ! 

So fierce the sway of evil, and the power 
Of will, o'er reason and religion's voice, 
That though a thousand deluges had been, 
Still the vile earth my sceptre should com- 
mand. 
The teeming volume of the Past unroll, 
And from each page what lesson may be cull'd 1 
A moral justice sways the course of Things, 1 
Guiding them on to their eternal goal. 
From evil, evil, and from good, a good 
Is born, each one a payment in itself, 
Its own avenger, or its own reward. 
I thank thee, Passion ! blinded by desire 
Thou seest it not through every track which 

years 
Have furrow'd on the travell'd sea of Time. 
By tears of torture, wrung from out the soul 
Of penitence ; by arrows of remorse ; 
The inward hell in guilty bosoms found ; 
By retributions in the wrathful shape 
Of elements, and dangers wing'd by death ; 
By frenzied Glory, that will venture on 
Till dash'd to ruin by her own renown ; 
By each and all of such avengers Crime 
Hath paid atonement to the Law of Life, 
And agonised o'er that which is to come. 

E'en Nature, in her elemental round 
Of living wonders, a re-action shows, 
In semblance to the moral law reveal'd 
By human destinies. The poise of worlds 
Which make infinity a beauteous thought ; 
The Ocean, panting as the tide-queen wills, 
In ebb and flow of everlasting waves ; 
And that communion of the earth and sky 
By heat exhaling water into clouds, 
And clouds returning in the showery rain — 
All teach a balance of prevailing power. 
But thou, Reviver of departed days ! 
By whom, as beacon-light for time unborn 
The past might well have risen, hast forgot 
The law of retribution in thy love 
Of fame, and adoration to the dead. 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



351 



A War awakes ! — what poetry is here 

For History to picture into life 

And splendour, making infamy sublime ! 

The armies rally, — vast machines of Mind 

Half demonised, with one concent'ring heart 

To animate and harmonise the whole ; 

The clarions ring, the banners chafe the breeze, 

Earth trembles to the haughty-footed steeds, 

And cannons thunder till the clouds are 

thrill'd ! 
Then comes your " Hero " sprinkled with a 

shower 
Of blood, — how gloriously sublime he seems ! 
Yet Kingdoms mourn, and trodden myriads lie 
All dead, and stiff ning in the moonless air. 

But, should re-action for heroic crime, 
Or lavish conquest, smite a tyrant soul, 
A human vengeance not a Hand Supreme, 
Is traced ; and retribution reason'd down, 
As though life circled on the wheels of Chance ! 
Thus, when a Despot, weary of renown, 
In sorrow to a throneless gloom descends, 
How History flutters round his agonies ! 
And so the living, who the dead recall, 
Are written into sympathy with shame ; 
While they, whose words are wisdom to the 

pure, 
Eise dimly vision'd on th' historic page, 
Where infamy in glowing language lives. 2 

Thus may it ever be ! let ages gone, 
Whence monuments, by sad experience piled, 
Might o'er unheedful days a warning frown, 
Like buried lumber in oblivion sleep ; 
Experience is the sternest foe of hell. 
And though progression be the native soul 
Of all things, human or divine, while Pride 
Can hear no prophets breathing through the 

past, 
Progression will be lame, and Nature slow 
In her advancement to that heaven-like scene, 
Prophetic rapture in its vision hail'd ; 
While frequently, an earthquake-shock will 

come, 
Forcing the world a century back again 
In vice and darkness, sucn as once o'erthrew 
The Roman empire and her subject-isles. 

Upon the forehead of these fearless times 
I know the haughtiness which now exults : 
But let the modern in his pride beware ! 
Corruption is the strongest in the best, 
And knowledge wasted, worse than ignorance 

proved. 
A moral, not an intellectual life 
Alone, however rich with mental bloom, 
God's Image in the human soul reveals : 



And so taught He, that co-eternal One 
On high, when leaving his Elysian throne, 
He templed his bright Nature in the dust 
Of dim Mortality, and unbarr'd heaven 
Whose gates of glory now expanded shine. 
Philosophy, benighted in the gloom 
Of Pagan wisdom, fondly charming oft 
The shade and silence of Athenian groves, 
How failing in her eagle flights ! — To clear 
The clouded intellect was her prime aim : 
The heart, that fountain-source of sacred life, 
Eank'd second in the mental scheme for Man ; 
And thus, her wisdom in a weedy soil 
Was sown ; and perish'd in its mortal thirst 
For feelings, which refresh the growing mind 
As spring-dews foster the awaking flowers. 

But Christianity, the child of Truth, 
With searching light the inward nature clear' d, 
And by a conscience, rooted in the soul, 
And fears, from which unfading hopes are born, 
And faculties of faith, which all possess, 
Awoke the mind to wisdom, pure as heaven. 
Spirit of Vengeance ! would that I could 

hide 
One living God, surpassingly supreme, 
Parent of mighty worlds, pervading each, 
The First and Last, Immortal, and the True ; 
The Son of his Eternity, from Heaven 
Sent down, embodied in a human mould ; 
The Same upon the cross hung crucified, 
Incarnadined with His redeeming blood 
For fallen nature flowing, till the Earth 
As in an agony did rock and heave, 
While bowing angels worshipp'd in amaze, 
And hell grew darker with despair ! — a Life 
Unending, shared by an existent soul ; 
A Resurrection, when the dead shall wake ; 
And, crowning all, the doomsday of the world : 
When every eye must see Him in the clouds, 
And time be swallow'd in eternity, — 
Would that all this infernal hate could hide, 
Which Devils own, and tremble to believe ! 

But thanks to man, man's most inveterate foe, 
How oft, perverted, hath Religion proved 
That curse she came to cancel and destroy ! 
By Bigotry, insatiate for the blood 
Of martyrs ; by the shadows and the clouds 
That dream-eyed Innovation form'd and fed, — 
The clash of E\ r il with the growth of Good 
Hath half repaid me for the realm I lost, 
When dawn'd salvation on the sinking world. 

And now there is an animating throb, 
An energy, and daringness of thought, 
Awaken'd like one mighty pulse through lands 
And isles, remotely set in ocean-gloom. 3 



352 



SATAN. 



But if the Heart uncultivated lie 

Amid the reign of intellectual power, — 

Though, basking in the sunshine of her hope, 

Philosophy of perfect minds may dream, 

She builds a vision, baseless, proud, and vain, 

As ever revell'd on the eye of sleep ! 

For o'er the heart a vicious mind shall rule, 

And poison each aspiring germ of thought, 

Till Talent prove but wickedness inspired, 

In baneful glory towering o'er mankind : 

So be it ! — Hell shall blaze a bright applause. 

No, not till spirit over sense prevail, 
And mortals to the awfulness of life 
Advance, shall Earth a brighter visage wear. 
And such, methinks, Creation might reveal. — 
A Sea, for ever sounding with his voice 
Of billows, " Might and majesty are here, 
And in eternity my waves have roll'd ; " 
And Sky of living glory, when the storm 
Lies back with fury on a sea of clouds, 
Or, arch'd in beauty, shadowless and blue : 
With all the wonders, swarming on each spot 
Of being — hint they not an awful shade 
Of Mystery unreveal'd, yet claiming thoughts 
Of solemn hue 1 4 And then, while hours depart, 
(Myriads of spirits passing to and fro 
From life and light, to darkness and the grave, 
While feelings, words, and deeds, whatever 

mind 
Betray of good or bad in ceaseless pulse 
Of action, register'd above, remains 
For judgment,) — bear they not, as on they roll, 
A burden, and a meaning most sublime 1 
Yet who, in nature or in time, reveres 
A sense and shadow of diviner Things 1 * 

A spectacle to angels and to God 
Is Man, while acting on the stage of time, — 
Such truth the soul of inspiration breathed : 
And what a meaning centred in the thought ! 
Around, above, beneath, where'er man lives 
And moves, unvision'd Natures overhang 
His path, and chronicle his history. 
But o'er this pomp external, and the life 
Of sense, such beautifying veils I throw, 
That men become idolaters to sight, 
Naming all else the nothingness of dreams : 5 
A wisdom worthy an infernal crown ! 
Why, if a bead of water in its orb 
Of motion hath contain'd a countless host 
Of beings, limb'd, and Ml of perfect life ; 
If not a leaf which flutters on the tree, 
But is empeopled with an insect swarm ; 
If not a flower by fairy sunrise charm'd, 



* "For the invisible things of Him from the 
creation of the world, are clearly seen, being under- 
stood by the things that are made." — Rom. i. 20. 



But in the palace of its dew-drop dwell 
Unnumber'd beings, that in gladness live ; * 
Then why not, ye self-adoring wise, 
A world of spirit-natures, though unseen, 
In number rivalling what creation yields ] 
And vacancy, that hueless void of air 
Which men unanimated space define, 
Be pregnant with aerial Shapes of life ? 

Yet better is such blindness for the cause 
Of Evil ; would it might eclipse the race 
Entire, of all who have a soul to save ! 
For some can dare the prison'd mind unbar, 
And view Reality behind the veil 
Which mantles their mortality. And such 
The pale enchantment of a moonlight-hour, 
When the soft skies are fleck'd with silky 

clouds, 
In veils of beauty floating on the breath 
Of heaven, and stars in pensive light appear 
The bright mementos of eternity, — 
For high communion with celestial Things 
Employ : such spirits never in their clay 
Are dungeon'd ; but in demi-paradise 
Do wander, reaping holiness and love. — 
And Guilt too hath her hour, when Spectres 

come 
Array'd in fury, till the air grow dark 
With demon-wings, and terror shrieks my 

name ! 

But this deep sense of something Unavow'd 
Pervading nature, which the purer mind 
May in some beauteous trance of holy thought 
Perceive, and which the ghastliness of guilt 
Oft tortures into life, — o'er few prevails : 
In vain have heaven-taught Seers a coming 

World 
Foreshadow'd : visions of unearthly blaze, 
And princely Seraphs over empires throned, + 
And Dreams which were the delegates of 

God,— 
Of such vast wonders deep-voiced Prophets tell. 
And now, in riper days, when men have crown'd 
Themselves with false perfection, not an hour 
But hints a spirit-nature to the soul, 
Howe'er unhallow'd ! Whence that prescient 

sense 
Of peril doom'd to come? those guiding 

thoughts 
Which helm the fancy with mysterious sway ? 
The heaven of feeling when a God descends? 
Or mystic sorrow, which melodious strains 
Wherein the spirits of the dead revive 
And home and childhood have a pictured life, 



* See St. Pierre's "Studies of Nature," for some 
illustrations of this fact. 

t See Daniel. 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



353 



Oft o'er the heart of lone Bereavement brings ? 
Or, all which sound and scenery suggest 
Of purity and grace ? — The scoffer doubts ! 
And by that sneer his inner-light destroys. 
Yet Angels are there, watching o'er mankind 
With tenderness and eyes of heavenly love. 
The same who, when the World-awakening 

trump 
Is sounded, shall the buried dead untomb 
For Judgment, and its awful throne sustain. 

These Agencies divine, howe'er men veil 
Their viewless presence mid the thrilling 

cares 
Below, are often in their glorious range 
Of wisdom, by the plotting Evil-powers 
Encounter'd, with defiance and despair ! 
Visions of sunshine and of music made, 
Where the bright soul, entranced with melody, 
Communes with Seraph-watchers, are of 

heaven. 
But whence that fancy-roll of billows, heard 
In darkness, deluging the wilder'd brain 
With hideous murmur? or those formless 

Things 
Which hang and blacken o'er the shudd'ring 

frame ] 
Or whence that tongueless blasphemy of 

mind 
Making the heart to shiver, and the eye 
To gaze behind, as though a prompting 

Shape 
Of Evil stood there, muttering hell-framed 

words 1 
The fire, the fury of appalling dreams, 
Whence is it ] — rend the veil, and ye would 

know 
Proud victims of an unbelieving heart ! 
That such are demon-haunters of the earth, 6 
Who horrify the vision'd world of sleep, 
And pall its midnight with infernal gloom. 

Who wonders, the dark Mysteries of life 
And hidden Beings of unearthly power 
Are smiled away for superstitious creed, 
When He, the Kansomer of lost mankind, 
Whose Name a starry herald to the sage 
Eeveal'd, and at Whose birth the heavens were 

bowed, 
To millions less than many a Hero seems, — 
A Myth incarnate priests and fools adore ! 

A Saviour, Son of the Most High, enthroned 
Amid the hallelujahs of the blest, 
I saw Him ere the universe began ; 
When space was worldless, luminously fill'd 
With emanations of vast Deity ; 
I saw Him when immensity His voice 



Obey'd, and nothing startled into worlds.* 
And did I not, be witness, Powers below ! 
Bear on my brow the lightnings which He 

wreak' d, 
Because I would not to His Godhead bend ] 
Without Him, and this withered Earth had sunk 
To hell, for ever blasted by that word 
Of vengeance, which her frowning Maker spoke, 
Who cannot His eternal nature change : 
Immutable in majesty, in truth, 
Or else His Infinite would finite be ; 
And therefore, by His attributes, the Law 
When broken, should to violated heaven 
Atonement offer ; — where the Sacrifice 1 
Till God for God, and Man for Man, appear'd 
In wondrous union of incarnate power, 
Hung on the cross, and saved the guilty world ! 

I hate Him, and his everlasting cause, 
The Church, upon the rock of ages rear'd, 
His word, His truth, and heaven-directing 

sway; 
And soul by soul, and heart by heart, through 

light 
And gloom, by land and isle, through life and 

death, 
'Mid all the legions of embattled Powers 
Who on His Ministry attend, and war t 
For holiness — my hate shall dare Him still ; 
Though Truth may vanquish, and the viewless 

thrones 
Of Darkness tremble with their last despair. ! 

Too deep the vengeance of atoning Blood 
On me shall come, for Him to be forgot ! 
I hate Him, for the ruin'd world he saved : 
And yet His glorious pilgrimage confess. 
Sublime of Martyrs ! in that dread career 
What wonders hallow His remember'd way ! 
The blind awaken'd to the bliss of light, 
The deaf and lame, the dying and the dead, 
All yielding up infirmity to Him, 
And putting on young attributes of life. 
Vain mortals, read and tremble ! Once the Sea, 
That god and glory of the Elements, 
Obey'd His fiat, when a tempest rose, 
Till the huge waves like living mountains leapt 
In the wild majesty of midnight-storm, 
Mocking the haggard lightnings as they 

streak'd 
The waters, in the fury of their flash. 
Each billow was a tempest ; and the ship 



* "His Son, whom He hath appointed heir of all 
things; by whom also He made the worlds." — 
Heb. i. 2. 

t Vide Chalmers' admirable "Discourse on the 
Contest for an Ascendancy over Man, amongst the 
Higher Orders of Intelligence." 



354 



SATAN. 



Groan'd like a mariner at his last gasp ; 
Up rose He in almightiness ! and bade 
The whirlwinds into silence, and rebuked 
The Ocean, calm'd by His resistless Eye ! 

And then, His Passion !— that tremendous 

scene 
When God incarnate for the guilty bled, 
While throbbing earth seem'd echo'd with His 

pangs 
Almighty, and eclipsing horrors veil'd 
The sun, which darken'd while its Maker 

died ; 
Or else, the midnight over Calv'ry's mount 
Incumbent, coward fancy should have seen ! 
Have heard the cloven rock-piles as they burst, 
The tombs unlock, and mark'd the solemn dead 
In pallid stillness gliding through the town 
As moon-clouds gleam along a midnight sky ! 

This grand array of miracles, this might 
And majesty of preternatural things 
Eeveal'd in mercy, to arouse the world 
To perfect sanctities of word and deed, 
Have,' — hear it, Demons ! with exulting shout, 
Fail'd ! Long may Nature turn a slighting- 
ear 
To that true voice, which since Messiah bled, 
By lips Divine and eloquence of life, 
When, holiness the Christian heart inspires, 
Hath testified that Virtue is the heaven 
Begun, and vice the seed of Hell in man. 

Delusion is the soul of young desire. 
Behold a Vessel which has never braved 
A sea : before her gallant bosom swells 
A blue extent of ever-bounding waves, 
All sunny-crested, glowing like the noon. 
No stormy menace in the welkin frowns, 
Sea, shore, and sky are in one mingled calm ; 
Loud, deep, and full the voice of welcome 

rings, 
Away she flies in glory o'er the deep 
Exulting in the wind ! — And such is Youth, 
So bright the promise of life's onward way ; 
Beneath the sunshine of fond hope awhile 
The victim basks ; drinks deep of every cup 
Enchanted, feasts the faculty of sense, 
And hails each hour the herald of new joy ; 
Thus on ! as though unfading bliss were found, 
Till weariness awake ; the wing of joy 
No longer o'er his soul a freshness waves, 
And like the moody air he often breathes 
A sigh of sullenness around his path. 
And now, the verdure of delight no more, 
The heart uneasy, and the soul unsaved, 
With that dark fever of condemning thought, 
Which conscience frets from out the sated mind, 



As here the brute, and there the man, prevails, — 
Behold your slave of pleasure rot from year 
To year ; obeying sin, yet feeling guilt ; 
His present, darkness, and his past, despair ! 

Of finer mould and far sublimer view, 
Whate'er his lot, on Fortune's envied mount 
High-throned, or lost in the secluded vales 
Of lowliness, — is he whose hopes are built 
In heaven ; the hateful, but triumphant still ! 
Not all the pomp and pageantry of worlds 
Such glory on the Eye Supreme reflect, 
As the meek virtues of one holy man : 
For ever doth his Angel from the face 
Divine, beatitude and wisdom draw : 
And in his prayer, what privilege enjoy'd ! 
Mounting the heavens, and claiming audience 

there, — 
Yes ! there, amid the sempiternal host 
Of Seraphs, hymning in eternal choir, 
A lip of clay its orisons can send, 
In temple or in solitude outbreathed. 

I loathe the bright, the beautiful, and good, 
By man when mirror'd forth sublimely fair ; 
Yet how, the hero of the Cross deny 
What Hell may hate, — but hating, still admire 1 
One universal love, the source and end 
Of true philosophy, within such heart 
Must dwell, and make the atmosphere of mind 
All sympathy, wherein a good man breathes : — 
A tear for sorrow, and a smile for joy, 
Are ever his ; and thus existence spans 
A wider realm than the self-loving fill, 
Who crawl about their own mean world. Not 

man 
Alone, the empire of his heart contains 
In its free compass of embracing thought ; 
E'en gentle nature wins a share of love ; 
From the frail being of a lonely flower 
By earth forgot, in beautiful ascent 
Up to the very clouds, which in the shine 
Of heaven seem bathing with voluptuous joy, 
And here I face the triumph of a soul 
In such fine overflow of sympathy, — 
However spread, 'tis unpolluted still : 
As sunshine in it^ beaming intercourse 
With earth, shines pure upon corrupted clay. 

Then, Virtue hath a loveliness, a calm 
So fresh and full, a blessing and a hope, 
With such elysium of contented thought, — 
Rejoice I may, but ever wonder more 
To see her so forsaken. Her delights 
Endure as rich above the hectic joys 
The wicked and the worldly reap, as hues 
Of nature on the rose-bright cheek of youth 
Outbloom the artificial blush of age, 
And blossom in the wintry gloom of life 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



855 



Unfadingly sincere. — Another source 
Of heaven, there opens on the virtuous mind, 
Which daunts nic with a deep excess of good, — 
Pure sympathy, which makes the Past its own 
By following where the great and glorious 

dead 
Traced the true path which terminates in God. 
Art, Love, and Wisdom, Nature and her 

scenes. 
Each from association prompting force derives. 
When in the coolness of declining day 
As o'er autumnal woods brown evening falls, 
In haunts where solitude hath breathed a 

soul, — 
By Thought companion' d, oft the wanderer 

feels 
Such sympathy, the while of good and great 
He thinks, who loved like him the lonely hour, 
Still walks, and dreams, and meditative joy. 
And that prime bliss, perfection of delight, 
Which is to ear what beauty is to thought, 
Sweet melody, — methinks 'tis only framed 
To nourish heavenliness, in hallow'd minds ; * 
There, how refreshingly must music flow, 
And faint into the soul, — as dewy sleep 
Melts o'er the eyelids of a weary man. 

These holy yet another triumph crowns. 
In woes which blacken o'er the brightest lot 
How loftily above the bad they tower ! 
While those whom faith, nor resignation calms 
Become a ruin, haunted by despair ; 
Save, when gay thoughts from gloomy 

moments spring, 
As bright-leaved flowers that in the sunshine 

bloom, 
From the chill damp of earth and darkness 

sprung. 

And such the life which virtue seems to boast; 
With gladness lighted, or by sorrow dimm'd, 
Still wearing a contented smile, to meet 
The great Approver : like a placid stream 
That in its meadowy pilgrimage can wear 
The aspect of a pure and gentle thing 
Alike where sun-beams laugh, or shadows 

frown. — 
And when the summons to a future State 
Is heard, those hell-black phantoms of despair, 
Those clouds of horror which the wicked dread, 
Melt in the brightness of a better world : 
Thus, arm'd with faith in Him who vanquish'd 

death, 
A gentle summons from their Lord to meet 
The angels bright and beatific souls 



* Plato says that music accustoms the mind to 
order, and thereby allures it to the love of virtue, 
which is nothing but moral order. 



Who erst have battled in the war of life, — 
Death comes, and wafts them to the waiting 
Skies. 

And such is truth ! — in heaven and hell the 
same. 
And Hate herself in agony avows, 
That Virtue is triumphant, and the best; 
Her glories are my tortures ; but they shine 
Upon me, blasting with victorious light 
The envy which I bear them, when I scan 
The mazes of mortality. — How kind 
In men, to aid the darkness which I bring 
On fallen nature ! lauding what I love, 
And hating all which Fiends abhor. Thus vice 
In splendour will appear, while virtue droops, 
Like a long shadow pining in the sun. 
And never shall the good the bad exceed, 
While Sin can put enchantment in her smile, 
And Passions are the tyrants of the soul ! 

Thou dread Avenger ! ever-living One ! 
Lone Arbiter ! Eternal, Vast, and True ; 
The Soul and Centre of created things, 
In atoms or in worlds ; before Whose Throne 
The universe recoils ; who look'st — and life 
Appears ; who frown'st — and life hath pass'd 

away ! 
Thou God ! — I feel Thine everlasting curse, 
Yet wither not : the lightnings of Thy wrath 
Burn in my spirit, yet it shall endure 
Unblasted, that which cannot be extinct ! 

Thou sole Transcendency, and deep Abyss 
From whence the Infinite of Life was drawn ! 
Unutter'd is Thy nature ; to Thyself 
Alone the comprehended God Thou art. 
Though once the steep of Thine almightiness 
My tow'ring spirit would have dared to climb 
And reign'd beside Thee, god with God en- 
throned, 
And vanquish'd fell, Thy glories Fiends 

confess. 
Immutable ! omnipotence is Thine ; 
Perfections, Powers, and Attributes unnamed, 
Attend Thee ; Thou art All, and oh, how great 
That Consummation ! Worlds to listening 

worlds 
Repeat it ; angels and archangels veil 
Their wings, and shine more glorious at the 

sound : 
Thus, infinite and fathomless Thou wert, 
And art, and wilt be. In Thine awful blaze 
Of majesty, amid empyreal pomp 
Chief Hierarch, I once irradiant knelt 
Thy Throne before, terrifically bright, 
And heard the hymning thunders voice thy 

name, 
While bow'd the Heavens, and echoed Deity ! 



a 2 



356 



SATAN. 



Then heaved a dark and dreadless swell of 
pride 
Within rne ! an ambition, huge and high 
Enough to overshadow the Supreme, 
In bright magnificence before me tower'd, 
A nd fronted pride against Omnipotence ! 
Thus rose the anarchy of mystic war 
The skies amid ; then met embattled Hosts 
In unimaginable arms divine : — 
But why recount it 1 Spirits disarray'd 
God hurl'd in flaming whirlwinds to the deep 
Tartarean, where the Demons wait their doom. 



And yet, divided empire have I won. 
Behold ! the havoc in Thy beauteous world : 
And have I not, be witness, space and time ! 
Thy master-piece, creation's god of clay, 
Dethroned from that high excellence he held 
When first man walk'd a shadow of Thyself ! 
Prostration vile, an alienate from Thee 
Man is ; — and shall his fallen nature rise, 
Enter bright heaven, and fill ethereal thrones 1 
Many a cloud of evil shall be burst 
Ere that day come : severe and dread the 

strife 
Of earth-born passion with the soul of man ! 
Wherever localised, whate'er his creed, 
Fiends of temptation shall his soul beset, 
Though every pang, by sin produced, increase 
The agonised eternity I bear ! 
The blackest midnight to the brightest day 
Is not more opposite, than I to Thee : 
Thou art the Glorious, I the Evil one ; 
Thou reign'st above ; my kingdom is below ; 
On earth, 'tis Thine to succour and adorn 
The soul, through sacraments of secret grace, 
By thoughts divine, and agencies direct ; 
To cheer the gentle, and reward the good, 
And o'er the many waves and woes of life 
To pour the sunshine of almighty love : 
'Tis mine to darken, wither, arid destroy, 
And in destruction see the heaven of hell ! 



Then roll thee on, thou high and haughty 
World ! 
Still be thy sun as bright, thy sea as loud 
In her sublimity, thy floods and winds 
As potent, and thy lording Elements 
As vast in their mysterious range of power, 
As each and all have ever been : build thrones 
And empires, heap the mountain of thy crimes, 
Be mean or mighty, wise or worthless still, — 
Yet I am with thee ! and my power shall reign 
Until the trumpet of thy doom be heard, 
Thine ocean vanish'd, and thy heavens no 

more ! 
Till Thou be tenantless, a welt'ring mass 
Of fire, a dying and dissolving World ! 



And then, Thy hidden lightnings are unsheath'd, 
God ! the thunders of despair shall roll ; 
Mine hour is come, and I am wreck'd of all — 
All save eternity, and that is mine ! 



BOOK V. 



" This royal throne of Kings, this sceptred isle, 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars — 
England ! " 

How gloriously the festal chimes resound 
Their pealing gladness through the azure night, 
And thrill the air with jubilee and joy ! — 
As though the triumph of ten thousand hearts 
In full-voiced chorus shook the starry heaven, 
And made it conscious music ! Now they swell 
Aloft, in one excited wave of sound ; 
Then, faintly die, like war-notes on the wind, 
Rousing the empire with a brave delight. 

England hath laid her sceptre on the Deep, 
And, with her thunder, chased her ocean-foes 
Like leaves before the breathing of a blast ! 
England hath rear'd her banners on the plain 
Of battle ; victory waved them ; and the world 
Again shall echo with her haughty name. 
And hence, a stormy rapture shakes the isle ; 
Hence the loud music of her steepled fanes, 
Whether in cities emulously tower'd 
Among the skies, or in lone hamlets seen, — 
Still pouring out the language of the land ; 
With all those pageantries, and fiery pomps, 
That hang and glitter from her window'd piles 
Emblazed with mottoes, and triumphal scenes. 

Not one, to whom the name of country sounds 
Like heaven-born music, but this hour adores. 
The old men feel the sunshine of far youth 
Returning, fresh as when the hero glow'd. 
The young, — lip, eye, and daring heart, are 

stirr'd ; 
Their very blood seems rippled with delight, 
So deep the fulness of this warlike joy. 
Yea, hollow cheeks of Sadness, and the brows 
Of Poverty, and lean-faced Want itself, 
Forget their nature in a share of fame ! 
And yet, most hideous are some human shapes 
Which revel near me, by a tow'ring blaze 
Of triumph ; — as it flings its glaring life 
Upon their faces, each one gleams beneath 
The mockery, like a ruin'd shrine when noon 
In bright derision dances o'er the walls. 

Let Fancy to a distance wing her flight, 
And learn the glory whence this scene is born. 
How Sorrow treads upon the heels of Joy ! 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



357 



What puts a smile on some great Empire's 

cheek, 
Hath wrung the life-blood from another's heart ; 
While one is revelling with impassion'd glee 
Another moans like misery's bleakest child : 
Thus seems the world a round of joy and wo, 
Alike divided for the doom of things. 

Hither, thou frantic Bacchanal ! whose voice 
Eings loudest, stand upon the hoof-scared heath, 
And say if Heaven on such a scene can smile ! 
Here, deep as in thine own exulting land, 
Night reigns ; but not with noon-like azure 

crown'd, 
While sympathetic stars, all gaily bright, 
Look down on gladness : but with sullen calm 
Where moans the conscious wind, and pensive 

stars 
Seem pale-eyed watchers o'er those trodden 

dead, 
In tombless havoc weltering on the plain. 
Each heart now cold, to other hearts was chain'd, 
Whose links were out of years of fondness 

framed ; 
Each eye now darken'd with eclipsing death 
Once beam'd the sun of happiness and home ; 
Each of the dead hath flung a shade o'er life, 
Henceforth to be a living agony. — 
Mark ! where the moon her icy lustre flings 
What dead-romance ! what visions of the slain ! 
One, calmly-brow'd, as though his native trees 
Had waved their beauty o'er his dying head ; 
Another, marr'd with agonising lines 
And dreams of home yet lingering in his face. — 
Now go, and sing the splendour of the War ! 
Go, tell the Mother of the brave and free, 
How beautiful this patriotic shout 
Of Victory, when she counts the new-made dead, 
Like Madness reeling with a murd'rous joy ; 
So shall a war-fame flourish ever-green, 
And laurell'd History be trumpet-tongued, 
To fire ambition with a bloody thirst, 
Which makes the world a slaughter-house for 

man ! 

And this is " glory ! " such as charms these 
days 
When godly temples every street adorn ; 
While Tenderness, with its bewailing lip, 
At ages of barbaric gloom affects 
To wonder : — how the heart its flattery weaves ! 
Of proud deception, or intense desire, 
The victim ever in its wariest mood. 
To be the bulwark of a land beloved, 
And drive aggression with avenging sword 
From her indignant shore, commands renown : 
But say, Thou Centre of created life, 
Who charter'd man, and bade Thy heavens to 
mile 



When from his eye outlook'd the living God ! 
What myriads upon myriads heap'd, to fill 
The circle of ambitious thought, or please 
Some royal dreamer who would dash a throne 
To hear his trumpets pealing through the 

world, — 
On hill and plain, and ocean's ravening waves, 
The red libation of their hearts have pour'd ! 
But this is kingly : — so let tyrants dream ; 
Nor round their pillows may one death-cry 

ring : 
The day, when dust shall give its monarchs 

back, — 
Methinks I see it, and the fiery glance 
Of Judgment scathing many a royal soul ! 

But night departs, the revelry is o'er, 
And nature woos me. Through the orient 

heaven 
A dawn advances with a beauteous glow ; 
And now, array'd in clouds of crimson pomp 
The gradual Morn comes gliding o'er the waves 
Which freshen under her reflected smiles, 
And veils the world with glory. Eocks and 

hills 
Are radiantly bedeck'd ; the glimm'ring woods 
And plains are mantled with their greenest 

robe, 
And night-tears glisten in her rosy beam. 
But in yon valleys, where from ivied cots 
Like matin incense, wreathing smoke 

ascends, 
How exquisite the flush of life ! The birds 
Are wing'd for heaven, and charm the air with 

song, 
While in the gladness of the new-born breeze 
The young leaves flutter, and the flow'rets sigh 
Their blending odours out. And ye, bright 

streams, 
Like happy pilgrims, how ye rove along 
By mead and bank where violets love to dwell 
In solitude and stillness : all is fresh, 
And gaysome. Now the peasant, with an eye 
Glad as the noon-ray sparkling through a 

shower, 
Comes forth, and carols in thy waking beam 
Thou sky-god ! reigning on thy throne of light. 
Sure airy painters have enrich'd thy sphere 
With regal pageantry ; such cloudy pomps 
Adorn the heavens, a poet's eye would dream 
His ancient gods had all return'd again 
And hung their palaces around the sun ! 

And this is England, bathed in morning 
glow: 
The isle where Freedom bears a lion-mien, 
The Land whose echoes thrill the earth around, 
The ocean-throned, the ancient battle-famed, 
The Palestine of waters ! O'er her realms 



358 



SATAN. 



Enchantingly propitious Nature smiles ; 
Whose frowns and awfulness are seen afar, 
Where snow-hills whiten in eternal glare, 
Or soundless ocean, lock'd in icy sleep, 
Deadens the polar world : but here alone 
With summer hymning through the haunted 

vales, 
'Tis beauty, bloom, and brightness all ! How 

rich 
The scented luxury of floral meads, 
Eeposing in the noon ; where gentle winds 
Exult, and many a choral brooklet sings : 
Sure Admiration might be poet here ! 
Tall mansions, shadow'd by patrician trees, 
Romantic farms, grey villages and cots, 
With castled relics, and cathedral-piles 
Where dreaming Solitude can muse and 

sigh, 
Enchant dead Ages from their tombs, or hear 
The dark soliloquy of ancient Time, — 
Adorn the landscape and delight the view ; 
While haggard rocks, and heaven-aspiring hills 
The sea o'ergazing, here and there create 
A mountain-charm to solemnise the scene. 

Or turn from Nature, in her fresh array 
Of beauty, to behold the haunts of man, 
In high-domed Capitals or cities huge 
With varied grandeur round the island 

spread ; 
Here towers and temples overshade the streets 
Where sound the life-floods in continuous 

roar, 
And Commerce, whom the winds and waves 

revere, 
To him whose veins are proud with English 

blood, 
A scene suggests that bids the patriot glow. 
Then Ocean, — listen, how th' intruding waves 
With loud resentment trample on the shore, 
Like pawing steeds, impatient for the war ! 

A nd such the magical array of things 
By art and nature o'er this island strewn ; 
Than which, though envious clouds her sun 
Conceal, and vapours curtain oft the sky, 
Heaven canopies no lovelier clime. And they, 
The children of her Freedom, with an air 
Of kingliness they walk thy consecrated soil, 
And thoughtful manhood, on their brows 

enthroned. 
Though perfect beauty lost its moral grace 
When Sin unmask'd her hideous front, and 

shades 
Of hell rose frowning o'er this human scene, 
It reigneth still ; as mind though overthrown 
And darken'd, yet hath gleams of glorious 

prime. 
And here, methinks, a noble beauty dwells 



These islanders among : — the daring eye, 
Majestic brow, the gallant bloom of health 
And dignity of their regardless mien 
A power denote, which beautifies the free : 
While they who move in loveliness and light, 
Like memories of vanish'd paradise 
Around the sternness of ungrateful man, 
Have beauty such as perish'd Angels loved ! 

And yet, of myriads who this matchless isle 
From day to day enjoy, from year to year 
Environ'd with her fairest smiles, few dream 
Or whence, or why, she hath the world 

surpass'd. 
Thus hath it ever been, since time and truth 
Have wrestled with that contradiction, Man ! 
Partaken mercies are forgotten things. 
But Expectation hath a grateful heart, 
Hailing the smile of promise from afar : 
Enjoyment dies into ingratitude, 
Till God is hidden by the boundless stores 
Himself created ; eyeless nature knows 
Him not, for mighty Self absorbeth all ! 

That gulf descend where pristine ages sleep, 
And lone, benighted in the savage gloom 
Of her untravell'd woods and wilds, no light, 
Save that of reason, struggling through a cloud 
Intense, — lo ! haughty -featured England lies ; 
An orphan region nursed amid the deep, 
A fameless isle, imprison'd by the waves, 
A speck upon the vasty globe. Who raised 
Her littleness to lofty state ] who bade 
The daring majesty of Caesar's mind 
O'er her rude wilds a Roman spirit breathe, 
Till, in the nursing shadow of his throne 
She grew to youthful glory 1 Who hath been 
Through perils, and volcanic bursts of war, 
Earth-shaking tumult, and appalling strife 
The guardian of her destinies till now, 
When Ocean, wreathed around her rocky shore, 
Hath lent his champion-billows to defend 
Her fame, while storming at her daunted foes, 
She spurns them with avenging roar ? — Forth 

steps 
The little greatness of a learned man, 
And in the rapture of presuming thought 
Through the dim valley of departed years 
Sends down his spirit, and aloud proclaims, 
The prince, the hero, and aspiring hearts 
Which breathe omnipotence round mortal 

power, 
Have made, and shall preserve us, as we stand, 
The mighty and the free ! — A proud response 
Of hell-born feeling such as I would nurse ; 
And that which empires have of old indulged 
Till, dizzy with renown, they reel'd away 
Amid the havoc and the whirl of time. 
For power and greatness are the awful twins 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



359 



Of Destiny, whereby the earth is moved : 
The first, a property of God Himself, 
Which, when imparted to the soul, becomes 
A curse, or blessing, in its moral sway : 
The second will be judged by truthful Heaven 
Convicted, or absolved. Of England's past, 
When Time's dread chronicle shall be unroll'd 
What glory then will clear-eyed Truth per- 
ceive % 

Should I deny thee, angels would declare, 
That spirits who enrich eternity 
Have deck'd thine island-clay. Immortal kings, 
Who sanctified their sceptres, and their thrones ; 
Patriots sublime, with whom hoar wisdom 

dwelt, 
And tutor'd ages by advancing thought ; 
With saints and martyrs, heroes of the skies, 
Approaching, shed their glory on thy name. 
But paramount o'er all thy mental gods 
Shakspeare and Milton, see those peerless two ! 
The one, a mind omnipotently dower'd, 
Which multiplied itself through space and time, 
Passing like nature through the soul of 

things ! 
Aloft, companion of the Sun he soars 
Awhile, then travels with the moonless night, 
Mounts on the wind, or marches with the sea, 
And, god-like, gives the Elements a tone 
Of grandeur, when his spirit walks abroad ! 
But Life ! how well he tore thy mask away, — 
The great Interpreter of man to man. 
So royal are his kings, his maids so pure, 
Such perfect heroes, and prudential knaves, 
Such feeling smiles and unaffected tears, 
So stern or sweet, so melting or sublime, — 
Such life-warm substance in the vast array 
Of Shapes, who live along his moving Scene, 
Men deem the world were in him when he 

wrote, 
And he the sum and soul of all mankind ! 



The last, who lived on earth, but thought in 
heaven, 
Beyond compare the brightest who have scaled 
The empyrean, and whose lyre might charm 
The seraphim with its melodious spell, — 
That sightless Bard, whose paradise of song 
Hallows Britannia's isle, how deep he plunged 
Into the infinite sublime of thought, 
Flaming with visions of eternal glare ! 
How high amid the alienated Hosts 
Of warring angels he could dare ascend, 
Look on the lightnings of almighty wrath, 
Array the thunders, and their God reveal ! 

These deities of earth, thy past sublime ; 
The birth of an immortal soul proclaim, 



And show how far bright inspiration soars : 
But thou, brave England ! shalt for crimes be 

judged, 
When they in awful resurrection rise 
With thine own children, ere the world 

expires. 
My Spirit hath encompass'd thee ! Thy hosts 
Who in the anarchy and ruffian stir 
Of civil war, have won the sanguine wreath ; 
Thy lewd-soul'd princes, and voluptuous kings 
Whose courtly halls were palaces of vice 
That sensualised the land ; the sins untold 
Within thee nursed, and those remorseless deeds 
Of vile aggression, haunting thy great name, — 
Yet sully thee, and claim atoning tears. 

And now reigns England in her noon of 

might 
Secure ; the future, with victorious eye 
Prophetically dooming ; distant Lands 
Beneath her sceptre bow, and though her soul 
Doth gather wisdom from her own domain, 
In proud neglect of equal climes, — there spreads 
No empire on the map of earth, where fame 
Hath scatter'd not her mind's nobility. 
Commerce, — the spirit of this guarded isle 
Wherein the attributes supremely dwell 
Of all which dignifies or nurtures power, — 
Enthrones her on a peerless height, and works 
Like inspiration through her mighty heart, 
And yet, a poison at the core ! To eyes, 
Where avarice hath raised a blinding film 
That flatters, while it bounds the view, her 

scenes 
Array'd and glowing with commercial pomp, 
More costly than the sun-enchanted skies 
Appear. Triumphantly outspreads her show 
Of trade and traffic round the sumptuous 

world ! 
See ! from yon ports what merchant-vessels 

waft, 
Daunting the winds, and dancing o'er the waves, 
Eich wares and living burden, while the breeze 
Toys with the flag, and fills the panting sail. 
Others from many a tempest-haunted track 
Eeturn'd, in thunder beat their homeward 

way 
And send their spirit wreathing on the gales. 
Then hark ! amid this wilderness of domes 
Dark lanes, and smoke-roof 'd streets, what 

mingled roar, 
While Commerce, in her thousand shapes and 

moods 
With eager hand and greedy eye, pursues 
Her round of wonders and of gain ! All arts, 
All natures, and all elements are forced 
To such obedience by transforming Power, 
That matter quickens into living soul 
And works harmonious to the will of man ! 



360 



SATAN. 



But here, methinks, had not one hideous 

thirst 
For lucre parch'd all pity from the mind, 
The hollow cheeks and livid brow of Toil 
That, lean, and yellow'd by infectious gloom, 
Droops o'er his hateful task — might thrill the 

heart 
Of Selfishness, in her most griping hour. 
And here amid the pestilential glow 
Of heated chambers, where in sad revenge 
Art flourishes o'er fading life, are pent 
The infant young, and friendless orphan-poor ; 
They who should gambol on the golden meads, 
While health the limbs, and beauty clad their 

cheeks, 
Thus doom'd to anguish in degenerate toils ! 
Why, what a hell-slave will this Commerce 

prove, 
When life and feeling perish for her cause ! 

Already hath an evil spell begun ; 
Though a proud Empire will not see, her heart 
Is fever'd with a fest'ring mass of vice, 
And lust of gain which rankles into lies 
Deceptive, horrible, and base ; while Truth 
Integrity and Honour are diseased, 
And die away in avaricious dreams 
Of Mammon, that vile despot of the soul. 
The happy meekness of contented minds 
Is fretted with ambition ; home and love, 
The heart-links, and the brotherhood of joy 
In life, and tomb-companionship in death, 
Are nothing : money, God of England seems ! 

There is another and a nobler scene 
Of triumph, for dark spirits to survey. 
For knowledge, — true nobility of mind 
When temper'd with a sanctifying tone, 
Without it, but an ornamental curse, — 
In full omnipotence is reigning now ; 
Yet haply, with a spirit and a power 
Which breed an earthquake in the boastful heart 
Of this free isle. A thunder-charged sky 
When clouds float meaningly along the face 
Of its dread stillness, not more threat'ning looks 
Than England, bloated with ambitious minds 
That dream in darkness, and await the hour 
That like a storm-burst will the world arouse ! 
Sooner shall winds be caged, or billows hush'd, 
Than pride be rooted from one human soul 
By aught which man's corrective wisdom 

yields. 
For dust with deity will dare contend, 
The creature with his own Creator war 
The most, where meek religion reigns the 

least. 
To vanity a wildering charm, for vice 
A weapon, to the fool a powerless gift 



Is Learning. — Doth she lift her eyes to heaven, 

Or downward gaze to idolise that world 

Of promise, which around her seems to smile 1 ? 

The soul of Intellect is spread abroad, 
In whose gay flush men see flatt'ring bloom ; 
Yet, vain and unimpressive as the dance 
Of leaf-shades, figured in the dreaming sun, 
Are trivial fancies o'er a Nation's mind 
For ever by inglorious spirits thrown. 
As pictured Nature in the rich deceit 
Of servile art, undignified appears 
When with its glorious archetype compared, 
So dim the genius of the living day 
To that which brighten'd an heroic race 
Of warriors, famous in the fields of mind ; 
High-soul'd and stern, they gave to time 

unborn 
The heirship of their fame ; but venal smiles 
Which low accordance with the bounded view 
Of spirits levell'd to the dust, procures, 
Were spurn'd away in their immortal taste 
For Truth, and her transcendent cause : — how 

few 
Dare emulate these godlike of the past ; 
Eenown immediate, from the vassal lip 
Of smiling Dulness, is the dear reward 
For which your intellectual pigmies grasp. 
Hence, sickly woes, and sentimental lies 
By passion woven to bewilder souls. — 
Romantic panders ! may your kingdom spread ; 
Let Beauty, Love, and Gentleness, and 

Thoughts 
Which grasp eternity and heaven unveil, 
Expire ; but give to crime pathetic grace 
And treat the world with new-made decalogues ! 

Creator ! what a triumph can we boast 
When oracles which fool, or flatter ; dull 
Expounders of a duller creed, — those mean 
Arraigners, shrouded by a saving gloom 
Which wraps them in false glory, as far scenes 
In darkness magnify the truth of Day ; 
When such as these, in life and feeling, heart 
And creed, and elements of thought, can win 
A base surrender from a free-born soul 
Cringing, or cowering, as their wands direct ! — 
Why, Hell may laugh, and liberty's no more. 

So awful is the sway of human mind : 
For good or evil an enduring charm, 
Inweaved with ages, silently it works, 
Heaping uncounted spoils from deeds and 

words, 
And thoughts, which spring like blossoms from 

a ray 
Of influence, by some ruling Spirit cast. — 
There is a stormy greatness, by the sense 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



361 



Of vulgar Apprehension hail'd, yet vain 
When match'd against one all-prevailing mind. 
A warrior's glory in his banner waves ; 
And ocean-heroes, when the tempest roars, 
Outdare the winds ; and echoes of renown 
Eoll mighty round the living head of each, 
Yet ebb away to indistinct applause 
By History echoed round memorial graves. 

But he, who out of mind a fame erects, 
In his eternity of thought will live 
And flourish, till the Earth itself decays ! 
And what a tale would Time have told, had 

none 
Burst through the thraldom of degrading sense, 
And bade the spirit eloquently tell 
Of Truth, of Beauty, and pervading Love ! 
The heavens they scale ; the elements array 
With glory ; give the herb a greener hue, 
The flower a fresher magic, and the stream 
A melody which nature never sang ; 
Thus bright'ning all without by rays within 
From light's great Source proceeding, they 

create 
A- second Eden, pure as sinless Adam saw. 

The dark enchantment of corrupted mind 
Not less prevailing in its secret course 
Hath proved. For Havoc may be heal'd ; and 

tears 
And wrongs of desolated Kingdoms, cease ; 
But genius triumphs o'er decaying time 
And taints a century with corrupting thought. 
Ye prostituted Souls ! when mind is judged, 
How ghastly from your slumber will ye wake ! 
At that dread hour Perversion may not plead, 
Nor Will deny, what Understanding own'd. 
The wretched martyrs ! — for a vain renown 
From Unbelief, and her heart-blasted crew 
Derived, they rouse the idiot-laugh, in clouds 
Of falsehood clothe each attribute within, 
Lend Infidelity a voice, the vile 
Delude with flatteries such as impious ears 

delight, 
And fasliion doubts to mystify the world : 
So be it ! there is loud applause below ! 

For wealth too gasping, for a wise content 
Too madly fever'd by ambitious thirst, 
The moral greatness of this mighty Land 
Thus charms me with a promise of decay. 
Her heart is canker'd : I have roam'd unseen 
Around her ; lightly do her virtues weigh 
Against the burden of her wickedness. — 
By fortune moulded, what a countless herd 
Who live to fascinate the palling hours 
With pleasure, making life one masquerade ! 
Refinement is their heaven : and thus few 



Are nourish'd there ; but lesser sins abound ; 

Revenge and spite, all vanities and hates, 

The virgin whiteness of the soul deform : 

Concealment is a virtue : virtue oft 

Bare policy ; religion but a form, 

A taste most delicate for things divine ! 

The truth, convenience ; and a lie, — the same. 

And what a homage doth the tongue present 
To evil ! what alertness of delight 
Attentive, comes it in whatever shape 
The turn of accident assume ; in blood, 
Disaster, or some grand depravity 
Where passions like heart-demons reign'd ! But 

tears 
Of charity, that language of the soul ! 
Some fine denial of a feeling mind, 
Some noble act, or heaven-reflecting scene, 
Let such be named, and weariness begins : 
Nothing so dull as Virtues when admired ! 
Let Slander, with her false envenom'd lip, 
Her aping mood, her sly assassin tone, 
Appear, — and eye and ear and heart attend 
To feed upon the foulness of her tongue ; 
Whether on crooked limb, or character 
It fall ; whether She waste it on a foe 
Successful, or a rival far too good ; 
Or faintly drop it o'er a dying friend, — 
Nothing so sweet as slander to the vile ! 

But deeper in society are bred 
The vices ravening on a Nation's weal. 
Philosophy ! dar'st Thou confront me here ? 
Descend and look into degenerate life ; 
See deadly Yice, with brazen front, abroad, 
And Murder, stalking through her savage 

round 
Of midnight blood ; see Theft her felon-hand 
Uprear ; and infamies of heart and tongue ; 
And Guilt, with godless triumph on her brow : 
Mark Hell in miniature ! wherever crime 
Depraves, or poverty allures,— -and pause ; 
Millennium is not come, nor Man reclaim'd ! 

Thus greedy, worldly, and defiled, how poor 
The sum of happiness in England's heart ! 
Like other climes, her thousand children seek 
A Shadow flying from their false embrace, 
Still adding to the cheats of mocking time, 
And with strange madness making life far worse 
Than Adam left it. Earth indeed no more 
Retains an Eden, and her richest hour 
Yearns with deep longing for more glorious 

bliss, 
Immortal as the mind itself; — yet joy 
And hope, serenity without, and calm 
Within, e'en here might visit gentle souls, 
Who haunt the confines of a better world. 
Like food to body, happiness to mind 



362 



SATAN. 



Alone is healthful, when ingredients pure 
Are mingled to create the charm they bring. 

What numbers, on whose features the false 

smile 
For ever plays; whose eyes, so brightly 

charged 
With happy meaning, quicken envious fire 
In other hearts ; what wretches gaily-tongued, 
And scattering words whence emulations 

spring- 
Have I beheld, whom Happiness is deem'd 
With her full heaven to crown ! yet where, oh 

where 
Blind Mortals, is that priceless gem obtain'd 
Which many seek, yet few in life have found 1 

The palace, and the parasitic host 
Of minions, with that soft and sneaking race, 
Who in the court of princes lie away 
Existence, gasping for some golden lot, 
I've mark'd : — the happy do not flourish there ! 
Then look'd I on a mightier Scene, where men 
Draw glory from a Nation's heart, and voice 
Their spirit round the listening World ! How 

vain 
And valueless this haunt of mind has proved 
To all who battle for some cause adored ! 
Oh, England ! such as Eome and Athens paid 
Their architects of greatness, thou hast giv'n 
To many who bequeath thee fame. There 

live 
A host, who in the splendour of thy Great 
Live, bask, and breed, like reptiles in the sun ; 
Who feast on venom, and infect the Land 
With malice, and all miserable wounds. 

Alas, Ambition ! see yon gifted man 
Awhile stand forth, surpassing and sublime : 
His brow imperial ; in his eye a blaze 
Of meaning, pour'd from a majestic soul; 
Borne on the whirlwind of triumphant thought 
Through the wide universe his genius sweeps ! 
Thrones, Monarchies, and States, — he summons 

each 
To strict accompt, their victories and kings 
Arraigns, and bids Britannia front them all ! 
The Senate wonders, rapture finds a toDgue, 
And envy sinks abash'd to praise. But go, 
Young Emulation ! when this glowing scene 
Hath cool'd to common life, and mark him 

well! 
The hero is no hero here ! the mean 
Have tortured whom a Kingdom could not 

bend : 
Around him, too regardful, scandal flies ; 
And words, like gnawing vipers, poison life 
Away, or rankle in the spirit's core. — 



From the proud Senate, to a sunnier realm, 
Where Gaiety and her unseemly crew, 
Like flowers of fancy in a hot-bed rear'd, 
An artificial life enjoy, — I turn'd. 
In such a sphere could happiness abide 1 
Where Fashion, that great harlequin of Life, 
For ever plays the comedy of fools ; 
Where Luxury breathes a pamper'd air; where 

Love 
Is venal ; Wealth, a wearisome array ; 
And time, a curse, — the happy do not dwell. 
A false delight, a snatch of feverish joy 
And jading rounds of pleasure are supplied ; 
But oft the heart beats echoless to all 
Though Custom wear its contradicting smile. 

And the rank vileness of their pleasures vain 
'Mid theatres of vice, I frequent view. 
Music and Pomp their mingling spirit shed 
Around me ; Beauties in their cloudlike robes 
Shine forth, — a scenic paradise, it glares 
Intoxication through the reeling sense 
Of fiush'd Enjoyment. In the motley host 
Three prime gradations may be rank'd; the 

first, 
To mount upon the wings of Shakspeare's mind, 
And view the flashes of Promethean thought, 
To smile and weep, to shudder, and admire, — 
Attend ; the second are a sensual tribe, 
Convened to hear romantic harlots sing, 
On forms to banquet a lascivious gaze 
While the bright perfidy of wanton eyes 
Through brain and spirit darts delicious fire : 
The last, — a throng most pitiful ! who seem 
With their corroded figures, rayless glance, 
And death-like struggle of decaying age, 
Like painted skeletons in charnel-pomp 
Set forth, to satirise the human Kind ! — 
How fine a prospect for demoniac view ! 
" Creatures, whose souls outbalance worlds, 

awake ! " 
Methinks I hear some pitying Angel cry. 

Another scene, where happiness is sought ! 
A festive chamber, with its golden hue's, 
Its dream-like sounds and languishing 

delights. — 
Since the far hour when England lay begirt 
With savage darkness, how divinely raised 
Art thou, Society ! The polish'd mode, 
The princely mien, the acquiescing smile 
Of tutor'd lips, with all that beauty, love, 
Accomplishment and sumptuous Art, bestow, — 
Are thine ; but oh, the hollowness within ! 
One mingled heart society should be 
Of glowing words and generous feelings made, 
And hallow'd by sincerity ; but hark, 
The whisper'd venom of invidious tongues ! 
The shrug of falsehood, or the sly deceit 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



363 



Of changing looks ; the drama of the eyes, 
And all the pantomime Refinement acts ! 
From simpering youth to unregarded age 
'Tis vapour, vanity, and meanness all ! 
Where honest nature sickens with disgust ; 
While school'd hypocrisy, with glozing tongue, 
Performs the social serpent of the night. 

From Fashion moved I to the loftier scenes 
Where hosts by Learning titled, for renown 
And rank more elevate than kings bestow 
Their inward toil pursue, — and yet how vain ! 
There is a craving for some higher gift, 
A thirst which fame and wisdom fail to quench 
Alone ; the fountain hath a deeper well. 
And what is Fame ] When hope, the morning- 
star 
Of life arose, Enthusiast ! thou wouldst climb 
Her envied rock, to hear the lauding tones 
Of grateful myriads round thee, like the glee 
Of waters wafted o'er a mountain-head. 
Amid the dreams of some poetic shade 
Where Fancy prophesies proud years to 

come; 
Or by some gush of beauty, or the glow 
Of emulation, or by spells of mind 
Perchance her music whisper' d — be thou great ! 
No matter: midnight-watchings, gloom and 

tears, 
Thy heart a fever, and thy brain on fire, — 
The martyrdom of thought hath won the prize ; 
And midmost thou, among the laurell'd tribe 
A Paramount art throned ! And dear to thee, 
Young hero of the mind, is first renown ; 
Fresh, warm, and pure, as early love, ere 

Time 
Hath nipt it with a killing blight. Awhile 
In paradise thou dream'st and seem'st to hear 
The hailing worship of Posterity. 
But now, come down from yon celestial height ! 
Descend, and struggle with the heartless crew 
Who out of others' tears extract their joy. 
The rocky nature of ignoble minds, 
Ambitious Spite, or unrelenting Hate, 
'Tis thine to wrestle with ; the spell unwinds, 
And Glory's hollowness appears at last ! 

And thou, religion, hell's appalling foe, 
Yet least prevailing, on whose seraph-wing 
Far, far away from this benighted orb, 
A spirit mounts, though many Temples 

shrine 
Thy sanctitude, and many tongues thy charm 
Eepeat, how few have found thee as Thou art, 
The living Saviour of mankind ! What hosts 
Who boast my attributes, or ape my power, 
Yet carry gospels in their saintly looks ! 
Ye hypocrites ! how often have I torn 
Your veils away ! how often have I seen 



A midnight where the world saw only day ; 
Beheld a Demon, where they dreamt a God ! 

'Tis not the vileness of hypocrisy 
From which alone a hellish harvest springs ; 
But that contempt which on religion frowns 
When hypocrites in unmask'd truth appear : 
Then Vice is comforted, and lifts Her voice 
Triumphant ; pleased to have a broken step 
However slippery, where to stand and cry, 
Thank God ! my soul religion never sway'd ! 
Delusion vain and exquisitely vile, 
How gloriously thy cheating spells can work ! 
For thus might Painting and her fairy scenes 
Be scouted, when a daubing mimic fails ; 
Or Music have her seraph-voice denied 
When a poor screech-owl apes a melody ; 
As true Eeligion have her heaven disown'd 
Because a false professor fools the world. 

Nor dwells that happiness which mortals 
seek, 
With them, fanatically crazed or wild : 
Two Orders breathe there of this graceless crew : 
The one, on ecstasy profanely soar 
Full in the face of Deity, and sing 
And shout, with more than archangelic joy ! 
And yet, so earthly is excessive love, 
No heathen to a sensual god e'er raved 
With more lip-service of degrading rant 
Than dark Fanatics, when their roar is up ! 
The other, sink as deep as these ascend, 
And so exult in self-accusing thought, 
That nought's more proud than their humility. 

And this is homage for the Dread Supreme ! 
Who comes — and Mountains from His glory 

flee; 
Who speaketh — and a Universe begins ; 
Who frowneth — and Creation is no more ! 
So awful, that the dazzled Angels shrink 
In veil'd humility His Throne beneath ; 
To such these holy maniacs cry, and bid 
Him bow the heavens in thunder, and appear ! 
Or, in the vaunting of devotion's power 
Can dare to humanise their Deity ; 
While others, with a superstitious cloud 
Array His attributes, conceal His love, 
And level Mercy to their own despair. 

Nor let them boast, who in the vile content 
Of worldly meanness, sepulchred in Self 
And worm-like clinging to their genial clay, 
The wisely good and only happy deem 
Their narrow lot : to such earth-loving race 
The seen and felt make all their paradise ; 
Should Hell be vision' d, — let it burn away ! 
If Heaven — bombast is thunder'd in their ears ! 



364 



SATAN. 



When yawns the tomb, then comes the hour 

to pray, 
When death appears, the awe of future worlds. 
Most glorious ! could I wither all men down 
And tame them from their true immortal rank 
To what these are, how demonised the earth 
Would grow ! all feeling curdled into self, 
All nobleness of thought a dream denounced, 
All bright and beautiful sensations mock'd, 
The world a vortex for engulphing heart 
And soul, — one living curse this Life would 

prove ! 
Were I a mortal, with capacious mind 
To grasp, and heart to feel, around me strewn 
Such glory, pomp, magnificence, and might 
In visible array, — I'd rather live 
Some free-born creature of the stately woods, 
Than with the form of Man a life of brutes 
Embody, beathing but of earth and sin ! 

Glory and Pleasure, Learning, Power, and 

Fame, 
All Idols of deceptive sway, — mankind 
Have crown'd them for the master-spells of Life ; 
And yet, a mocking destiny they bear. 
How often dwelleth gladness in the smile 
They raise, or rapture in the heaven they 

dream 1 
Unknown, unhonour'd, in the noiseless sphere 
Of humbleness, one happy man I found. 
It was not that the tears or toils of fate 
Escaped him ; or that no tempestuous grief 
The stream-like current of calm life perturb'd. 
But in him dwelt that true philosophy 
That flings a sunshine o'er the wintriest hour. 
The proud he envied not ; no splendours craved, 
Nor sigh'd to wear the laurels of Renown ; 
But look'd on Greatness with contented eye, 
Then, smilingly to his meek path retired : 
Thus o'er the billows of a troublous world, 
As o'er the anarchy of waters moves 
The seaman's bark, in safety did he ride, 
His woes forgot, and left his wants to Heaven. 
I wove my spell, but could not once decoy 
The eyes of that contented Soul. He look'd, 
When Glory woo'd him with a traitorous glare, 
On the calm luxuries of humble life ; 
There was the Image of his own pure mind, 
The peaceful sharer of his love and lot : 
What beaming fulness in that tender eye, 
What a bright overflow of spirit shone ! 
When by her cradled babe she mused, who lay 
In beauty, still and warm as summer-air : 
And what could camp, or court, or palace 

yield, 
Of nobler, deeper, more exalted bliss, 
Than when, as weary Daylight sunk to rest, 
He shut his door upon the noisy world, 
And, with no harrowing dream of guilty hue, 



To stain the crystal hours of love and home, 
Sat by his hearth, and bathed his soul in 
bliss] 

But more convulsive is the life I'd see ; 
And few shall flourish in this homely sphere ! 
Excitement is my great enchanter, whence 
The wisdom of the worldly fain would reap 
That blissful nothing which delusion shapes ; 
That onward, day by day, from year to year, 
Through gloom and glory mocks them to the 

grave ! — 
I thank thee, Britain ! though religious call'd, 
The perfect beauty of her lMng form 
Thou hast not yet adored. — There is a sense, 
A selfish, innate law of right and wrong, 
Which makes a heathen moral : such is thine. 

A loftier air the Christian breathes, who 

owns 
The Alpha and the Omega of all 
In life or destiny, is God alone. 
Bid colour to enchant the blind ; or sounds 
Of melody through deafen'd. ears to glide, 
Or dream of sensibility in stones ; 
But think not, world-slaves ! to imagine all 
That boundless yearning for ethereal bliss, 
That more than rapture of a heart redeem'd 
A Christian nurseth ; 'tis the heaven-wove 

charm 
Which Devils hate, but cannot yet destroy. 
Divinity is there ! Two thousand Years 
In glorious witness gather round mankind 
Attesting it divine ; — to conscience, peace ; 
To Ignorance, beyond what sages teach, 
It gives to poverty that wealth of heaven, — 
The inward quiet of a grateful mind. 

To such how welcome dawns this hallow'd 

day, 
The Sabbath ! Hell perceives her darksome 

power 
Confronted, when its smile salutes the earth ; 
For, like a freshness out of Eden wing'd, 
A sainted influence comes : the toils and woes, 
The cankering wear of ever-busy life 
In spiritual oblivion smooth'd away, 
On such a dawn, celestial hearts by grace 
Refined, can mingle in delicious calm 
Like many clouds which into one dissolve. 

How mildly beautiful this blessed morn ! 
Thy sky all azure : not a cloud abroad ; 
A sunny languor in the air ; the breeze 
Gentle enough to fan an Angel's brow : 
And thou, the Lord of beauty and of light 
Enthroned, how oriently thy splendours shine 
And make a loveliness where'er they fall ! 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



365 



Hark ! on the stillness of the sabbath-air 
From tower and steeple floats the mellow chime 
Of matin-bells ; and plaintively ascends 
That pealing incense ! up to heaven it glides, 
As though it heralded creation's prayer. 

And now, from England's countless homes 

and streets, 
In motley garb, the trooping myriads come, 
To kneel in Temples where their fathers knelt. 
Among them, there are heaven-toned spirits 

found, 
Hailing a sabbath as the blissful type 
Of that which in eternity shall reign : 
Others, whom Custom's all-resistless sway 
Beguileth, in their pompous robes appear, 
And use them for religion ; many pine 
For action, though a sacred mockery proved : — 
While the loud wheels of common Life stand still, 
And round it an unwholesome quiet reigns, 
The show and music of the temple-pomp 
May o'er the heart some fascination fling : 
Yet what more weary than to worship God ! 

But now for Country, and her chaster 

scenes ! 
The melody of summer-winds ; the wave 
Of herbage in a verdant radiance clad ; 
And chant of trees, which languishingly bend 
As gazing on their shadows, meet around 
This haunt, where Loneliness and Nature 

smile. — 
How meekly piled, how venerably graced 
This hamlet-fane ! by mellowing age imbrown'd, 
And freckled like a rock of sea-worn hue. 
No marble tombs of agonising Pomp 
Are here ; but turf-graves of unfading green, 
Where loved and lowly generations sleep : 
And o'er them many a votive sigh is heaved 
From hearts which love the sacredness of 

tombs. 

And such is thine, lone muser ! by yon grave 
Now lingering with a soul-expressive eye 
Of sorrow. Corn-fields glowing brown, and 

bright 
With promise, sumptuous in the noon-glare 

seen; 
The meadows speckled with a homeward-tribe 
Of village matrons, sons, and holy sires ; 
The hymning birds, all music as they soar ; 
And those loud streams so beautifully glad 
With life and beauty all the landscape robe, 
And yet,— one tomb-shade overclouds it all ! 

A churchyard ! 'tis a homely word, yet full 
Of feeling ; and a sound which o'er the heart 
Might shed religion. In the gloom of graves 
I read the Curse primeval ; and the Voice 



That wreak'd it, seems to whisper by these tombs 
Of village quiet, which around me lie, 
Unmottoed, and unknown. Can Life the dead 
Among be musing, nor to Me advance 
The spirit of her thought? True, nature wears 
No rustic mourning here : in golden play 
Yon sprightly grass-flowers wave ; the random 

breeze 
Hums in the noon, or with yon froward boughs 
A murmuring quarrel wakes : and yet how oft 
In such a haunt the insuppressive sigh 
Is heard, while feelings which may hallow years 
With virtue, spring from out a minute's gloom ! 

Mind overcomes me here. Amid the pomp 
Of monumental falsehoods, piled o'er men 
Whose only worth is in their epitaphs, 
I fear thee not, thou meditating One ! 
Infinity may blacken round thy dream 
Perchance, and words inaudible thy soul 
With dread prediction fill ! — but worldly gauds 
Entice thee ; whisper'd vanities of thought 
Arise, and though Life lose all glare awhile, 
A mbition tints the moral of the tomb. — 
'Tis not so here : pathetic eyes can dwell 
On few distinctions, save of differing age ; 
The heart is free to ponder, and the mind 
To be acquainted with itself alone. 
And more development of Man is found 
In such calm scene, than in the warring rush 
Of life. — I watch him thus, and mark 
How creed and conscience lift him up to God ; 
Or dark imaginings, from tombs derived, 
O'erwhelm His spirit with a cold despair. 

Nature begins ; and in the white-roll'd 

shroud 
The ghastly nothingness of Death appears. — 
And then, a knell, Time's world-awaking 

tongue, 
Rings in the soul, and by a new-turn'd grave 
He paints a mourning vision ; sees the tears 
Telling of many a day's remember'd joy 
Down cheeks of Anguish dropping; and can 

hear 
The careless mutter of the broken clod 
Upon his coffin echo. — Then, a dream ! 
The solemn dream ! of where his spirit-home 
May be, and what the everlasting World. 
Thou mortal ! ask the overarching Heavens, 
The mystic wind, the ever-murmuring Deep, 
And all which night and day around thee 

dwells : 
Doth nought reply 1 The elements all dumb ? 
Then ask thy soul, there God Himself replies ! 

I thank thee, Man ! and all those mocking 
scenes 
Wherein such vassalage of mind abounds, 



366 



SATAN. 



That thoughts of death are exiled from the heart 
Of many, till the sepulchre doth yawn. 
Thus aid my black deception ; and become 
The sole omnipotent mere sense obeys ! 
And ever, when thou hear'st some true divine 
Of nature's teaching, a Hereafter tell, 
Then, brand Him as the martyr of mistake ! 
Oh, think not, Worldling ! — or thy soul would 

say 
The man who hangs on every smiling hour 
A coward proves to questionings of thought ; 
AVhile he, who dares with an undreading eye 
To fathom his own nature, in the grave 
Descend, eternity's deep gates unbar, — 
Unblasted can the face of God behold 
And grow familiar with the World to come. 

England is bless'd in all which nature lends : 
No fields spread greener magic to the gaze, 
No streams of purer freshness flow, no winds 
In richer harmony their wings unfold, 
Than hers : and though invading grandeur 

frown 
A heartless contrast o'er some ruin'd scenes ; 
Though petty tyrants and domestic lords 
That elevating charm have long eclipsed 
Of happy peasantry, with honest hearts 
For country glowing, and for God prepared, 
And wither'd much by pastoral poets sang, — 
Enough for homage, or refreshing thought 
Doth consecrate her yet. And thus, methinks, 
Sweet Country might imparadise the soul, 1 
Where fine perceptions hold their placid sway. 
Grey towers, and streets all surfeited with 

throngs 
Of worldlings, greedy-eyed, and stale of heart, 
As the dead air around them, — who should 

deem 
Enchantment, when a lovelier world is free 1 
From dusky Cities, where forced nature grieves 
To wear the meanness of surrounding men, 
On wings of gladness might her lovers fly 
To haunts divine as these. Lo ! how She laughs 
In sunshine, tinting with her bright romance 
Hill, wood, and valley, rock, and wayward 

stream ; — 
What arch'd immensity of bending sky ! 
What flowery hues, what odorous delight 
And, as her gales on wings of freshness come, 
What ocean-mockery from th' excited trees 
Is heard, in rapture echoing the winds ! 

Yet well for me, that Town's eventful sphere 
Enchants the many more than nature can. 
No sound melodious as the roar of streets ; 
No sky delightful as the smoke-dimm'd air 
Above them, like a shrouding death-pall hung ; 
No joy prevailing as the selfish stir 
Whilst interest, craft, or petty wants produce, 



And on Life's stream those fleeting bubbles 

raise, 
In bursting which their day-born wisdom lies. 
Why, this is ta3te Corruption should enjoy ! 
She cannot fancy what she never felt. 
There is an outward and an inward Eye, 
Reciprocally moved ; when that which sees 
Within, is dimm'd, the eye of outward sense 
Is darken'd too ; creation wears a cloud, 
And life a veil ; when both are bright and free, 
The world of nature and the world of man 
A garment of celestial glory wear ! 

Both form and mind a fellow magic steal 
Where the free visiting, of nature act : 
As the fresh lustres of a cloudless morn 
The languor of a dying eve excels, 
So doth the beauty of yon country-girl 
Surpass the city maiden in her charms ; 
The rich enamel of the rosy blood 
Is painted on her cheek ; and her glad eye, — 
From the full joy and glory of the meads, 
The freedom of the woods and waterfalls, 
And the proud spirit of her village hills 
Its glances come ! — her step is like the breeze ; 
Her forehead arch'd, to face the skies ; her 

form, 
Perfection out of nature's hand ; and words, 
The native breathings of a happy soul. 

Nor less in contrast to the bolder mien 
Of city-manner, is thine artless air 
Whom now a wanderer in the fields I view, 
With sunshine lovingly around thee thrown. 
A sweet unwillingness to be observed 
Dwells in that maiden-glance ; and oft away 
From the bright homage of adoring eyes 
In delicate timidity thou glid'st ; 
Like a coy stream which from fond daylight 

speeds 
To hide its beauty in sequester'd dells. 

Yet Fashion does, what Feeling would deny ; 
Making a charm where none is found: thus, 

hills 
And lakes, the mountain-winds, and sea-fresh 

gales, 
The idle from their town-retreats allure, 
When fair-brow'd Spring appears. And some 

there live 
Among them, of that undetermined race, 
O'er whom the earthly and the heavenly sway 
With fitful interchange, mere Epicenes 
In mind. Worn by the hot and feverish stir 
Of city-life, the many-mansion'd views, 
Those pathways bleaching in the glare of noon, 
And the fierce clatter of conflicting wheels, — 
Some wearied heart romantically sighs 
" for the luxury of living gales, 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



3(>' 



A nil wafted music of ten thousand trees, 
"Whose young leaves dance like ringlets on the 

brow 
Of Joy, and glitter gaily to the sun ! 
for some deep-valed haunt, where all alone, 
Saving the mute companionship of Hills, 
My feet may wander, and mine eye exult ! " 

So wish'd a Worldling; and behold him come, 
And roused by new enchantment, thus exclaim : 
" Again thine own, my heart, I give to thee 
Sweet Nature ! once again thy fondling breath 
Of music plays around my faded brow, 
Pure as a father's blessing o'er a child 
Forgiven, gently murmur'd. Let me look 
With eyes impassion'd on this glorious scene. 
Dilated, as with gladness, glows the blue 
O'erhanging sky, untinctured with a cloud : 
Around me, hills on hills are greenly piled, 
Each crowning each in billowy ascent 
And beautiful array : a breeze is up 
In bird-like motion winging the bright air ; 
Or by the flow'rets, giddy with delight, 
And dancing gaily o'er the golden meads. 
Nor am I lonesome in this hour of bliss : 
The grazing flocks which speckle the glad fields; 
The larks ; and butterflies that tint their path 
With beauty, and yon group of laughing 

babes, 
Fit company for sunbeams and for flowers, 
So brightly innocent they seem, — partake 
The heavenliness of this romantic hour : 
And thou, beneath me in thy waveless mood 
Luxuriant spread, with ripples twinkling gay 
As insect-wings which flutter in the sun, 
Calm Ocean ! often has thy phantom swell'd 
Upon me, in the rush of busy life, 
With smile as glorious as thou wearest now." — 
And canst thou, with a mind thus deeply 

toned 
To all which nature for congenial heart 
Provides, again be mingled in the mass 
Of vulgar spirits, and their vain employ ? — 
Yes, Worldling ! earth is heaven enough for 

thee. 

No marvel, when by moral rust decay'd 
In each perception of ethereal growth, 
"hat millions never know a joy sublime, 
And call romance the sin of tender souls. — 
How little do these menials of the mind 
From their blind prison-house of earth perceive 
That moods predictive of diviner scenes 
Come oft inspired; and though morosely scorn'd, 
Form inward foretaste of the Unreveal'd. 2 

Eut this enchantment of reposing thought, 
When solitude falls heaven-like on the soul 
Reflective, soars above thine aimless gloom, 



Retirement ! When in fame or fortune 

wreck' d, 
To make a winter where bright summer reigns 
And sadden all things with sarcastic gloom, 
The misanthrope to his dull haunt retires 
For saturnine felicity ; tis vain. 
For as the deep, unvisited by wind 
And motion, tainted with pollution lies ; 
So turns the stagnant heart to foul conceits, 
Unholy fancies, and unhealthful thoughts ; 
The world must wake it, as the angel stirr'd 
The healing waters into glorious life 
And motion, — making them to bless mankind. 
Oh ! how I scorn false Eremites ! these mock 
Philosophers, most elegantly sad, 
Because outrageously befool'd. The man 
Who battles nobly with his lot, and starves 
Without a tear, hath more philosophy 
In his true nature, than your Sages dream, 
Who mope, for want of sterling misery ! 

But lo ! a vision fair as fancy sees. 
Beside yon Deep, alive with laughing waves, 
An infant stands, and views the billowy range 
Of its immensity, with lips apart 
Like a cleft rose hung radiant in the sun, — 
Hush'd into sweetest wonder. How divine 
The innocence of childhood ! Could it bloom 
Unwither'd through the scorching waste of 

years, 
Men would be angels, and my realm destroy'd : 
With eyes whose blueness is a summer heaven ; 
And cheeks where Cherubim might print a 

kiss, 
And forehead fair a,s moonlit snow, — thy form 
Might be encradled in the rosy clouds 
At twilight grouping amid the sun's farewell, 
So gentle and so glowing thou appear'st. 
And heavenly is it for maternal eyes 
In their fond light to mark thee growing day 
By day, with a warm atmosphere of Love 
Around thee circled with unceasing watch ; 
While, like a ray from her own spirit shed 
The lights of waking thought begin to gleam. 
'Tis now the poetry of life to thee ! 
With fancies young, and innocent as flowers, 
And manner sportive as the free-wing'd air, 
Thou seest a friend in every smile ; thy days 
Like singing birds, in gladness speed along, 
And not a tear which trembles on thy lids 
But shines away, and sparkles into joy ! 

Yet Time shall envy such a dream as this ; 
And when I see thee in thine after-years, 
As far as Yirtue from her primal height 
Is fallen, will thy tarnish'd nature be 
From that which blasts me with its pureness 
now. 



368 



SATAN. 



But need I travel into years unborn 
To gather misery 1 Behold it here ! 
Here, where a childless mother by the tomb 
Of her dead offspring, wan and wither' d, sits 
In the dull stupor of despairing grief. 
Her brow is bent ; her visage thin and worn ; 
Her garments fading like neglected flowers, 
And not a glance but speaks an agony. 
Oh, W retch! whose sorrow all thy virtue makes! 
For she who perish'd in a timeless grave 
Though beautiful as ever sunshine clad, 
In love and truth most tenderly endow'd, 
When living, was a curse to thee ! Thy hate 
Pursued her, and thy blighting envy frown'd 
Like a dark hell-shade on her youthful path : 
Oft in the midnight thou wouldst mutt'ring 

wake 
And bid the grave to open on thy child. 
Yet when her dwelling was the loathsome tomb, 
And scowling Envy had no charms to dread, — 
When that was dust which once an Angel look'd, 
The mother's heart return'd again, and grief, 
Too late, then rack'd thy being to remorse, 
Making thee all which Demons could desire ! 
For hope, nor faith, one reconciling beam 
Imparts, to brighten thy dark woes ; un watch' d, 
Unseen, thou visitest the haunt and home 
Of Death, and in the muteness of despair 
Beneath a pining yew-tree lonely sitt'st, 
In deep'ning anguish round a daughter's tomb. 

And many, sad as thee, have I beheld 
In my dark pilgrimage round Britain's isle. 
A tree by lightning blasted to the ground, 
And those proud branches which the seasons 

loved 
To beautify, in leafless ruin laid ; 
A wreck upon the savage waters toss'd 
And darkly hinting a terrific tale ; 
Or grey-wall'd castle, where of old were seen 
The banner'd triumph and baronial pomp 
But now the prey of melancholy winds, — 
For each, how oft a meditative sigh 
Or moral tear, awakes ; yet what so sad 
As creedless anguish in a guilty soul, 
And human sorrow by no hope assuaged 1 
" My God ! it is a miserable world," 
May'st thou, the wretched, cry. From faded 

years 
No flower to rescue for remembering love, 
Or blissful woe ; the Future but a dread 
Unknown ; the Present all a blacken'd scene ; 
By friends unloved, or in the tomb, forgot, — 
How desolate thy doom must be ! Abroad, 
The sunshine mocks thee with a cruel glare ; 
And in the smile of each unthinking crowd 
No bright reflection for thy heart is found ; 
At home — blank weariness of soul awaits 
Thee there, and turns it into dismal thought : 



Or haply, when the sallow evening shrouds 
Yon echoing city, at thy window placed, 
With vacant eye thou view'st the yielding glow 
Of day ; or hear'st the moan of evening-bells, 
Like elegies by air-born spirits sung. 

But now a sunset, with impassion'd hues 
Of splendour, deepens round yon curving bay ; 
'Tis Inspiration's hour, when heaven descends 
In dream-like radiance on the earth becalm'd. 
Hither ! thou victim of luxurious halls, 
The glory of these westering clouds behold 
That rich as eastern fancies float the skies 
Along : and hark ! — the revelry of waves ; 
Now, like the whirling of unnumber'd wheels 
In faint approach ; then wild as battle-roar 
In shatter'd echoes voyaging the wind ; 
And now, in foaming wildness they advance, 
Dissolve, and mark the pebbled beach with foam. 

Brief as a fancy, and as brightly vain, 
The sky-pomp fades ; and in his sumptuous robe 
Of cloudy sheen, the great high-Priest of earth 
Calmly descends beyond the ocean-bound. 
Like weary eyelids, flowers are closing up 
Their beauty ; faint as rain-falls sound the 

leaves, 
When ruffled by the dying breath of Day ; 
And twilight, that true hour for placid dreams 
Or tender thoughts, now dimly o'er the wave 
Its halcyon wing unfolds ; in spectral gloom 
The cloud-peak'd hills depart ; and all the shore 
Is lull'd, where nothing mars its deep repose, 
Save when the step of yon lone wanderer moves, 
Watching the boats in sailless pomp reposed ; 
Or, mournful listening to the curfew-sound 
Of eve-bells, hymning from their distant spires. 

And who art thou, of wither' d aspect there, 
Whose slow faint footfalls sound of misery 1 
Consuming want thy lot hath never been : 
But thou art one, from out whose bygone days 
No memories breathe for retrospective moods 
To welcome ; the true dignity of life 
Thy consecrated powers hath ne'er employ'd ; 
Thy past is blacker than the sunless tomb ; 
Eeflection murders thy vain peace of mind ! — 
The moonlight, paving with a glassy shore 
Of wrinkled lustre all yon desert-main ; 
The night's sad umbrage and her mystic hush 
O'erwhelmingly becalm thee ; thou wouldst fain 
Again be flatter'd with the gorgeous Day, 
And lose thy sadness in its fawning smile. 

So terrible a speechless hour! when Thought 
Banish'd by guilt, hath long an exile been 
From Nature, dreading down herself to gaze. 
In vengeance and convicting truth it comes 
With the dread quickness of a lightning-glance, 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



369 



Detecting all the danger of the soul, 

Till conscience tremble, and the summon'd 

past 
la past -no more ! — but present, with a fire 
And force concenter'd for terrific sway; 
" I AM," which voices God*s eternity, 
Is heard, and fearful sounds the truth therein ! 

But oh, how bounded would my kingdom be 
If what is life in common language deem'd, 
Which unreflectively hath flow'd away, 
Were all the law of Being did require ! 
Yet is there life, where no reflection acts 1 
Was Spirit with divinity endow'd, 
Blindly to live by sense alone ? — How well 
For many, had they brute enj overs been 
Of homely nature ; or, as trees and flowers, 
Than charter'd with undying mind, to live 
Mere breath and blood, without a spirit train'd 
To pure advancement, by the hallow'd power 
Of truths, which up to heaven and glory lead. 
He lives the longest who has thought the most ; 
And by sublime anticipation felt 
That what's immortal must progressive prove, 
Or, retrograde in everlasting night ! 



BOOK VI. 

"Divided by a river, of whose banks 
On each side an imperial city stood, 
With towers and temples proudly elevate." 

Paradise Regained. 

But, hail, thou city-Giant of the world ! 
Thou that dost scorn a canopy of clouds, 
But in the dimness of eternal smoke 
For ever rising like an ocean-steam 
Dost mantle thine immensity ; how vast 
And wide thy wonderful array of towers 
In dusky masses pointing to the skies ! 
Time was, and dreary solitude was here ; 
And night-black woods, unvisited by man, 
In howling conflict wrestled with the winds, 
But now, the tempest of perpetual life 
Is heard, and like a roaring furnace fills 
With living sound the airy reach of miles. 
Thou more than Rome ! for never from her 

heart 
Of empire such disturbing passion roll'd, 
As emanates from thine. The mighty globe 
Is fever' d by thy name ; a thousand years 
And Silence hath not known thee ! What a 

weight 
Of awfulness will Doomsday from thy scene 
Derive, and when the blasting Trumpet smites 
All Cities to destruction, who will sink 
Sublime, with such a thunder-crash as thou 1 



Myriads of spires, and temples huge or high, 
And thickly wedded, like the ancient trees 
Which darken forests with primeval gloom ; 
Myriads of streets, whose windings ever flow 
With viewless billows from a sea of life ; 
Myriads of hearts in full commotion blent, 
From morn to noon from noon to night again 
Through the wide realm of whirling passion 

borne, — 
And there is London ! England's heart and 

soul : 
By the proud flowing of her famous Thames 
She circulates through countless lands and isles 
Her tides of commerce ; gloriously she rules, 
At once the awe and sceptre of the world ! 

Angels and Demons ! to your watching eyes 
The rounded earth nought so tremendous shows 
As this vast City, in whose roar I stand, 
F/nseen, yet seeing all. The solemn hush 
Of everlasting hills ; the solitudes 
Untrod ; the deep gaze of thy dazzling Orbs 
Which decorate the purple noon of night 
Oh, Nature ! no such majesty supply. 
Creation's queen, in sceptred grandeur, Thou 
Upon the throne of Elements dost reign ; 
But in the beating of one single heart 
There is that more than rivals thee ! and here 
The swellings of unnumber'd hearts abound • 
And not a day but, ere it die, contains 
A hist'ry, which unroll'd, will awe the Heavens 
To wonder, and the listening Earth with fear ! 

In Capitals of such gigantic sweep, 
And hence, involving for momentous sway 
Materials, which by word or deed create 
An impulse throbbing through th' excited 

world, 
Spirits of Darkness ! how hath vice prevail'd ; 
Though scornfully, as now your victims mock 
The name of Satan with triumphant sneer. 
Obliging creatures ! did their race abhorr'd, 
What blighting sense we have of Virtue's power 
And all those living elements of love 
And glory, which around them move and dwell 
Imagine, — they would learn to guard them 

more. 
But, no 1 so blindly fool'd and charm'd they seem 
With the proud beauty of their own pure souls, 
That when most fetter'd, they appear most 

free : — 
How Devils laugh to see such wisdom bound ! 

Through what a range thy blended passions 
reach, 
Thou second Babylon ! The Book of Life 
With records that have made the angels weep, 
Each moment of thy fated hist'ry fills. 
For, whatsoe'er a spirit can reveal 



370 



SATAN. 



Of fallen nature, in its varied realm 
Of Sin, thy demonstrations body forth. 
Here, Fraud and Murder on their thrones erect 
Infernal standards, and around them swarm 
Such progenies as Yileness, Want, and Woe 
Beget, to live, like cannibals, on blood ; 
Or, move as crawling vipers in the paths 
Of infamy, foul lewdness, or despair. 
Here, Misery her wildest form betrays, 
And sheds her hottest tear. See ! as they rush 
Thy million sons, along yon clam'rous streets, 
Upon them how she turns her haggard gaze, 
Lifts her shrunk hand, and with heart-piercing 

wail 
A boon in God's name asks : — but let Her die, 
And be her death-couch those remorseless 

stones ! 
For when the hungry winter blast shall pause 
To soothe the wailing of some lonely tree, 
Thy crowds will stop, and pity her despair ! 
Here Pride, in her most vulgar glory struts ; 
And Envy all her vip'rous offspring breeds. 
But Mammon ! thou persuasive friend of Hell, 
Sure London is thy ever-royal seat, 
Thy chosen capital, thy matchless home ! 
Where rank idolaters, of every lot 
And land, do bow them to the basest dust 
Which Falsehood, Flattery, or Cunning treads 
From dawn to eve; and serve thee with as true 
A love as lauding Angels serve their God ! 
See ! how the hard and greedy worldlings 

crowd, 
With toiling motion, through the foot-worn 

ways ; 
The sour and sullen, wretched, rack'd and 

pale, — 
The whole vile circle of uneasy slaves. 
Mark one, with features of ferocious hue ; 
Another, carved by villany's own hand, 
A visage wears, and through the trait'rous 

blood 
The spirit works like venom from the soul. 

What rush and roar unceasing ! and how 
strange 
A mass of objects, as I move along 
Invisible, amid these floods of Life 
I see ;— a chaos of uncounted hearts 
Beating and bounding, charged with great 

design, 
And making Fate at every pulse to feel, 
Before me acts its mighty tragedy! 
Amid them rise those consecrated Shrines 
Where ruins eloquent with history are ; 
Where Truth is worshipp'd, and the belfry- 
towers 
Are frequent mutt'ring how the Hours depart, 
With unregarded wisdom ; or, with moan 
Funereal, wailing for some vanish'd Soul. 



But hail, thou monument to hell ! — yon pile 
Whose massiness a mournful shadow frowns, 
Where felon captives, for their crimes, await 
The vengeance due to violated Law. 
A day restored, and in thy dungeon wept 
A victim, whom a darker prison holds 
Than ever prescient horror shaped ! Had Youth 
Beheld him, more than fun'ral sermons teach, 
His glance of agony had taught ! How oft 
When gaily passing, ominously came 
A chill of terror from those prison-walls ! 
And when he enter'd their sepulchral gloom 
Like memory that chill return'd. — To die 
A malefactor's death ; to be the gaze, 
The direful, hideous, and detested gaze 
Of thousands, glutting their unsated eyes 
With morbid wonder, while on tiptoe placed 
To see the Spirit gasping from his throat, 
And chronicle his agony ; — to live 
A ballad-hero, in the creaking rhymes 
Of vagabonds, and have his felon-name 
From lip to lip thus vilely bandied out 
For vulgar warning, — oh, ye sinless days 
Of childhood ! oh, ye hours of love and home, 
And summer-dreams by haunted wood or wild, 
And blessings nightly murmur'd from the lip 
Of parents, — Glory of remember'd days J 
Is this your ending, and his ghastly fate 
For whom old Age did prophesy renown 
And Fondness built her palaces 1 — A sire, 
Who dream'd the heroic grandeur of his race 
In him revived, and in the youthful ear 
Did oft unrol his ancestry high-born, 
To thrill the blood and keep the spirit brave ; 
A mother made of tenderness, who watch'd 
His cradle-slumber, and when manhood came 
Still breathed her spirit round his onward way ; 
Oh ! these would shudder in their sacred tombs, 
And on his name the kindless world expend 
The infamy which to a gallows clings, 
If Law should wreak her vengeance. But, one 

drop 
Of poison, and this ignominious doom 
Was saved ! — a tremor of despair, a tide 
Of anguish, burning through his blood and 

brain, 
With the fierce whirling of imagined fires, — 
And shrunk and ghastly lay the Suicide ! 

Huge, high, and solemn, sanctified by time, 
And gazing sky-ward in the tow'ry gloom 
Of temple-majesty, another Pile 
Behold ! in mid-air ponderously rear'd. 
How dread a power pervadeth Things, this mass 
Of ancient glory tells. Whereon it stands 
The vacant winds did trifle ; and the laugh 
Of sunshine sported in bright freedom there : 
It rose, and lo ! there is a spirit-awe 
Around it dwelling ; with suspended heart 



'Tis enter'd ; "where a cold sepulchral hush, 
The holiness of its immensit3 r , 
The heaven-like vastness of those vaulted aisles, 
Banners and trophies and heraldic signs, 
And tombs of monumental melancholy, — 
All with commingling spell the minds o'ercloud 
Of Mortals, as they walk the haunted gloom 
Of arch and nave, immersed in dreams of death. 

Methinks Ambition might grow humble here : 
Though, blazon'd high, the mausoleums rise, 
And from stain'd windows rosy light-shades fall 
On armory, and crests of costly hue, 
Funereal pride, and sculptured canopies 
"Which grace the dust of hero, sage, or king, — 
The sense that rankling clay beneath such pomp 
Alone remains, humiliates and chills 
The passion for proud greatness. But Her eye 
More frequent to yon lonely Transept turns, 
Where the dead heroes of the heart repose, 
And on it gazeth with a deeper awe 
Than ever high-raised tomb of Monarchs 

won : — 
No matter ! bard or king, the Curse decrees 
For all, re-union with their fellow-clay. 

Echoes on echoes roll'd and reproduced ! — 
As though invisibly with rushing flame 
O'erwhelm'd, the music-haunted Temple 

sounds : 
Hark ! peal on peal, and burst on burst, 

sublime 
The prelude comes, ascendeth loud and deep, 
And then in waves of melody departs : 
But ere it died, a thousand faces shone 
With ecstasy ; as sunshine, in a sweep 
Of gladness over hill and meadow shot, 
Can summon tints of glory from the scene, — 
So drew the music, in its sweeping flow 
O'er mortal features, flashes from the soul, 
Bright hues and meanings, passionate as true. 

The heaven of Music ! how it wafts and winds 
Itself through all the poetry of sound ! 
Now, throbbing like a happy Thing of air, 
Then, dying a voluptuous death, as lost 
In its own lux'ry ; now alive again 
In sweetness, wafted like a vocal cloud 
Mellifluously breaking — seems the strain. 
And what a play of magic on each face 
Of feeling ! when the cadence dismal sounds, 
All eyes look darken'd with memorial-dreams ; 
But when the Organ's deep-toned rapture 

swells 
With harmonies which stir heroic mind, 
Bright raptures revel in each glowing face ! 
Till slow at length, the dying Anthem breathes 
A musing tone of melancholy power 
And pathos, causing buried years to breathe, 



While mem'ry sadd,ens ; and in thoughtful 

eyes 
The dewy brightness of emotion dawns. 

All music is the Mystery of sound, 
Whose soul lies sleeping in the air, till roused, 
And lo ! it pulses into melody : 
Deep, low, or wild, obedient to the throb 
Of instrumental magic ; on its wings 
Are visions too, of tenderness and love, 
Beatitude and joy. Thus, over waves 
Of beauty, landscapes in their loveliest glow, 
And the warm languish of their summer- 
streams, 
A list'ning soul is borne ; while Home renews 
Its paradise, beneath the moon-light veil 
That mantles o'er the past, till unshed tears 
Gleam in the eye of memory. But when 
Some harmony of preternatural swell 
Begins, then, soaring on enchanted plumes, 
A soul seems wafted through Eternity ! 

Such sorcery in music dwells ; — if they, 
Now doom'd awhile to walk this heaven-roof 'd 

world, 
Might hear the melodies which I have heard, 
When heaven, complexion' d by almightiness 
In glory, sounded with the choral hymn 
Of Princedoms high, and Dominations grand, 
Of thousand Saints, of thousand Cherubim, 
And angel-numbers, who out-million far 
Bright worlds, which in the blue and waveless 

deep 
Of night, innumerable hang, — if men 
Might hear it, 'twould absorb their souls away ! 
Yet such I heard ; oh ! what a sea of sound 
Went billowing with ecstatical delight 
Through fathomless immensity, when hosts 
Divine, their Holy, Holy, Holy, sung, 
While loud Hosannahs to the living God 
Commingled, making heaven more heavenly 

glow ! 

Another triumph of exhaustless mind, 
Which Love and Wisdom, Beauty and fair 

Truth, 
Tempt as I may, enchantingly produce. — 
Visions of holiness, and lofty dreams 
Of lofty Spirits, glorify the walls 
Of this vast room ; revealings of the soul 
Intense, and passions of pictorial spell. 
Painters are silent poets ; in their hues 
A language glows, whose words are magic 

tints 
Of meaning, which both eye and soul perceive. 
How wonderful is deathless Art ! for Time 
Obeys her summons, and the Seasons wait 
Her godlike call; while glory, love, and 

grace, 



372 



SATAN. 



And the deep harmonics of human thought 
Move at the waving of Her mighty wand I 

Then let me look on this ethereal show 
Wherein the painter hath a mind transfused, 
Turning his thoughts to colours. What a thirst 
For beauty in his longing soul must burn 
Who vision'd this, — a landscape gods might 

tread ! 
The sky hangs glorious; and the yellow smiles 
Of summer, on a brightly-wrinkled stream 
Are flashing Avith a restless joy, 'mid trees 
Unpruned, and bowing graceful as the wind 
In melody its fairy wing expands 
Among them : over rocks of cloudy shape 
The green enchantment of declining boughs 
Is flushing, whence a vein of water flows, 
And frolics on in many a shining trail 
Of stream-like revelry ; till margin-flowers 
Beside it bloom, and shadow the young waves. 
But there, a beautiful Perfection smiles ! 
An Eve-like form beside a dimpled lake 
Is standing ; — in her eye, a heaven of soul, 
And o'er her figure an expressive bloom 
Of youth, and symmetry, divinely graced. 
The moon-like glowing of her loveliness, 
Those limbs of light, and that seraphic air, — 
Whence sprung it all, but from ideal thirst 
For Beauty, purer than mere Sense beholds? 

Here is a sunset, in that golden calm 
Appearing, when the lustrous King of day 
Awhile in bright complacence views the world 
Which he hath glorified, — as Wisdom look'd 
On infant Nature, when she lay complete 
Beneath the full reflection of His smile. 
And near, a night is pictured in its dead 
Of noon : the canopy of azure pomp 
Hung starless, — but the queen of heaven is 

there 
In placid glory, and her slumb'rous veil 
Hath shadow'd earth, and on blue ocean lies 
In rolls of silver : — by the sallow beach 
Two maidens in their girlhood stand, and seem 
Enrapt, to watch how delicately bright 
The moon's pale fancies tint yon fleeting waves ; 
Or, listen to the faint sweet undersong 
Of dream-like waters, dying on the shore. 

But, what is this ! — the Deluge which 
devour'd 
A living World ! a sunless, moonless waste, 
The globe into a chaos of wild sea 
Dissolved ! Her hour of agony is o'er ; 
But yet, the fierceness of unnat'ral clouds, 
Like dying monsters welt'ring on the deep, 
Frowns awful in the gloom. — How dead and 
mute 



Th' enormous ruin ! Not a look of life 
Dwells there, — the carcase of a guilty World ! 
Woods, trees and flowers, with all which 

landscapes wear 
In spring-time's young magnificence of bloom 
And promise, with the god-like shapes of men, 
Have perish'd. By the rocky darkness, crags 
And mountain-skeletons by billows wash'd, 
The oozy branches, where lank serpents coil, 
And in the deadness of two pallid forms 
Hurl'd from the deep, and dash'd upon the 

shore 
In solitude, a mortal may be awed, 
And dream, until he hear the Deluge roar ! 

But let it pass : for lo ! the dark sublime, 
The midnight and immensity of Art 
I see ; as though his eye had seen the hour 
When down in thunder through the yawning 

skies 
A whirlwind of rebellious Angels came, — 
The painter hath infernal pomp reveal'd. 
A second Milton, whose creative soul 
Doth shadow visions to such awful life, 
That men behold them with suspended breath, 
And grow ethereal at a gaze ! ! — how high 
And earthless hath his daring spirit soar'd, 
To paint the hell which kindled up the skies, 
And wield the lightnings that his Maker 
hurl'd ! 

These arts are revelations which unfold 
How Mind, disdainful of material bounds, 
In spiritual romance delights to dream ; 
Through heavens of her creation to expand 
Her wings, and wanton in celestial light ; 
As soars the lark from her low nest of dew 
To sing and revel in the boundless air. 
The fallen Myriads in whose blighted gaze 
A beam of ruin'd glory shines, may look 
With something of ambitious sympathy 
On this proud struggle of the soul with 

sense, — 
This warfare of the Visible with Things 
Of viewless Essence, yet prevailing power. 
A haughty captive fetter'd in his clay, 
Man's Nature, peering through her prison- 
house, 
Doth catch a shadow, and a dim advance 
Of Something purer, brighter, yet to be. 
And what is genius? — but the glowing mind 
Half disembodied, flutt'ring in a realm 
Of magic, dreaming, dazzled, and inspired? 

How dark a contrast hath a moment made 
In this world's promise ! — here, the shame of 
. Art 

Confronts me ; and, might Pity deaden Hate, 
My love for ruin should be lessen'd now. — 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



373 



In a lone chamber, on a tatter'd couch 

A dying Painter lies. His brow seems young 

And noble ; bines of beauty on his face 

Yet linger ; in his eye of passion gleams 

A soul, and on his cheek a spirit-light 

Is playing, -with that proud sublimity 

Of thought, which yields to death, but gives to 

time 
A Fame that will avenge his wrongs, and write 
Their hist'ry in her canonized roll 
Of martyrs : be it for his epitaph, 
He lived for genius, and for genius died ! 
So sad and lone ! walFd in by misery, 
With none to smooth his couch, or shed the 

tear 
Which softens pain, uncheer'd, unwept, un- 
known, 
And famish'd by the want of many days, — 
Hither, Ambition ! wisdom breathes in woe. 

There are, to whom Earth's elemental Frame 
Of wonders seemeth but an outward show 
To look upon, and form the life of things : 
But some in more ethereal mould are cast, 
Who from the imagery of nature cull 
Fair meanings, and magnificent delights, 
Extracting glory from whate'er they view ; 
Calling the common air a blessing, light 
A joy, and hues and harmonies of earth 
Enchanting ministers to sense and soul. 
And such was he. An orphan of the woods, 
With Nature in her ancientness of gloom 
And cavern, dark-peak'd hill, and craggy wild 
Whose boughs waved midnight in the eye of 

Day- 
He dwelt ; until he hung the wizard sky 
With fancies, and with nature one became 
By deep communion with her scenes and sounds. 
With all her moods, majestic, calm, or wild, 
He sympathised. In glory did he hear 
Ecstatic thunders antheming the storm ! 
And when the winds fled by him, he would 

take 
Their dauntless wings, and travel in their roar ! 
He worshipp'd the great Sea ; — when rocking 

wild, 
Making the waters blossom into foam 
With her loud wrath ; or savagely reposed 
Like a dark monster dreaming in his lair. 

No wonder, then, by Nature thus sublimed, 
With all her forms and features at his soul, 
The brain should teem with visions, and his 

hand 
A glorious mimicry of earth and heaven 
Perform ! till lakes and clouds, and famish'd 

woods 
In wintry loneness, crags and eagle-haunts,* 
And torrents in their mountain-rapture seen, 



All dread, all high, all melancholy Things, — 

Full on his canvas started into life 

And look'd creation ! To the Capital 

A parentless and unacquainted youth 

He came, while many a prophecy still hung 

About his heart, and made his bosom heave 

With young expectancy. Eomantic fool ! 

To fancy genius and success were twins 

In such a sphere : how soon the dream was o'er ! 

Here Envy dogg'd him ; Avarice trampled down 

His worth, and in the gloom of aidless want 

His spirit bow'd, — but never was enslaved. 

There was that haughtiness of calm despair, 

That forward looking to avenging years 

Which plucks the thorn from present woe, and 

charms 
Adversity from out her darkest mood, 
To cheer him on, and buoy the spirit o'er 
The indirection of opinion's tide. 
He felt, as all the mighty ever feel, 
True Greatness must o'erlook the living hour 
And charge the Future with its fame alone ! 
Thus cherish'd he self-rev'rence ; and the heart 
Was faithful : from the hand or voice of men 
No comfort came; but Nature was his own 
As ever ! When the jarring city-roar 
Woke round him, he could hush it in ihe calm 
Of memory, and natural solitude 
Of pensive scenes : the dying thunder-tones 
O'er his dark chamber mutter'd, bade him 

dream 
Of deeper grandeur which pervaded night 
Afar ; and when a pilgrim sunset-ray 
Came to his window, like a smile from Home, 
He scorn'd the present, and would think, how 

once 
He loved to watch the bright farewell of Day 
Eeflected o'er the roll of ocean-waves, 
Like sea-clouds rising in a gorgeous swell : — 
Thus lived the victim of an Art adored, 
And perish'd in his passion ! — On his name 
A veil is hung, and his achievements lie 
Forgotten ; but a fame awaits them still ! 
Eternity will take a hue from time, 
And life a shade of the immortal doom 
Hereafter is. But even this false world 
Shall round his honour'd tomb a death-wreath 

hang, 
And on the eyelids of an Age unborn 
Shall tears be trembling when his woes are 

read. — 
Thus Merit starves, while pamper'd Folly struts 
Jn mean presumption, with a golden lot 
Endow' d, and smiled upon by vassal-eyes 
Which hunt for favour. But the lofty Hearts, 
Th' unbending pure, within whose natures lodge 
All feelings that ennoble man and mind, 
Are they by kingly fortune crown'd ] Does 

Worth 



374 



SATAN. 



Or Wisdom glorious exaltation win ? 

Look round the world, and answer ! Tis the 

base, 
The sly, insinuating, serpent-souls 
Who wind about the meanest of mankind ; 
'Tis they, with lying blandness on the lip, 
Whose tuneful flattery, that cloyless sweet ! 
Allays the gusty tempers of the proud 
To fond subjection, and the vain enchant 
To patrons blind ; yet most benevolent, 
Yes ! these are they who glitter with the crown 
Of fortune, sit upon the World's high thrones ; 
And on the toiling majesty of Worth 
Beneath, look down, and laugh at virtuous Woe. 

But there are other miracles of mind 
In this Queen-city ; whatsoe'er the Hand 
Can shape, or pregnant Thought conceive; 

whate'er 
Applying Art can from the soul translate 
To sense or vision, for the World's free gaze, 
Is here produced. Thus, London is a sun 
Of inspiration to the parent-isle ; 
Within the circle of a minute act 
Uncounted minds, of multiplying power 
To times and generations. — But a trace 
Of Me, humanity ! thou dost not lose, 
However lofty thy victorious march ; 
For in this region of the learn'd and wise, 
The pettiness and pride of nature dwell. 
Then what is Genius, with a heart unsound 1 
One noble action doth outweigh it all 
With more than priceless value. Meek and 

pure, 
Who lives in humble earnestness, partakes 
His lot with cheerful eye, and loving heart, 
And sees a Brotherhood in all mankind ; 
Whose Teachers are the Elements, whose lore, 
A Bible on the soul impress' d, — that man, 
Howe'er undignified his earthly doom 
Appear, is far more glorious in the eye 
Of Angels, than the spirit-ruling host 
Of learning, who have never learnt the way 
To virtue, and the heart's true nobleness. — 
But this I would not that the earth believed ; 
Corruption is the rankling seed I sow, 
And aye abundant may the harvest bloom ! 

That mighty lever which has moved the world, 
The Press of England, from its dreadless 

source 
Of living action, here begins to shake 
The far-off Isles, and awe the utmost Globe ! , 
The magic of its might no tongue can tell ! 
Dark, deep, and silent oft, but ever felt ; 
Mix'd with the mind, and feeding with a food 
Of thought, the moral being of a Soul. 
A trackless Agent, a terrific Power, 
It could have half annihilated Hell 



And her great Denizens, by glorious sway : 

But oft, so false, so abject, and so foul 

It grows, — no blasting pestilence e'er shed 

Such ruin, as a tainted Press contrives 

For thought and feeling, when its poison works : 

This wrecks the body, — that can havoc souls ; 

And who shall heal them ] Let thy Temples 

rise, 
Britannia ! they are but satiric piles 
Of sanctity, while poison from thy Press 
Is pour'd, and on its lying magic live 
Thy thousand vulgar, who heart-famish'd seem, 
When Slander feeds not with a foul excess 
Their appetite for infamy. The sun 
Not surer where his deadly rage extends 
The fierceness of a burning nature proves, 
Than pages of pollution, sent from hour 
To hour, across an Empire's heart, awake 
A tinge of sentiment and hue of thought 
In many, till they act the crimes they read. 

E'en now mine eye a dismal wretch beholds 
By fate or fortune for a villain doom'd ; 
In whom is center'd all which can profane 
The name of Man ! ignoble as the dust, 
And rock} T -hearted as a wretch can be : 
And him with what delight a Devil views 
Heap lie on lie with such remorseless speed, 
And so envenom with his viper-touch 
The good and glorious, that all Virtue seems 
To wither, and all Wisdom to be dead 
Awhile, beneath the blackness of his taint ! 
Yea ! such a Monster do I see destroy 
The healthful nature of the noblest mind : 
And yet live on his execrable life, 
And like a plague-spot spread his soul abroad 
Till millions turn as tainted as his own ! 

How false, and yet how fair, are scenes of 
man ! 
Between what is, and that which seems to be, 
How dark a gap of untold diff ' rence frowns ! 
There is a hollowness in human things 
Of pride or pleasure born, which none confess 
Yet all must ever feel. The moments tuned 
To highest happiness, have strings which jar 
Upon some inward sense ; the sweetest cup 
Enchanted Ecstasy can drink, will leave 
A humbling dreg of bitterness behind. 
But this sad vict'ry of unrestful thought, 
This cloud-tint on the brightest firmament 
Of Joy, this deep abyss of discontent 
Beyond a universe to fill ! — though felt 
Is rarely own'd ; for Pride steps in, and puts 
A smile upon the cheek, and in the eye 
Delusion ; making Love, or Wealth, or Fame 
The seeming aspect of Perfection wear ; 
And thus, deceiving each, and each deceived, 
Men gild the hour, and call it happiness ! 



A proof is here : a chamber long and large, 
Of regal air, and with o'erbranching lights, 
From the high ceiling pouring down a noon 
Of lustre, which doth goldenly bedeck 
The costliness around. Amid it, group'd 
For converse, meet a host of either sex; 
And who are they 1 — the race Ambition bred, 
And madden'd, till they won the envied 

wreath. 
Oh ! what a demon-fire, what parching heat 
Through blood and spirit, is the lust of Fame ! 
No tiger-passion tearing at the soul, 
So dreadful as the ever -gnawing wish 
For reputation ! How it burns the heart 
Away, and blisters up the health of life ! 
Yet, such have many in this blended host 
Endured ; but now, as high and dominant 
As Potentates and intellectual Lords 
They reign upon their thrones of Mind, and 

live 
The worshipp'd of the Land. But are they 

blest 
With that deep fulness of supreme delight 
Which young Imagination's eye portray'd 1 
Oh, Thou ! bewilder'd with the mock of fame, 
Come here, and prove what rottenness of 

heart, 
What fev'rous envy, what corrosive sense 
Of emulation, in these glorious dwell, 
What under-currents in this scene of joy ! 
Smiles in the surface, but a coward-tide 
Of jealousy beneath. Hark to the gibe 
Hate ! the tart dissent, the damning sneer; 
To such a littleness the mighty fall ! 
Behold it, Ignorance ! thy blush recall, 
And take a happier name. But what a feast 
Of vengeance doth my gloomy nature find 
In this false scene, where they whom Wisdom 

crowns, 
And Praise exalts, whose spirits are abroad 
In this great world, and so angelic seem, 
Beneath the shadow of Almighty wings 
The simple think they mused sublime ! — betray 
The more than weakness of unworthy man, 
When nature's venom quickens at the heart, 
Or stern reality some feeling tries. 

And thou ! just gilded with a public smile, 
Thy mind is dancing on a sea of thoughts 
Which revel onward with delirious joy : 
For now, the hackney'd wonder of the Night 
Thou art, and by the music of fair tongues 
Enchanted; flatt'rers feed thine ears with 

praise, 
And clog it into deafness. Hear'st thou not 
How Envy whispers off thy bloom of fame, 
Till Meanness in false robe arrayeth thee ! 
Thou fool of flatt'ry ! this the glorious doom 
Ambition sought ! Is Greatness only great, 



When flatter'd, known, and seen 1 Canst thou 

so bend, 
And be thus derogate ? Wilt thou, whose eye 
The stars can read, with heaven and earth 

commune, 
Who feel'st the fibres of Creation's heart 
In trembling harmony with thine, descend 
To lose thy loftiness in this dull scene % 
Back to thy haunts ! the Ocean and the Winds 
Attend thee ; Nature is thy temple ; kneel, 
And worship in her mighty solitude. 
Look up ! and learn a lesson of the Sun, 
That bright Enchanter of the moving heavens ! 
Lonely and lofty in his orb sublime, 
But acting ever ; — such is noble fame. 

Some gracious, grand, and most accom- 

plish'd few, 
Each with a little kingdom in his brain, 
Who club together to recast the world 
And love so many that they care for none, — 
These have I witness'd, laughing at their 

realms, 
Of airy texture, by ambition wove. 
But here is madness, far outfooling this ! 
For lo ! the den whence Oracles proceed 
Like exhalations from the noisome earth 
That, once inbreathed, are death ! This 

wonderful 
Perfection of the vile, surpasseth all 
Temptation, in my darkest mood, employs ! 
Yes, here are Spirits, such as hell-thrones grace, 
Convened to disinherit God of souls, 
And on the blasphemous attempt of pride 
Erect a dynasty of Sense supreme ; 
Each man a god unto himself, let loose 
In all the blinding wantonness of will. 
And this is " freedom," dignified for Man ! 
When, having fed the agonies of tife 
By years of being, weary, worn, and sad, 
To close existence in the clay he treads, 
A soulless, dreamless, unimagined Nought 1 

Where sleep the thunders of convicting 

Wrath? 
Devils believe, and tremble ; men deny 
And laugh ! How enviably endow'd they are ! 
We bow'd and blasted by opposeless heaven, 
Abhor the Godhead, but his name confess; 
But things of earth, infatuated, vile, 
Too darken'd to dissect a flower, or tell 
The meaning of an atom which they tread, 
Would dare annihilate the living God 
Above, and mock the pangs of Hell below ! 
Oh ! all, and more than Satan could desire, 
Blind Teachers of the blind ! could this world 

dare 
To wallow in the darkness that ye breed, 
To such, the heathen would be heavenly -wise ; 



376 



SATAN. 



For they, by revelation unillumed, 
Soar'd out of sense, and in the Skies their gods 
Enthroned, or heard them on the haunted Deep, 
Or in the howling of the homeless Winds. 
A cloud was on them ; but a Spark within 
Yet lived, and saved them from eclipse of 

soul. 
For admiration must be felt, while Power 
Existeth ; on it man will gaze, and learn 
The vast dependence for his lot ordain'd ; 
Dread Shadows of an omnipresent One 
Move round him ; in the march of Elements 
His steps are traced, and Truth is ever by, 
To tread them deep, and track them on to God. 

And hence, these murd'rers of the soul are 
weak 
In process ; too infernal is the Creed 
They fashion ; far too poor in its exchange 
For that divineness of redeeming Love 
They combat; since with freedom they are 

free, — 
As billows toss'd upon the giant main, 
As feathers on the travell'd whirlwind borne 
Are free ! — No, rather some corruptive arts 
Of saintly mixture; or the glozing tongue 
Of hypocrites, with innovating clouds 
Of doctrine — would I at their work behold, 
Than the rash vileness of blaspheming fools. 
A few they poison, but re-action wakes ! 
For one they ruin, thousands are sublimed 
To holy vengeance, which to hell may prove, 
Excess of evil is the source of good. 



But lo ! again the calm-eyed Evening comes : 
The heavens are flaming with a rosy sea 
Of splendour, richly-deep ; and, floating on, 
It reddens round the dying sun, who glares 
With fierce redundancy awhile, then sinks 
Away, like glory from Ambition's eye. 
Behind him, many a dream of old Romance 
Will cry, " What rocks, and hills, and waves 

of light ! 
Magnificent confusion ! such as beam'd 
When the rash boy-god charioted the skies 
And made a burning chaos of the clouds ! " 
But this hath ended : and a breathless calm, 
As though eternity were closing round 
The World, to let it faint in light away, 
Creeps o'er the earth, like slumber shed on air. 

And well, lone pilgrim, at the shaded hour 
Of twilight, when a golden stillness reigns, 
Like lustre from a far-off angel-host 
Reflected, and the unoffending breeze 
Hath music which the day- wind seldom brings, 
May sadness oversteal thee ; and thy heart 



Unspeakably with yearning fancies glow. 
Of life, a living Vision ; and the hour 
Which ends it, like a cloudy dream of Air 
That vanisheth to some allotted world ; 
Of faded youth, and unforgotten friends 
Whose tombstones over life a shadow fling 
No sunshine can efface ; of all which makes 
The lone Heart wander to a dream-like home 
Of sadness, mortal ! thou didst ponder now. 

Such will not ever be : thy death-gloom 

pierced, 
And awful on the unimprison'd soul 
A sun-burst of revealing Truth will blaze ! 
Wherein these mysteries of sight and sense 
Shall all unravell'd lie. — The tender night 
With tragic darkness robed; the lone sweet 

star, 
Oft worshipp'd for a beatific Orb 
Where bright Immortals dwell; the moon's 

romance; 
The sun's enchantment, when He wakes to smile 
The day abroad, or preach departing life 
By his deep setting ; with the spirit-tone 
Of winds, the Ocean's ever-mutt'ring waves, 
And all which thus predominantly awes 
Or saddens feeling, shall itself resolve 
In spiritual completion. Then, thy tear 
Ecstatic, radiant with adoring thought ; 
Each thrill of rapture, like a viewless chain 
From heaven let down and link'd around the 

soul, — 
Shall be translated by unbodied Mind. 
Meanwhile, be mine to veil thee with a show 
Of outward Things ; and sensualise the will, 
Whose promptings, more than conscience, men 

obey. 

Now hath dead Midnight hush'd the world : 

it lies 
Suffused with freshness, like a meadow steep'd 
In verdant quiet, when the flood hath pass'd. 
All deeply pure, impalpably divine 
A Something o'er this hour prevails, which men 
Call Awe, which doth not in their day -life reign ; 
For then, a flush'd existence, and a false 
Enchantment gathers round the rising Hours 
To hue their destiny. But Midnight cools 
The spirit into thinking calm ; then sounds 
Come o'er it with a deeper thrill ; and scenes 
Which in the day a common gladness wore, 
Grow solemn ; then the airy leaf-notes mourn : 
And boughs, like hearse-plumes, wave their 

shadowy pomp. 
By day the present, but at night the past 
Prevails ; a moonlight-tenderness o'er things 
Departed, flings a fond and dream-like gloom ; 
And then, Life takes a feeling from the soul, 
And in earth's tints of paradise can trace 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



377 



A beauty which unkinder hours deny ; — ■ 
The harp is skatter'd, but the sounds remain ! c 

Yet, 'tis not that the tenderness of tears 
Awakes ; that Childhood smiles upon the 

thought 
As looks an Angel through the veil of dreams ; 
It is not that the heart-remember'd rise 
From early tombs, to be once more beloved 
And featured, till the deadness of the dead 
In mem'ry's vision-life is half forgot : 
'Tis not such charm alone; nor that which 

frowns 
From Temple, sky, or everlasting Hill 
Which darkness hath enrobed. But that deep 

sense 
Which he who pierces through the lonesome air 
Far o'er the mute immeasurable sky 
Where travel worlds, for adoration feels, 
Making the midnight holy ! Silent Orbs ! 
On me no mystic awfulness ye shed ; 
For when unblasted, I beheld ye rise 
And glitter into being, bright and pure, 
Like radiant echoes of Almighty will ! 
But mortals, dimly aided by their dreams, 
Behold ye, nursing the unutter'd thought, 
With pond'ring hope and apprehensive awe. 
They wonder, if the unearth'd Spirit dwells 
Among ye ! xoliere the seraph-mansions blaze, 
And who amid them are the bright and blest ! 

And is there not a spirit- World 1 The blind 
May question, and the mocking idiot laugh ; 
But in her, round her., wheresoe'er she move, 
Mortality might reap immortal faith, 
And feel what cannot in the flesh be known. 
In the wild Mystery of earth and air, 
Sun, moon, and star, and the unslumb'ring sea, 
Science might learn far more than Sense adores, 
And by thy panting for the unattain'd 
On earth; by longings which no language 



By the dread torture of o'ermastering Doubt ; 
By thirst for Beauty, such as eye ne'er saw 
And yet is ever mirror' d on the mind ; 
By Love, in her rich heavenliness array'd ; 
By Guilt and Conscience, that terrific Pair 
Who make the Dead to mutter from their 

tombs 
Or colour Nature with the hues of hell ! 
By all the fire and frenzy of a soul 
Guilty with crime, or agonised by dread, 
And by that voice where God the Speaker is, — 
Thy doom, oh mortal ! whatsoe'er thy wish 
In the black deep of thine unfathom'd heart, 
Is deathless, as the damned Angels are ! 

Now is mine hour, the hour of conflict, come, 
When the dark Future over nature frowns 



Like destiny ; now spirit is itself 
Again, and Thought, within her cell retired, 
Doth hold dim converse with Eternal Things. 
Many are musing now ! and sighs are born, 
In slow succession, like unwilling tears 
Prophetic and profound. The worldling sees 
In darkness, what the day could not reveal,— 
Himself ! and sorrows at the faithful view. 
" Another day eternal made ! Time 
And Destiny, how swift ye roll the world 
Along, to which such eager myriads cling 
In duty, fondness, or despair ! Alas ! 
Too much we make, yet far too little think 
Of time : but, oh, at this untroubled hour 
How awfully mine inward visions rise ! 
Infinity is round me ; and I feel 
A dampness on my spirit, and a dark 
Unearthliness of thought; the dead awake, 
Unlock their tombs, and tell me I must 

die ! " 
What sadness here ! and what a wounded soul; 
And yet the World shall his physician be ! 

But, hark! the moaning voice of deep- 

tongued bells 
Herald the midnight o'er the drowsy world. 
Now Earth is one day older ; time itself 
More awful, and the dead to Hades gone. 
Earth, Heaven, and Hell, have felt this fleeted 

day, 
That now is chronicled for Judgment ! Morn 
Hath look'd on many with her radiant eye 
Whose brows shall never meet Her beam again ! 
Another Sun, another System works 
Around them ; they who dwelt in distant 

climes, 
And different aspect wore, the friend and 

foe, 
The loveless and the loving, all who once 
Through time, or circumstance, estranged and 

far 
Existed, — now are met where nothing more 
Is alien, but one Darkness, or one Light, 
As vice or virtue doom'd them. Oh ! ye sad 
And discontented, weary, worn, and grey ; 
Thou martyr of the melancholy hour 
Loving the silence for the dream it gave, 
Sick of the world, and sighing for a tomb ; 
And ye, on whom this Life a burden lay, 
Yet often loosed it when the dying bell 
Of Midnight, like a warning from the grave 
Went in its sadness through the soul, — your 

gaze 
Doth witness what your nature never dreamt ; 
The Yeil is torn, the Mystery unseal' d, 
And ye are men no more ! Methinks a Yoice 
From many, would revisit this far world ! 
But no : — the Dust is faithful to its dead, 
And they are silent, till the Trumpet speak ! 



378 



SATAN. 



And now, my wand'rings dark though this 

free Isle 
Are o'er; through town and village, house and 

street, 
By virtue of my being, have I roam'd, 
A sightless Presence, an unshadow'd Power, 
An undream'd Watcher moving round the 

hearts 
Of men, and looking into depths of soul 
Where none but Hell, and the Immortals 



The sights which none have seen ; the voices 

none 
Have heard, with all the agony and glow, 
The longings, workings, and unrestful strife 
Of passion, mingled in the sleepless mind, 
And fever'd into what a life is named, — 
These have I witness'd ; and on what thou art, 
And wert, and might'st have been, heaven- 

favour'd Land ! 
Eeflected, weighing thee for future worlds. — 
For future worlds ! each day and hour, thy 

dead 
Are there ; each moment is a Hell or Heaven 
To many of thy dust. Thou bear'st the awe 
Of Destiny ; as on the earth thy power 
Hath stamp'd its mightiness on every realm, 
Printing the roll of Time with many a track 
Of gloom and glory, havoc or renown, 
So, when the Universe is roll'd away 
Beneath the shadow of Almighty frown, 
Eternity shall chronicle thy name 
For wonder ; it will be a sign in heaven ! 

Then speed thee onward in thy vaunting 

course 
Of empire ; let no dream of Judgment shade 
Thy soul, or touch thee with a solemn fear : 
Plunge in the future ! let the past be dead 
To thee ; for when shall England's sceptre 

fail 1 
Thus dare, and do, and perish in thy dream ! 
Ye buried Empires, which have braved the world, 
Eise from your tombs, and speak ! for once I 

mark'd 
Your palmy greatness ; sea-famed Tyre I saw 
When ocean cower'd beneath her vassal-ships ; 
And hoar Chaldea's hundred-gated Queen 
In high-wall'd glory ! Tell me, what are they 1 
And she, earth's ancient tyranness, vast 

Eome, 
The rolling of her battle-cars, the voice 
Of Scipio, and the sound of Caesar's march, 



Did I not hear, when Kingdoms were her 

slaves ? 
And thou, the fairy-isled, forsaken Greece ! 
When Sage and Bard, and battle-wreaths, were 

thine, 
When all which centuries glorified could yield 
Was consecrated to thy vast renown, 
I walk'd thy streets, and prophesied thy doom ! 
Thus fell the mighty ; — shall not Britain fall 1 

But lo ! the heavens are ominously black, 
Methinks, as though they frown'd a dark 

response. 
Erewhile, and star-troops in their island-glow 
Around the wan Enchantress of the skies 
Appear'd, while lovingly the azure lay 
Between them, softer than the lid of sleep. 
But now, all pregnant with portentous ire, 
The clouds have muffled up the pomp of 

night : 
There is a gasping in the heated air, 
A wing-like flutter in the tim'rous boughs, 
And sigh, and sound, from out the heart of 

Things 
Invisible, breathed forth ; the Storm awakes ! 
And tones of thunder thrill the heart of Earth ; 
The lightnings cleave the clouds, and north to 

south, 
And east to west, a tale of Darkness tell ! 
Hark ! as the wearied echoes howl themselves 
Away, the clamours of the midnight-sea, 
Beneath yon cliff in thund'ring chorus rise, 
While she is waved with terror ! billows heave 
Their blackness in the wind, and, bounding on 
In vaulting madness, beat the rocky shore 
Incessant, till it whitens with their foam. 

I love this passion of the Elements, 
This mimicry of chaos, in their might 
Of storm ! And here, in my lone awfulness 
While ev'ry cloud a thunder-hymn repeats, 
Earth throbs, and Nature in convulsion reels, 
Farewell to England ! Into other climes 
My flight I wing, but round her cast that spell 
I weave for Nations till their doom arrive. 
And come it shall ! When on this guardian- 
cliff 
Again I stand, the whirlwind and the wrath 
Of Desolation will have swept all thrones 
Away ; a darkness, as of old, will reign, 
The woods be standing where yon cities tower, 
And Ocean wailing for a widow'd Isle ! 



INTELLECT WITHOUT GOD. 



379 



NOTES. 



BOOK I. 
Note 1, Page 331, Column 2. 
a day 

Is coming when ye moulder into dust, 
And melt like dew-drops by the wind annull'd ! 
"The sands of those deserts which he to the west- 
ward of Egypt are encroaching on and narrowing, by 
a constant and irresistible inroad, the valley of the 
Nile of Egypt. We see the pyramids gradually 
diminishing in height, particularly on their western 
sides ; and we read of towns and villages which have 
been buried in the desert, but which once stood in 
fertile soils, some of whose minarets were still visible 
a few years ago, attesting the powers of the invading 
sand ; . . . . advancing, I repeat, to the annihilation 
of Egypt and all her glories, with the silence, but 
with the certainty, too, of all-devouring time." — Sir 
Rtjfane Donkin's Course &c. of the Niger. 

Note 2, Page 332, Column 1. 
Upon the soul of sage Philosophy 
And Wisdom, templed in the shrines of old, 
Faint shadows of my Being fell. 
"If we consult the most authentic monuments of 
antiquity, we find all nations under the sun, in the 
earliest ages, however differing in other points, agree- 
ing in the belief of evil as well as good Spirits. The 
Persian Magi and the Chaldeans distinguished the 
Devil by the name of Arimanus ; the Egyptians, 
under that of Typhon. The Greeks and Romans 
admitted both wicked and good demons." — Seed. 

Note 3, Page 333, Column 2. 
A tyrant ! in whose passion for a power. 
Above all liberty and law enthroned. 

"We close our view of Bonaparte's character, by 
saying, that his original propensities, released from 
restraint, and pampered by indulgence, to a degree 
seldom allowed to mortals, grew up into a spirit of 
despotism as stem and absolute as ever usurped the 
human heart. The love of power and supremacy 
absorbed, consumed him. No other passion, no 
domestic attachment, no private friendship, no love 
of pleasure, no relish for letters or the arts, no human 
sympathy, no human weakness, divided his mind 
with the passion for dominion and for dazzling mani- 
festations of his power. Before this, duty, honour, 
love, humanity, fell prostrate. Josephine, we are told, 
was dear to him; but the devoted wife, who had 
stood firm and faithful in the day of his doubtful 
fortunes, was cast off in his prosperity, to make room 
for a stranger, who might be more subservient to his 
power. He was affectionate, we are told, to his 
brothers and mother ; but his brothers, the moment 
they ceased to be his tools, were disgraced ; and his 
mother, it is said, was not aUowed to sit in the 
presence of her imperial son. He was sometimes 
softened, we are told, by the sight of the field of 
battle strewn with the wounded and dead; but if 
the Moloch of his ambition claimed new heaps of 



slain to-morrow, it was never denied. With all his 
sensibility, he gave millions to the sword with as 
little compunction as he would have brushed away so 
many insects, which had infested his march." — 
Changing. 

Note 4, Page 335, Column 2. 
And yet my ban is on thee ! — 'tis the curse 
Of havoc. 

" The Spaniards conquered the islands, and a great 
part of the continent of America. Stimulated by the 
thirst of gold, which the New World offered to them 
in abundance, they committed crimes and barbarities 
which make humanity shudder. Millions of the un- 
fortunates were either massacred or buried in the 
sea. " — C. Koch's Revolution, translated by Crichton. 

"In no period does human nature appear with 
more shocking features than in the Spanish conquest 
of South America." — Mickle's Zusiad. 

Note 5, Page 336, Column 1. 

But thou — the Sun hath written on thee, Slave ! 

" A Slave-Market.- — A long table was placed in 
the middle of the street, upon which the negroes 
were exposed, not one by one, but in families at a 
time. From this conspicuous station, they were 
shown off by two auctioneers, one at each end of the 
table, who called out the biddings, and egged on the 
purchasers by chanting the praises of their bargains. 
The auctioneers having told the names of each, and 
described their qualifications, requested the sur- 
rounding gentlemen to bid. One hundred dollars for 
each member of the family, or five hundred for the 
whole party, was the first offer. This gradually rose 
to one hundred and fifty, at which sum they were 
knocked down ! " — Basil Hall's America. 



BOOK II. 
Page 339, Column 2. 

so oft the phantom of a cloud 

In single darkness cowering on the air, 

Looks fiercer for the frownless heaven around ! 

So Fame is murder 'd, that the dull may live. 
In the fourth edition of D'Israeli's "Literary Cha- 
racters," (the most interesting work of its kind in the 
language,) there is a manuscript note quoted from 
Lord Byron, singularly illustrative of the sensibility 
of genius. DTsraeli records that "When Petrarch 
was passing by his native town, he was received with 
the honours of his fame ; but when the heads of the 
town conducted Petrarch to the house where the 
poet was born, and informed him that the proprietor 
had often wished to make alterations, but that the 
town's-people had risen to insist that the house which 
was consecrated by the birth of Petrarch should be 
preserved unchanged ; this was a triumph more 
affecting to Petrarch than his coronation at Rome." — 
Vol. ii. p. 286-7. 
To this passage Lord Byron has added the follow- 



380 



SATAN. 



ing note: — "It would have pained me more that 
' the proprietor ' should have ' often ' wished to make 
alterations, than it could give pleasure that the rest 
of Arezzo rose against his right (for right he had) ; 
the deprecation of the lowest of mankind is more 
painful than the applause of the highest is pleasing ; 
the sting of a scorpion is more in torture than the 
possession of anything could be in rapture." 



BOOK III. 

Note 1, Page 343, Column 1. 

Of imperfection is true wisdom born, 

And vaunting knowledge, ignorance confessed. 

" It is to the imperfection of our faculties, then, as 

forcing us to guess and explore what is half concealed 

from us, that we owe our laborious experiments and 

reasoning, and consequently all the science which is 

the result of these and the proudest discoveries which 

we make ; thus, in one point of view, whatever 

dignity they may give to a few moments of our life, 

may be considered as proofs and memorials of our 

general weakness. " — Brown's Philosophy : Lecture XI. 

Note 2, Page 343, Column 2. 

How zoidely, — let the watching Angels speak .' 

Having, in several parts of this Poem, alluded to 
spiritual agencies and ministries, the author begs 
leave to offer the following body of evidence, which 
has been collected with some care and research, from 
the pages of our early divines, down to the most dis- 
tinguished theologians of the present era. Considered 
of themselves, — without a reference to the scriptural 
authority for their active influence over human 
affairs, — a belief in Guardian and Evil Angels seems 
peculiarly adapted to adorn and solemnise a poetical 
creed.* But authorised by the relations of the 
inspired volume, the subject advances to something 
beyond the mere romance of poetry. And it is in 
this latter view the passages about to be quoted were 
written. And let it be remembered that they are the 
opinions of no shallow thinkers, but the solemn con- 
victions of great minds and comprehensive under- 
standings; and are drawn from the true and only 
authority for such matters — The Bible. 

ON GOOD AND EVIL ANGELS. 

"Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 
Milton, Par. Lost, B. 4, 1. 677. 

Extracts from the Fathers of the Christian Church. 

"Let us consider the whole multitude of his angels, 
how ready they stand to minister unto his will, as 
saith the scripture. ' Thousands of thousands stood 
before him, and ten thousand times ten thousand 
ministered unto him — and they cried, saying, Holy ! 
holy ! holy ! is the Lord of Sabaoth — the whole earth 
is full of his glory.'"— Written about An. Bom. 70, by 
St. Clement, to the Corinthians. 

" For even I myself, though I am in bonds, yet am 
not therefoi-e able to understand heavenly things, as 
to the places (orders) of the angels, and the several 
companies of them under their respective princes. 



* See Dryden's " Discourse ;" where this doctrine 
is elegantly and powerfully advocated. 



Things visible and invisible — but I am in these yet a 
Learner." — St. Ignatius' Epistle to the TraUiana. 

Ignatius was a disciple of St. John the Evangelist, 
and, by tradition, reported to have been the child our 
Saviour took into his arms, Matt, xviii. 3, and to 
have been thence called Theophorus. 

"Take heed, therefore, lest, falling asleep in our 
sins, the wicked one, getting the dominion over us, 
stir us up, and shut us out of the kingdom of the 
Lord." — Epistle of St. Barnabas, the Companion of St. 
Paul. 

"Stand fast therefore ye that work righteousness, 
and continue to do it, that your departure may be 
with the holy angels." 

' ' There are two angels with man, one of righteous- 
ness, the other of iniquity." — The Shepherd of Hennas. 

The following extract from Bishop Patrick includes 
many of the opinions of the ancient church : — 

"I find it the constant opinion of the world, that 
these angels are assigned to several offices, and pre- 
side even over all creatures here below. There being 
some who are not only ££o§<m tuv iOvav, as Moses 
speaks, the guardians of the several nations of the 
world, but rSv xo<rfx,iz£Jv ffrolxua*, conservators, and 
keepers of the elements of the world, as Arethas 
speaks and concludes, from Rev. xiv. 18, where you 
read of an angel that had power over the fire, — and 
from xvi. 5, where you read of an angel of the waters. 

' ' Hence he thinks, we have sufficient ground to 
believe that some have the command over the air, others 
over the water, others over the earth, and others of 
the fire, and so proportionably, that some have the 
care of one species of creatures amongst us, and some 
of another, nothing doubting but that they have a 
more special superintendency over mankind, the chief 
of God's works in this inferior world — and more 
particularly take care of those who are good, and fear 
God as the most worthy of all men, and the nearest 
to the angelical world ; and, whatsoever question we 
may make of the rest of their belief, we cannot doubt 
— if we believe the Holy Scriptures — of the truth of 
the last part of it, that there are some of those excel- 
lent beings who are ministers of God for the good of 
men, and especially of those who believe. This the 
Christian religion hath above all others assured us of : 
we have the word of the blessed apostles for it, that 
they are ' ministering spirits, sent forth to minister 
for them who shall be heirs of salvation.' Nay, the 
words of our Lord and Master, that the angels, even 
of the weakest Christians, behold the face of God in 
heaven. 

"These high officers of Almighty God, Gregory 
Nazienzen calls Xoiju,T^6ryiTis Svjtibou Aurovgyoi ttj; frg&iTvJs 
Xa,u.7r^0T'/iTc,;, — secondary splendours, the ministers and 
attendants of the First Brightness. 

"They attend upon God to receive his command- 
ments for the good of our outward man, being the 
most noble of all God's visible works upon this earth ; 
but most especially for the good of our spirits, which 
are far more dear both to Him and to them, as nearer 
of kin to celestial beings." 

"St. Basil declares that sravn xi-Tto-Tidaori ih rev 
zveiov kyyiXog tra^^vu, &c. To every one who be- 
lieveth on the Lord (that is, every Christian), there 
is an angel that is his companion, and as one may 
call him, his assistant genius. 

"If thou hast any good works in thy soul worthy 
of angelical custody and security, God will give thee 
this guard and even wall thee round about with a 
great many angels, rather than it should be spoiled ; 
and so he saith upon another Psalm, ' to every one 



of the faithful there is ccyytXo; <ra°i*twy/uivo;, an angel 
yoked together with him, who is worthy to behold 
the face of God in heaven ; ' naj^, he quotes these 
very words in his third Book against Eunomius to 
prove it, that every faithful person hath an angel for 
his companion, who is, as it were, his governor, tutor, 
and keeper, directing and guiding his life, and adds, 
oiS=/9 ivTSou, no man gainsays this, being mindful of 
the words of our Lord, saying, ' despise not one of 
these little ones, for their angels always behold the 
face of their father which is in heaven. ' And there- 
fore the author of questions and answers to the 
Orthodox (under the name of Justin Martyr) assert- 
ing this opinion, that every man is attended by a 
guardian angel, confidently adds, zadais -h Sua ye<x<pv 
Xiyu, accordmg as the divine writing tells us: and 
St. Jerome, upon these words of our Saviour, cries 
out, Great is the dignity of souls, who have from 
their birth 'Angelum delegatum,' a delegate angel, 
commissioned from heaven for their custody. 

"Now we meet with these two characters of the 
Devil in Holy Writ,— that he is a murderer, and that 
he is a liar. As he is a murderer, seeking the de- 
struction of men, he doth all the mischief he can, both 
to men's bodies and to their minds. As he is a liar, he 
seeks only to deceive, abuse, and destroy the mind. 
For the hurt that this murderer doth to their bodies, 
it is either in men's private capacities, by troubling 
the air, bringing diseases and infections, when God 
permits him, raising storms and tempests, and such 
like things : or in their public capacity, stirring up 
the spirit of ambitious, haughty, covetous, and cruel 
men, to oppress and enslave others, to make un- 
necessary wars, to fill the world with rapine, slaughter, 
and blood, to overturn kingdoms, and to turn the 
world upside down. Then for their minds he doth 
them no small prejudice, even by those wars and 
tumults, in which one sin is wont to follow upon the 
neck of another. And besides, we may conceive that 
he instigates men to all sorts of villanies, according as 
he finds them inclined. He inflames their brutish 
desires, he pricks forward their pride and love of 
dominion, he stimulates their revenge, he heightens 
their choler and rage, and works upon all their other 
passions ; so that he is the furtherer of adulteries and 
all filthiness, the great provoker to murders, thefts, 
robberies, violence, deceit, and fraud, and all other 
wickedness, that, if it were possible, there might be a 
hell above ground, and he might be the God of this 
world. 

" Then for the other thing, as he is a liar, his busi- 
ness is to cheat and delude men's minds with false 
opinions, to propagate all the foolish conceits and 
lewd doctrines that he can invent, to lead men to 
epicurism and atheistical conclusions, or else to abuse 
and gull their minds with fancies and vain dreams 
which they shall glory in as the very revelation of 
Almighty God : from all which I think we may safely 
draw this inference, that as the Devil and his par- 
takers seek whom, in this manner, they may devour, 
so the holy angels seek how they may save and de- 
liver men from these mischiefs. And as I have shown 
you that they are the preservers of men's bodies, so I 
shall now make it appear that they are instruments 
of good to our souls, because they love their welfare, 
and they are the lovers of truth and piety, and seek 
the promotion of the faith of Jesus Christ in sincerity. 
This is one great commendation which St. Peter gives 
of the gospel revelation, ' that the angels desire to 
look into these things,' 1 Pet. i. 12. And St. Paul 
saith, • It hath pleased God to gather together in one 



all things in Christ, both which are in heaven, ard 
which are on earth.' Eph. i. 10. To make us all, 
that is, but one society, under one supreme governor, 
the Lord's Christ." — Bishop Patrick's Sermons, ed. 1719. 

"Lavue des bons Anges (disait St. Antoine a ses 
disciples) n'apporte aucun trouble, leur presence est 
douce et tranquille ; elle comble l'ame de joie, et lui 
inspire de la confiance. lis font concevoir un tel 
amour des choses divines, qu'on voudrait quitter la 
vie pour les suivre dans sa bienheureuse e"ternite\ Au 
contraire, l'apparition des mauvais Anges remplit de 
trouble. lis se prfeentent avec bruit; ils jettent 
l'ame dans une confusion de pensees, ou dans une 
frayeur qui la deconcerte. Ils degoutent de la pratique 
des vertus, et rendent l'ame inconstante dans ses 
resolutions. " — Godescard, Vie de St. Antoine. 

" O how happy wouldst thou most justly think 
thyself, couldst thou but see with the eyes of thy 
mind those solemn rejoicings above, wherein the 
mystical and most magnificent sense of the Psalmist's 
description — 'the princes go before, the instruments 
follow after, and in the midst are the damsels playing 
with their instruments.' Then wouldst thou plainly 
discover, and be abundantly convinced, that there are 
numbers of those bright spirits which do with won- 
drous watchfulness and satisfaction rejoice with the 
congregations of good Christians in their praises, and 
observe their behaviour, and their prayers, and are 
present with their pious meditations, and keep guard 
about them in their sleep and solitude, and direct and 
preserve the governors of our Church in the exercise 
of their spiritual authority. For this is sure, that 
the heavenly powers have a very tender regard for 
their fellow-citizens upon earth, and being ' all minis- 
tering spirits sent out to minister for them who shall 
be heirs of salvation, ' we have no cause to doubt that 
they are very solicitously concerned for the good of 
their charge, that they conceive a sensible joy at it — 
that they strengthen, instruct, protect, and take all 
the care they can of them, in order to obtain it. In 
doing so, indeed, they study to promote, not our hap- 
piness only, but their own. For they long earnestly 
for our safe arrival in those blessed regions, as hoping 
to see the breaches made upon then glorious society 
repaired, and the numbers of their fallen brethren 
recruited by the succession of redeemed souls in their 
places. They delight to hear of good men. They fly 
upon despatches between God and us, and are the 
messengers and instruments by which our requests 
and holy sighs are carried up to God — and the graces 
and blessings he gives in return to those prayers and 
complaints conveyed down to us." — St. Bernard's Book 
of the Sold, chap. vi. 

"The fall of angels, therefore, was pride. Since 
their fall their practices have been the clean contrary 
unto those before mentioned, for being dispersed,, 
some in the air, some in the earth, some in the water, 
some among the minerals, dens, and caves that are 
under the earth, they have by all means laboured to 
effect an universal rebellion against the laws, and, as 
far as in them lieth, utter destruction of the works of 
God." — Hooker's Fee. Polity, b. i. 

"How often are men impelled by certain unac- 
countable persuasions either to do, or to forbear, a 
thing, upon which (as afterwards appeared by the 
event) the whole fortune of their lives has turned ? 
Unaccountable, I say, must these persuasions be, 
unless we refer them to some higher cause ; and to 
what cause can we better ascribe them than to the 
suggestions of angels ? " — Bishop Conybeare's Sermon. 

"The Scripture doctrine of Satan makes it probable, 



382 



SATAN. 



that many of those horrible thoughts which some- 
times come with an almost irresistible impetus into 
the minds of pious persons, are of diabolical origin, 
which is in some measure confirmed by what has 
been observed of the subtlety with which atheis- 
tical and sceptical arguments have sometimes been 
presented to the mind, even beyond the natural 
genius of the person assaulted by them. 

" There is no greater evidence of the degeneracy 
which a rational mind, even with great degrees of 
sagacity and ability, is capable of, than the implac- 
able malice of those wicked spirits, and the obstinate 
malignity with which they are opposing the course of 
God in the world, though they are sure that opposi- 
tion will end in their own confusion and ruin." — See 
Doddridge's Lectures. 

"As I am not a Sadducee, the account you give of 
the music which entertained you on the road, does 
not put my dependence upon your veracity or your 
judgment to any trial. We live upon the confines of 
the invisible world, or rather, perhaps in the midst of 
it. That unseen agents have a power of operating 
upon our minds, at least upon that mysterious faculty 
we call the imagination, is with me not merely a 
point of opinion, or even of faith, but of experience. 
That evil spirits can, when permitted, disturb, dis- 
tress, and defile us, I know as well as I know that 
the fire can burn me ; and though their interposition 
is perhaps more easily and certainly distinguishable, 
yet, from analogy, I conclude that good spirits are 
equally willing and equally able to employ their kind 
offices for our relief and comfort ; nor have any a 
right to withhold their assent to what the Scriptures 
teach, and many sober persons declare, of this invis- 
ible agency, merely because we cannot answer the 
questions, How ? or Why ? The thing may be certain, 
though we cannot easily explain it, and there may be 
just and important reasons for it, though we should 
not be able to assign them." — Rev. John Newton's 
Letters. 

" To the nature of their (angels') ministry, the tes- 
timonies are still more explicit and numerous. For 
greatly do these men wrong the zeal, and greatly do 
they undervalue the happiness of angels who dream 
that the first is suffered to evaporate in incense, and 
adoration, and never-ending minstrelsy — or that the 
second consists in luxurious ease alone amid the 
groves of Paradise, or the splendours of the empyrean. 
Heaven has, no less than earth, its active duties. 
The blessedness of heaven is an useful and energetic 
blessedness — and they who are sometimes painted as 
feasting in the kingdom, and enjoying the presence of 
their Maker, are at others described as engaged in 
battle with the great dragon and his adherents ; as 
stopping, in the cause of the saints, the mouths of 
lions, and subduing the violence of fire ; as keeping 
guard round the prophets of the Lord, and as bearers 
of his orders to them ; as ministering to the Son of 
God after his temptation, and in the hour of his 
mortal agony consoling and sustaining him ; as 
anxious and exulting witnesses of the progress of his 
kingdom upon earth — as calling the Gentile Cornelius 
to be the first-fruits of Christian adoption ; as smiting 
with an invisible sword the arrogant and persecuting 
Herod, and breaking down before the apostle Peter 
the chains and gates of his captivity. 

" Of some one or more celestial spirits (if our hearts 
be right with God), we are assured that we shall 
obtain the protection : and do not those hearts burn 
within us when we read of these mighty beings 
mingling in the converse, assuming the forms, and 



partaking of the hospitality of mortals? when we 
learn that not a sinner repents on earth, but the 
angels rejoice in heaven — that the celestial warriors 
encamp, not only round the houses of the prophets, 
but around the person and property of every servant 
of the Almighty — that even the weakest and hum- 
blest believer is an object of interest to those who are 
themselves privileged to behold the face of their 
Heavenly Father — and that, the death-bed struggle 
ended (and who knows how greatly their unseen 
presence may support us under it ?)— it is they who 
carry the soul of the humblest saint to Paradise. 

' ' All these things are written for our instruction. 

" They are not the minority who devote themselves 
to the service, and submit themselves to the reproach 
of their Redeemer. His flock may seem in the world 
which now is ' a little one, ' but ' other sheep there are 
which are not of this fold ; ' and when the seats are full 
in the marriage supper of the Lord, and when the new 
heaven and new earth, in which dwelleth righteous- 
ness, have received, in the day of his power, their 
holy and happy multitude, we shall understand how 
few, in comparison, have been the clamorous adver- 
saries which in this life disturbed our repose ; * how 
blind the cowardice which, with angels on our side, 
would have turned back in the day of battle." — 
Bishop Heber's Sermon on Good Angels. 

An extract from Chalmers's Discourse, "On the 
Contest for an Ascendancy over Man, amongst the 
Higher Orders of Intelligence, " will form an appro- 
priate conclusion to this long, but, it is hoped, not 
unimportant or uninteresting note. — " To an Infidel 
ear, all this carries the sound of something wild and 
visionary along with it. But though only known 
through the medium of revelation, after it is known, 
who can fail to recognise its harmony with the great 
lineaments of human experience ? Who has not felt 
the workings of rivalry within him, between the 
power of conscience and the power of temptation ? 
Who does not remember those seasons of retirement, 
when the calculations of eternity had gotten a mo- 
mentary command over the heart ; and time, with all 
its interests and all its vexations, had dwindled into in- 
significancy before them ; and who does not remember 
how, upon his actual engagement with the objects of 
time, they resumed a control as great and omnipotent 
as if all the importance of eternity adhered to them ; 
how they emitted from them such an impression 
upon his feelings as to fix and to fascinate the whole 
man into a subserviency to their influence ; how, in 
spite of every lesson of their worthlessness, brought 
home to him at every turn, by the rapidity of the 
seasons, and the vicissitudes of life, and the ever- 
moving progress of his own earthly career, and the 
visible ravages of death among his acquaintances 
around him, and the desolations of his family, and 
the constant breaking up of his system of friendships, 



* "When we are speaking of the Devil, we are not 
to understand any one particular being, or any one 
particular evil spirit, but the whole aggregate or com- 
pany of evil spirits, which inhabit round about us in 
the lower regions of the air. All these are, in the 
Scripture language, and common speech, called by 
the name of the Devil. That, nevertheless, there is 
one person, peculiarly, and by way of eminence, thus 
called, as the general of a hostile army is called ' the 
enemy, ' is plain, from St. Matt. xxv. 41 ; Rev. ii. 9. 
' Inter impuros spiritus unum esse qui prsesideat et 
Judseorum et Apostolorum scripta nos docent.' — 
Grotius." — Note to Sermon IV. 



and the affecting spectacle of all that lives and is in 
motion withering and hasting to the grave ; oh ! how- 
comes it that, in the face of all his experience, the 
whole elevation of purpose conceived in the hour of 
his better understanding should be dissipated and 
forgotten ? Whence the might and whence the mys- 
tery of that spell which so binds and so infatuates us 
to the world? What prompts us so to embark the 
whole strength of our eagerness and of our desires, in 
pursuit of interests which we know a few little years 
will bring to utter annihilation ? Who is it that im- 
parts to them all the charm and all the colour of an 
unfailing durability? Who is it that throws such an 
air of stability over these earthly tabernacles, as 
makes them look to the fascinated eye of man like 
resting-places for eternity ? Who is it that so pictures 
out the objects of sense, and so magnifies the range 
of their future enjoyment, and so dazzles the fond 
and deceived imagination, that in looking onward 
through our earthly career, it appears like the vista, 
or the perspective of innumerable ages ? He who is 
called the God of this World ! " 



Note 3, Page 346, Column 1. 

Wliea love, remains a memory and a tear. 

" II est une age pour l'experience ; un autre pour le 
souvenir. Le sentiment s'e"teint a la fin ; mais l'ame 
sensible demeure toujours." — Rousseau. 

Note 4, Page 347, Column 1. 
Religion, in the cowering spirit dwells. 
Witness Lucretius : — 

' ' Usque adeo res humanas vis abdita qusedam 
Obterit ; et pulchros fasceis, ssevasque secures 
Proculcare ; ac ludibrio sibi habere videtur." 

(Lib. 5, v. 1232.) 



Note 2, Page 347, Column 2. 

An Atheist, — he hath never faced an hour, 
And not belied the name he bore. His doubt 
Is darkness, from the unbelieving Will 
Begot. 

"Christianity is not a Theoiy, or a Speculation; 
but a Life. Not a Philosophy of Life, but a life and 
a living process. Try it. It has been eighteen hun- 
dred years in existence ; and has one individual left 
a record like the following? — 'I tried it, and it did 
not answer. I made the experiment faithfully, accord- 
ing to the directions ; and the result has been, a con- 
viction of my own credulity ! ' Have you, in your 
own experience met with any one in whose words 
you could place full confidence, and who seriously 
affirmed, 'I have given Christianity a fair trial. I 
was aware that its promises were made only condi- 
tionally ; but my heart bears we witness, that I have, 
to the utmost of my power, complied with these 
conditions. Both outwardly and in the discipline of 
my inward acts and affections, I have performed the 
duties which it enjoins, and I have used the means 
which it prescribes. Yet my assurance of its truth 
has received no increase. Its promises have not been 
fulfilled ; and I repent me of my delusion ! ' If neither 
your own experience, nor the history of almost two 
thousand years, has presented a single testimony to 
this purport ; and if you have read and heard of 
many who have lived and died bearing witness to 
the contrary ; and if you have yourself met with 



some one, in whom, on every other point, you would 
place unqualified trust, who has on his own expe- 
rience made report to you, that ' he is faithful who 
promised, and what he has promised he has proved 
himself able to perform ;' is it bigotry, if I fear that 
the Unbelief which prejudges and prevents the expe- 
riment, lias its source elsewhere than in the corrupted 
judgment; that not the strong free mind, but the 
enslaved Will, is the time original Infidel in this 
instance? It would not be the first time that a 
treacherous Bosom-sin had suborned the Under- 
standings of men to bear false-witness against its 
avowed Enemy, the right though unreceived Owner 
of the House, who had long warned it out, and waited 
only for its ejection, to enter and take possession of 
the same." — Coleridge's Aids to Reflection. 

Note 6, Page 347, Column 2. 

To him philosophy will preach in vain. 

" The arguments commonly termed Metaphysical, 
on this subject, I have always regarded as absolutely 
void of force, unless in as far as they proceed on a 

tacit assumption of the physical argument 

The universe is that which shows the existence of 
the Author of the universe. It exhibits a harmony 
of relations, to perceive which is to perceive design ; 
that is to say, it is impossible for us to perceive them, 
without feeling, immediately, that the harmony of 
parts with parts, and of their results with each other, 
must have its origin in some designing mind." — 
Broun's Philosophy, Lecture xciii. 



Note 7, Page 348, Column 2. 

Oh ! did the living but the dead recal, 
As often as the dead the living do, 
TJie Sun would gaze upon a purer world 
Than now. 

"It is reasonable to believe that the saints shall 
know that they had such and such a relation to one 
another when they were on earth. The father shall 
know that such a one was his child, the husband shall 
remember that such a one was his wife, &c. The 
ground of which assertion is this, that the soul of 
man is of that nature that it depends not on the body 
and sense ; and, therefore, being separated, knows 
all that she knew in the body; and, for the same 
reason, it is not to be doubted that she arrives in the 
other world with the same designs and inclinations 
.she had here. So that the delights of conversation 
are still continued in heaven. Friends and relations 
are familiar with one another, and call to mind their 
former circumstances and concerns in the world, so 
far as they may be serviceable to advance their hap- 
piness. The truth of what I say, concerning this 
knowledge and remembrance of things in a state of 
glory, may receive some confirmation from that 
history in Matt. xvii. 3, &c, where we read, that in 
that glorious interview, which was a glimpse of 
heaven, the Apostles knew Moses and Elias, and 
these knew them, though none of them had seen one 
another before. Much more, then, shall spirits who 
were intimately acquainted with one another on 
earth, retain their acquaintance and converse in 
heaven, and call to mind the passages of their lives. 
But there is irrefragable proof of this in Luke xvi. 25 : 
' Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy life- 
time receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus 
evil things.' And it is as true that Lazarus remem- 



bered him at the same time. Whence I gather that 
the knowledge and memory of things done here 
remain hereafter. And particularly that the dimmed, 
know and remember that they have relations on 
earth, is evident from the rich man's being concerned 
for his father's house and his five brethren, 27th and 
2Sth verses. It is not to be questioned, then, that 
the blessed, likewise, call to mind those that were 
related to them, and that they are concerned for their 
good and welfare; and when they meet them in 
heaven, greet them most kindly, and hold commerce 
with them, and recal the passages of their former 
conversation. All the ancient and pious fathers 
agree in this. St. Cyprian owns that our parents, 
brethren, children, and near relations, expect us in 
heaven, and are solicitous for our good. St. Jerome 
comforts a lady on this account, that we shall see our 
friends and know them. St. Augustine endeavours 
to mitigate the sorrow of an Italian widow with this 
consideration, that she shall be restored to her hus- 
band, and behold, and know him. And this was 
an apprehension that thinking men among the 
Pagans had attained to. Socrates, a little before he 
drank his deadly draught, told his friends how valu- 
able a thing it was to have conference in the other 
life with Orpheus, Musseus, Homer, Hesiod, and other 
brave men; — how happy he should be in their 
society ; — and he often wished to depart out of this 
world, that he might enjoy the conversation of those 
excellent persons." — Dr. John Edwards' Theologia 
Reformata. 

BOOK IV. 

Note 1, Page 350, Column 2. 
A moral justice sways the course of Things. 

In a work* lately published, and which evidences 
an able mind, that has thought for itself, the momen- 
tous and deeply interesting doctrine of a moral balance 
is discussed with great clearness and originality. As 
few of his readers may have seen this Essay, the 
autnor ventures to submit the following paragraphs, 
and to recommend the whole volume to their pe- 
rusal : — 

"The greatest of all luxuries is that of faith, in 
what may be called a moral balance, even in the 
affairs of this world. If we add to this the other 
and still more important faith, as to eternity, we 
shall pass through life, with no more mental suffering, 
in our worst days, than may be necessary to wean us 
from it, and so to make the prospect of death en- 
durable, and with a consciousness of luxury, at other 
times, far exceeding all other, as to permanence, secu- 
rity, and true elevation. This faith is, that evil pro- 
duces evil, even in this world, in one shape or other, 
to those who practise it; and that good produces 
good ; no other cases than those of instant dissolution, 
in either practice, being destined to the single retri- 
bution of a future state. 

"To explain our meaning by an instance, let it be 
supposed, that a man, arriving in London from some 
distant country, finds his way into a room filled with 
gold coins, the owners of which have suddenly but 
entirely left the apartment ; that he is aware of this, 
and also that no other person is so ; that he has a 
certainty of being personally known to no one, within 
hundreds of miles ; that his absence from his own home 
will be imputed to a visit, such as he has been accus- 



" What is Luxury V By a Lay Observer. 



tomed to make, to some intermediate place ; and that, 
after this and other considerations, he feels a perfect 
assurance of his being able to take away what sums 
he pleases, and to carry them home, without a 
possibility of discovery by any human being. What 
we call faith in the moral balance of human affairs, 
is, that this man, supposing him to forget for the 
moment his eternal interests, shall be fully confident 
of its being his wisest conduct, his best policy, even 
as far as regards this world only, to withdraw from 
the room, without touching the gold; being sure, 
that, after taking it, the retribution of some prepon- 
derating evil would reach him here, and that, not 
taking it, he will receive some far more than adequate 
recompense. Of the latter, indeed, he will instantly 
have some foretaste, in the state of his mind. This 
is our proposition, which we have endeavoured to 
make as comprehensive as possible, that we may not 
be encountered by questions as to its extent. 

"The means by which the moral balance operates 
are, of course, not always visible. We should not be 
merely human, we should not be in a state of proba- 
tion, if we could see them all ; we should have no 
opportunity for faith. Yet, as if to guide us to this 
duty, some of these means are rendered perceptible. 
The intenacity of villany (that phrase being used in 
want of a better) is well known to be the main 
security of the worthy part of society ; but is not 
always viewed in its true fight, as a dispensation of 
Providence ; in other words, as one part of the moral 
balance. The wicked are as incapable of a permanent 
union as some physical bodies of meeting without 
repelling each other. This is one of their long-known 
predicaments." 

Note 2, Page 351, Column 1. 
While they, whose words are wisdom to the pure, 
Rise dimly vision'd on th' historic page, 
Where infamy in glowing language lives. 

Biography may too often apply to herself the speech 
of Bossola, in Webster's "Duchess of Malfi," — "My 
trade is to flatter the dead." The "de mortuis nil 
nisi bonum" is a bad motto, and worse morality. 
Cowley's remarks might be advantageously remem- 
bered in historical analyses of human character — 
"When we fix any infamy on deceased persons, it 
should not be done out of any hatred to the dead, 
but out of love and charity to the living." — Essays, 
vol. i. 

Note 3, Page 351, Column 2. 

And now there is an animating throb, 
An energy, and daringness of thought, 
Awaken d like one mighty pulse through lands 
And isles, remotely set in ocean-gloom. 
"A new state of mind and feeling is obviously 
coming upon mankind, the effects of which can 
scarcely yet be calculated. But they will far exceed 
what took place on the diffusion of the Reformation, 
and can only be compared with those which the 
introduction of Christianity produced." — Sharon 
Turner. 

Note 4, Page 352, Column 1. 

hint they not an awful shade 



Of Mystery unreveal'd, yet claiming thoughts 
Of solemn hue ? 

"Horace looks upon it as the last effort of philo- 
sophical fortitude, to behold, without terror and 



amazement, this immense and glorious fabric of the 
Universe : — 

' Hunc solem, et stellas et decedentia certis 
Tempora momentis, sunt qui formidine nulla 
Imbuti speetent' — 

But the Scripture alone can supply ideas answerable 
to the majesty of this subject." — Burke on the Sub- 
lime and Beautiful, sect 5, part ii. 

Note 5, Page 352, Column 1. 

men become iclolators to sight, 

Naming all else the nothingness of dreams. 

"We are conversant in the corporeal world from 
our infancy. Sensible objects make such early re- 
peated, strong expressions, that it is sometimes diffi- 
cult to let in, upon a mind already immersed in 
matter, one thought concerning immaterial Beings, 
through an immoderate fear of superstition. For 
men talk and write, as if that were the only evil to 
be dreaded at present. "We run into Sadducism ; and 
lest we should suppose any invisible Being imme- 
diately concerned, we assign visible causes, which 
are plainly unequal to the effect produced." — Seed. 

Note 6, Page 353, Column 1. 

such are demon-haunters of the earth, 

Who horrify the vision' d world of sleep, 
And pall its midnight with infernal gloom ! 

There is a sublime passage on this mysterious 
subject, in Jeremy Taylor's Funeral Sermon on the 
Countess of Carbery. After saying that "there are 
Sicknesses that walk in darkness," he adds, "there 
are exterminating Angels that fly, wrapt up in the 
cui'tains of immateriality and an uncommunicating 
nature, whom we cannot see ; but we feel their force, 
and sink under their sword." 

In beautiful contrast to the above may be quoted 
the eloquent Chalmers's passage in his discourse " On 
the Sympathy that is felt for Man in the distant 
places of Creation :" — 

" I can say it of the humblest and un worthiest of 
you all, that the eye of angels is upon him, and that 
his repentance would, at this moment, send forth a 
wave of delighted sensibility throughout the mighty 
throng of their innumerable legions. " 



BOOK V. 



Note 1, Page 366, Column 1. 
Sweet Country might imparadise the soul. 
Perhaps one of the most beautiful passages in 
Pope's Letters is on this subject. " I am growing 



fit, I hope, for a better world, of which the light of 
the sun is but a shadow : for I doubt not but God's 
works here are what come nearest to his works there ; 
and that a true relish for the beauties of Nature is 
the most easy preparation and gentlest transition to 
an enjoyment of those in heaven ; as, on the conteiry, 
a true town life of hurry and confusion, noise, 
slander, and dissension, is a sort of apprenticeship 
to hell and its perils." 

Note 2, Page 367, Column 1. 

Form imvard foretaste of the unrevecd'd. 

" The world is in general selfish, interested, and 
unthinking, and throws the imputation of romance 
or melancholy on every temper more susceptible 
than its^own. I cannot think but in those regions 
which I contemplate, if there is anything of mortality 
left about us, that these feelings will subsist ; they 
are called, — perhaps they are — weaknesses here ; but 
there may be some better modifications of them 
in heaven, which may deserve the name of virtues." 
— Mackenzie. 



BOOK VI. 
Note 1, Page 372, Column 2. 

A second Milton, whose creative soul 
Both sJiadow visions to such awful life, 
That men behold them with suspended breath, 
And grow ethereal at a gaze ! 

To whom can this eulogium apply, but to the sub- 
lime painter of " Belshazzar's Feast," " The Deluge," 
"Fall of Nineveh," &c, &c. ? — Long may he live to 
adorn his age and country. 

Note 2, Page 377, Column 1. 

Tlie harp is shatter 'd, but the sounds remain ! 

"I have been just taking a solitary walk by moon- 
shine, full of reflections on the transitory nature of 
all human delights ; and giving my thoughts a loose 
in the contemplation of those satisfactions which 
probably we may hereafter taste in the company of 
separate spirits, when we shall range the walks 
above, and perhaps gaze on this world at as vast a 
distance as we now do on those worlds. The 
pleasures we are to enjoy in that conversation must 
undoubtedly be of a nobler kind, and (not unlikely) 
may proceed from the discoveries each shall com- 
municate to another, of God and of Nature; but 
the happiness of minds can surely be nothing but 
knowledge." — Pope's Letters. 



OXFORD: 



gJnrn Pater. 



WITH BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES. 
(1830.) 



CHANCELLOR MASTEES, AND SCHOLAES 

OF 

THE UNIYEESITY OF OXFOED, 

Cfjis Ponn 

IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 



BY THEIR OBEDIENT SERVANT, 



THE AUTHOR. 



OXFORD: 

OR, 



PKEFACE 

TO 

THE THIRD EDITION. 
(1833.) 

A third edition of the present work having 
been required, the Author has endeavoured to 
correct some inaccuracies which prevailed in the 
first, and to remove those verbal innovations 

" quas aut incuria fudit 
Aut huraana parum cavit natura." 

The writer needs no censor to remind him of 
the many imperfections in this work which yet 
remain ; or to convince him how unequal it is to 
the dignity and interest of his subject. Oxford 
is indeed a city of intellectual romance, and 
hallowed by memories of surpassing worth in 
every sphere which science, learning, and imagina- 
tion command. Her venerable History is enriched 
with the proudest archives of genius; and you 
cannot unfold the great volume of mental 
Biography without finding its pages dignified and 
adorned with the almost countless names of men 
whose creative minds were cradled in her ancient 
University. If Cicero could feel a glow of clas- 
sical enthusiasm on the eloquent ground of 
Athens, and say, "quacunque ingredimur in 
aliquam historiam vestigium ponimus ; " surely 
we may look on Oxford with the triumph of 
patriots, and the sympathy of scholars ; and 
imagine every grove to be peopled with the ideal 
forms of sages, poets, and philosophers, 

"And tread the sacred walks 
"Where, at each step, imagination barns ! " 

For himself, without assuming a more than 
ordinary reverence for the mental Past, the 
Author cannot bid farewell to Oxford without 
deep and unaffected emotion. Though he entered 
College at an age when experience had chilled 
some of those local excitements which he might 
otherwise have felt ; and though his days there, 
for the most part, have glided away in solitary 
thought and anxious toil, still he has to thank 
Her for many an hour of pure and elevated 



delight; and, above all, for the presence oi those 
august Associations which hang like a spell round 
her walls. Oxford 

" Has many a worthier son than he ; " 

but none who entered on her scenes with more 
enthusiasm, or who will leave them with more 
regret. Often, from the loud turmoil of the 
world, will memory look back on the quiet of 
her sacred retreats, and hear 

"The many -mingled chimes 
Swell into birth, like sounds of other times ! " 

Long may her hoary spires point to heaven ; 
long may she be the nursing Mother of the wise, 
the good, and the great ; and still continue, from 
age to age, to irradiate the records of mind with 
the triumphs of those whose genius continues to 
enchant the world, . 

"When thrones are crush'd, and kings forgot ! " 

Lincoln College, 
December, 1833. 



PAET I. 



ANALYSIS OP PART I. 

Intellectual greatness — The homage due to any Estab- 
lishment tending to promote it— Oxford — Peelings 
and associations awakened by its first appearance — 
Its mental quiet — Its literary Past — Studies — 
Ancient and Modem Learning — Classical Bigots — 
System of Study and Examination — The necessity 
of one General Standard — Reason why Men of 
Genius have often contemned it — Mind independent 
of Circumstance— The University— Present appear- 
ance — View from the Radcliffe — New College Chapel 
and Service — Biographical Associations — Illustra- 
tions of the same in Addison, Steele, Collins, 
Johnson, Sir Philip Sydney, Ben Jonson, and 
Locke — Origin of Locke's famous Essay — Intel- 
lectual Society — A Contrast — Canning — Davenant — 
"Wesley — Hervey — Denham — Chatham — Thomas 
"Warton — Lisle Bowles — Country Clergymen — Their 
seclusion, how fondly anticipated — A Scene sug- 
gesting such anticipation — Blenheim — Balliol — 
Ridley and Latimer — Their Martyrdom — Evelyn— 



390 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



Southcy— The wisdom of Literary Retirement, con- 
trasted with the rivalries of the Literary World— 
Female Authorship — A characteristic Sketch — Re- 
turn to Biographical Associations, which conclude 
with Heber — His early Life — Collegiate Course — 
Pastoral Character and Death in India. 

Round the vast miracles achieved by Mind 
Throng the deep raptures of entranced man- 
kind : 
For what though Empires spread their proud 

control 
Far as the winds exult or waters roll ; 
Though Tyrian merchandise their ports bedeck 
And navies thunder at their awful beck, 
The pride of Commerce and the awe of Power 
Melt into dreams, at desolation's hour : 
Then, what remains of Kingdoms which have 

been] 
Lo ! deserts wave, where Capitals were seen ! 
The wild grass quivers o'er each mangled Pile, 
And winter moans along the archless aisle ; 
"Where once they flourished ruins grimly tell, 
And shade the air with melancholy spell, 
While from their wreck a tide of feeling rolls 
In awful wisdom through reflective souls. 

What then alone majestically reigns 
When Empires grovel on deserted plains, 
In morning lustre to illume the night 
Which Time engenders o'er their vanish'd might ] 
'Tis Mind! an immortality below 
That gilds the past and bids the future glow ; 
'Tis mind ! — heroic, pure, devoted Mind 
To God appealing for corrupt mankind, 
Reflecting back the image that He gave 
Ere sin began, or Earth became a slave ! 

If then from soaring intellect arise 
Perennial triumphs, England's heart may prize, 
In towery dimness, gothic, stern, or grand, 
Behold her palaces of Learning stand ! 
When Day was dying into sunset glow 
I first beheld them in their beauteous show, 
The solemn turrets of each ancient pile, 
And thought — How noble is our native Isle ! 
A silent worship o'er my spirit came, 
While feelings far too exquisite for name 
Exultingly began their rapt control, 
And fluttered, like faint music, in the soul. 
Where Greatness trod, is hallow'd ground to 

me; 
There can I lift the heart, and bow the knee, 
* The past awake to all its living might, 
And charm my fancy with unearthly sight, 



* Sapiens nunquam solus esse potest ; habet secum 
omnes qui sunt, quique unquam fuerunt boni; et 
animum bberum quocunque vult transfert : quod 
corpore non potest, cogitatione complectitur ; et si 
hominum inops fuerit, loquitur cum Deo. Nunquam 



Restore the features of the famous dead, 
Nor take a Kingdom for the tear I shed ! 

And how poetic is that haunted Spot 
Where life is mental, and the world forgot ! 
A spirit wafted from collegiate bowers 
And the dim shadow of her ancient towers 
To Alma Mater holy calm impart, 
And make her scene harmonious with the heart. 
The very air seems eloquently fraught 
With the deep fulness of devoted thought ; 
While all around her, famed as eye desires, 
Each mind ennobles or some heart inspires.* 
And here, how many a youthful Soul began 
To sketch the drama of the future man ; 
How many an Eye o'er coming years hath 

smiled, 
And sparkled, as incessant hope beguiled ! 
The star-like spirits, whose enduring light 
Beams on the World, and turns its darkness 

bright, 
In radiant promise here began to rise, 
And glow ambitious for eternal Skies. 
Oh ! none whose souls have felt a mighty name 
Thrill to their centre with its sound of fame; 
Whose hearts have warm'd at wisdom, truth, 

or worth, 
And half which makes the heaven we meet on 

earth, 
Can tread the ground by Genius often trod, 
Nor feel a nature more akin to God ! 
Here in their blended magic float along 
Pindaric rapture and Yirgilian song ; 
Still Homer charms as when he first prevail'd 
And honour'd Greece her idol poet hail'd ; 
See Athens in her classic bloom revive, 
Her sages worshipp'd, and her bards alive ; 
See Rome triumphant, with her banner furl'd, 
Awaken genius to enchant a world ! 

There are, who see no intellectual rays 
Flash from the spirit-light of other Days ; 
Who deem no Age transcendent as their own, 
And high the Present o'er the Past enthrone. 
Yet, not in vain the world hath aye adored 
The treasured wisdom ages gone afford ; 
Or loved the freshness of that youthful Time 
When Science woke, and Man became sublime ! 
For then, the Elements of mind were new, 
And Fancy from their unworn magic drew ; 



minus solus erit, quam cum solus fuerit. — Hier. adv. 
Jovin. I. 28. 

* How admirably does a sentiment of the philoso- 
phical Reynolds (" Discourse at the Royal Academy") 
harmonise with what the scenery of Oxford suggests ! 
— "Every seminary of learning is surrounded with 
an atmosphere of floating knowledge, where every 
mind may imbibe somewhat congenial to its own 
original conceptions." 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



391 



Creation's self was one unrifled theme 
To form the Poet, and enchant his dream : 
As yet unhaunted by inquiring thought, 
Each track of mind with mental bloom was 

fraught ; 
The first in nature were the first to feel 
Impassion'd wonder and romantic zeal ; 
Hence matchless vigour nerved their living 

page, 
That won the worship of a future age ; — 
From ancient Lore see modern Learning rise, 
The last we honour, but the first we prize. 

Then long enshrined in this august retreat 
May Greece and Rome for high communion 

meet; 
Long may their forceful page and free-born 

style 
From year to year enamour'd Youth beguile ; 
The Judgment form, uncertain Taste direct, 
Teach Truth to feel, and Fancy to reflect ; 
And Learning, hallow'd by immortal fame, 
See England glory in her Oxford name ! 
Yet not forsaken be the proud career 
Which circles through the realm of Thought 

severe ; 
The studies vast which measure earth and sky, 
Or ope^worlds on the undaunted eye : 
Which more offends, — the bigot who can read 
No volume from the dust of Ages freed j 
Or he who owns no intellectual grace, 
But makes a cargo of the human race, 
And values man like produce from the ground, — 
'Tis hard to say, yet both, alas ! are found. 
The dark idolater of ancient Time, 
And solemn Epicure in prose or rhyme, 
The groping Pedant with a gloomy eye, 
AVho whines an elegy o'er days gone by, — 
Oh ! still from Oxford be such race removed, 
And nobler far her gifted scions proved. 

What soul so vacant, so profoundly dull, 
What brain so wither'd in a barren skull, 
As his who, dungeon'd in the gloom of Eld, 
From all the light of living mind withheld, 
Can deem it half an intellectual shame 
To glow at Milton's worth, or Shakspere's 
name ! 

Farewell to Bigots ! * whatso'er their hue, 
Who darken Learning, and disgrace it too ; 
Another charge let Alma Mater own 
By frequent Sages on her wisdom thrown : + 



* Eruditum vulgus. — Plin. Nat. Hist., lib. 2. 
t Since the second edition of this work, the Author 
has met with the " Oxford Spy," a poem in five 
dialogues, the first of which was published in 1818, 
and has been generally attributed to the pen of 
Mr. Boone. As the "Spy" touches on many local 



Alike one Standard for the great and small 
Her Laws decree, by which she judges all ; 
Hence in one mould must oft confound at once 
The daring thinker with the plodding dunce ; 

topics which the present writer has chosen not to 
introduce in the body of the poem, he will venture to 
enlarge on them in the more convenient form of a 
note. Mr. Boone's work is pregnant with poetical 
beauty, and exhibits great energy of expression, in 
unison with much fine sentiment and elevated thought, 
while here and there flashes forth a line of exquisite 
satire ; but the writer was evidently charmed with 
an Utopian dream of some heaven-like University, 
where wisdom was to be perfect, education complete, 
prejudice annihilated, — youth just budding into man- 
hood, philosophically sage, — and every trait of local 
bigotry extinct ! Now, such a University as this may 
be founded in poetry, but, alas ! for him who thinks 
that while human nature, human means, and human 
prejudices, remain unaltered, that reality will ever 
present us with the like. ' ' Paulatim" is the motto 
to the Academy of Science at St. Petersburgh, and 
this may be considered as the one most applicable 
to the spirit and system of our University. The 
"Spy" seems to have forgotten that every man 
receives (or ought to receive) two educations, (vide 
Bolingbroke) — the first he receives from others, the 
second he must give himself. The course of study 
pursued at College is but preliminary, and if not 
followed up by future reflection, has effected little for 
the real expansion of the mind ; and hence it is, that 
many who have tasked health and time to a most 
dangerous excess, in order to enj oy the brief laurels 
of a Class, after they have gained distinction, relapse 
into their original mediocrity, and gradually subside 
into oblivion. Now, let a right estimate of the aim 
and end of the collegiate studies and honours be duly 
made, and much unsound speculation would be 
avoided. The author of the "Spy" speaks of the 
time spent in the University as if it were the "be-all 
and end-all" of a man's life, and seems to hint that 
it might embrace the whole circle of the Sciences, 
and comprehend the acquisition of both ancient and 
rnodenrLanguages, in addition to the inductive philo- 
sophy of Bacon, and the metaphysics of Locke ! 
Perhaps there may be some truth in his censure on 
the absurd devotion paid to classical literature, and 
the mechanical structure of verse and prose ; but, 
since his work appeared, the system of examination 
has been much liberalised ; more room is allowed the 
candidates for originality and reflection in their essays ; 
while in divinity, history, ethics, poetry, and criti- 
cism, more profound analysis and bolder inquiry are 
allowed. The plan of introducing the study of living 
languages is very questionable ; they are best acquired 
in their several countries, and would only tend to 
embarrass the mind, by overtasking its powers with 
a multitude of exercises and attainments. It is easy 
to libel the Classics, and pen severe remarks on the 
nothingness of mere verbal science ; but no man who 
is capable of imbibing the true spirit of ancient Lite- 
rature will ever lament that during his residence at 
Oxford it formed the prime and essence of his studies. 
That love for severe accuracy which scholarship 
promotes, becomes a valuable habit in after life ; and 
a fine taste for ancient learning, acquired in youth, 
seldom fails to adorn the language and enrich the 
style of the future man, in whatever sphere of lite- 
rature he may reveal his powers. — The "Spy," in a 



392 



OXFORD: OR, ALMA MATER. 



The soaring Mind must sink into a plan, 
Forget her wings, and crawl where Dulness can ; 
Those bolder traits, original and bright, 
Fade into dimness when they lose the light 



dialogue which professes to examine, with an impar- 
tial eye, the imperfections and advantages of a 
University, ought not to have forgotten the generous 
spirit of emulation which a collegiate course awakens . 
"There is," says Johnson, in allusion to Oxford, 
' ' such a progressive emulation ; the students are 
anxious to appear well to their tutors ; the tutors 
are anxious to have their students appear well in 
the College ; the Colleges are anxious to have their 
students appear well in the University; and there 
are excellent rules of discipline in every College. 
That the rules are sometimes ill observed, may be 
true, but is nothing against the system. " 

We shall now take the liberty of commenting on a 
few extracts from the "Spy," which allude to some 
"Oxford Abuses," which occasionally enliven the 
dulness of a Review, or awake the groans of a 
radical press, whose clamours so often remind us of 
the man who cried out " fire ! " in Noah's flood. 

The "Spy," it appears entered the shades of Oxford 

"To find 



Peace for the soul and wisdom for the mind," 

yet found it not ! and here he pours out his vial 
on the heads of those vehicles for a young man's 
laugh — the "Dons." We fear few of them darkened 
the High-street, and that some of them were confined 
to their beds after reading the following : 

"What bade these feelings ebb, ye pedants say? 
What broke the dream, and rent the veil away ? 
What dash'd these hopes to nothing ? — 'Twas to see 
Such folly cloth'd in such solemnity ; 
To see, amid the foldings of the gown, 
Lurk the same failings which disgrace the town ; 
Spleen, envy, meanness, pride but ill represt, 
And all the meaner passions of the breast, 
Mix'd with the calm, which leaves no trace behind, 
The sullen, sad monotony of mind." 

And then we are savagely informed — ■ 

" Oh ! though remote from Isis, toil and strife. 
And all the deeper interests of life, 
Ye souls to feeling, and to nature true, 
Who love retirement, — 'tis no place for you." 

And why, forsooth ? — because the dull pomposity of 
some benighted Don annoys them ! Really this is a 
complimentary allusion to the power of ' ' brief autho- 
rity ! " What though a ' ' Don" should cross them 
with arrogant strut and unmeaning stare ; or a Proc- 
tor be inconveniently peremptory ; or a Dean annoy 
them with the intrusiveness, of his petty dominion ; 
can these " souls to nature and to feeling true," when 
they breathe the intellectual air of Oxford, and com- 
mune with the shadows of her glorious Past, allow 
themselves to be deprived of all her local magic, 
because Bigotry and Dulness, robed in awful gowns, 
occasionally interrupt their delights ? 

Mr. "Spy" is no admirer of "Convocation," and 
verily he ought to have been knocked down with one 
of those golden maces we lately beheld in that 
sepulchral domain, for the impertinence of the fol- 
lowing passage : 



Of open, free, and self-created day 
Where all the tints of Character can play. 
Yet, what could Education's art provide 
For countless Minds by varying standard tried 1 ? 

" Hail, Synod grave, which Heads of Houses keep, 
To talk, and legislate, — 'perchance to sleep ! ' 
Hail, Heads of Houses, whom your stars have made 
To seem philosophers in masquerade ! 
I hail you all, ye Dons of high degree, 
Puff 'd with the conscious pride of dignity ; 
Solemn, and sage, and portly, to a man, 
The worthy semblance of the Turk's Divan ! " 

In reference to the magisterial powers of the 
Proctor, the "Spy" has introduced a description of a 
scene where the privacy of a sick-room were broken 
by the bear-like intrusion of those cloaked mysteries 
(as Mr. Gait would term them), yclept "bull -dogs." 
We do not deny the fact ; but it was a solitary case ; 
and we will venture to add, that no office in the 
University is generally executed with more urbanity 
than that of the Proctor. To arrest the progress of 
imposing young dandies, gownless and capless, who 
delight to brave authority, however wholesome, and 
to fumigate the High Street with the " ' spicy gales" 
of a cigar, is a task of responsibility, and not to be 
irreverently mocked. 

In his fourth dialogue, Mr. "Spy" examines the 
course of study pursued at Oxford, and moans over 
the barren result, which he attributes to 

"Dates, places, names, a valley, or a plain," 

and 

' ' Little points, where still suspicions lurk, 
That some old women must have been at work." 

We have no space to analyse his sentiments, but 
they all tend to one point— viz., the necessity of 
introducing more science, history, and modern philo- 
sophy into the examinations for degrees ; and then 
he adds 

" For must we only Aristotle quote, 
And all his treatises be leamt by rote 1 " 

also 



" Can aught be found, 

To strengthen reason, in itself more sound, 
While Bacon, Paley, pour their flood of light, 
To shame the doctrine of the Stagyrite ? " 

Now all this is very crabbed, and by no means 
philosophical. Aristotle was as great an original in 
his profound analysis of the mind, as Shakspeare was 
in his poetical interpretations of the heart ; and 
surely no one who has accurately studied those match- 
less treatises, the "Ethics" and "Rhetoric," but has 
(though unconsciously, perhaps) strengthened and 
expanded his reasoning powers. It really is a 
noisome infliction to read the raw and ignorant 
remarks which appear in certain publications of the 
day, about the "gloom of the Stagyrite, " the "fetters 
of Aristotle," &c, &c, as if the Mind that has 
reigned triumphantly over nearly two thousand years, 
were suddenly to be unthroned by the windy non- 
sense of a modern scribbler ! — Neither Locke, nor 
Paley, underrated the vast intellect of Aristotle ; and 
though we can now enjoy the cloudless noon of Gospel 
truth, yet may we not disdain to revert with grateful 
reverence unto the dawn of Reason, as emerging 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



393 



For public Weal, not individual Mind * 
As mental Nurse was Oxford first design'd ; 
And blindly wrong would be her guardian eye, 
To love the great, but pass the lesser by ; 
From each due toil impassion'd Genius save, 
And crown for merit what mere Nature gave. 
Not all alike discerning Heaven endows, 
Nor equal mind to equal heart allows : 
Full oft th' ingenuous pang, the noble tear 
Or modest Doubt, the phantom-child of fear, 
To humble Worth a consecration lends, 
Which proves for lost renown sublime amends ; — 
Let mind be nursed, though doom'd a narrow 

sphere, 
And what his Maker gives, let man revere ! 

Allow that Genius feels a curbless soul, 
Which chafes in fetters, and defies control ; 
And, haughty as the mountain eagle-ckain'd, 
Hath every empire but her own disdain'd : 
Though customs old, like ancient roots, are 

found 
With stubborn grasp to cling to native ground, 

gradually into the glorious morn of Revelation. The 
fate of Aristotle has indeed been strange. In the 
early ages of the Church, the writings of Aristotle 
were condemned as allowing too much to reason 
and sense ; ' and now we are informed that they allow 
too little ! Having tilted at the Stagyrite, the author 
proceeds to annihilate poor Aldrich ! Now, if our 
Juvenal had told us that the Dean's Latin was by 
no means Ciceronian, and that " red-hot syllogisms" 
were frequently overrated, there would have been 
some truth, if no discovery, in his statement ; but 
it is mistaken irony to satirise Logic as a science 

" Where in the maze of subtle jargon lost, 
The strongest reason could but err the most." 

After the admirable defence accompanying Arch- 
bishop Whately's "Logic," it would be absurd pre- 
sumption to offer any remarks on its tendency to 
promote argumentative accuracy, and arm the mind 
against the sophistry and dogmatism of opinion. 
So far from hoping that the sciences of Aristotle and 
Logic may cease to be prominent in the studies of 
Oxford, we ought to desire that every term should 
extend their legitimate sway over the intellectual 
character of the University. ' 

And here, "candide lector!" we terminate a ram- 
bling note, for which you may conceive an apology, 
framed after your own delightful style ; and further- 
more, should you be in the amphibious state of 
an Under-graduate, we devoutly wish you may 
never personally explain that definition of Man, so 
quaintly given by a sapient wag: 2 in other words, 
may you never be "a two-legged animal without 
feathers ! " — a species of zoological Curiosity occasion- 
ally issuing from the Schools ! 

* II est bon de frotter et limer notre cervelle contre 
celle d'autrui. — Montatgne. 



1 Herschell's " Preliminary Discourse, " &c. 
2 In explanation of this definition, it is recorded 
that a rival sage plucked a cock bare, and placing 
it in a philosopher's school, observed, — "Behold a 
philosophic man ! " 



Fain would her boldness to Herself be rule, 
And energy its own majestic school ! 
But when hath Mind such education lost, 
However cabin'd, and however cross'd 1 
Alike triumphant over college-wall, 
The mouldy cellar, and plebeian stall 
We mark the Soul of Inspiration rise, 
Expand her wings, and revel in the skies ! * 

Then vainly let the powerless sophist frown, 
To hide one ray of Oxford's fair renown : 
Or quote some verse to vindicate his cause, 
Of scornful meaning at her ancient Laws. 
Spirits have lived, who could not suffer chains ; 
The fire which fever'd their electric veins 
Burn'd all too restless for obedient thought, 1 
And hence the solace indignation brought. 
Yet when was Order known, or due Control, 
To quench divinity within the soul 1 
Oh ! little think they, how sublimely pure, 
In godlike state above the World secure, 
That earthless nature which they Genius call ! 
In vain the tides of circumstance appal ; 
Though clouds repress, and darksome woe 

detain, 
The Soul remounts, and is Herself again. 
Go, ask of Ages what made dungeons bright, 
Vile Sufferance sweet, and Danger a delight 1 — 
'Twas Spirit, independent as sublime, 
The King of nature and the Lord of time ! 

The Sun is up ! behold a genial day, 
And all things glorious in its glorious ray ; 
Ascend the Radcliffe's darkly-winding coil 



* It was in prison that Boethius composed his 
excellent work on the " Consolations of Philosophy ;" 
it was in prison that Goldsmith wrote his "Vicar of 
Wakefield;" it was in prison that Cervantes wrote 
"Don Quixote," which laughed chivalry out of 
Europe; it was in prison that Charles I. composed 
that excellent work, the "Portraiture of a Christian 
King ; " ' it was in prison that Grotius wrote his 
"Commentary on St. Matthew;" it was in prison 
that Buchanan composed his excellent "Paraphrase 
on the Psalms of David ;" it was in prison that Daniel 
De Foe wrote his " Robinson Crusoe ; " (he offered it 
to a bookseller for ten pounds, which that liberal 
encourager of literature declined giving) ; it was in 
prison that Sir W. Raleigh wrote his "History of 
the World;" it was in prison that Voltaire sketched 
the plan and composed most of the poem of "The 
Henriade;" it was in prison that Howel wrote most 
of his "Familiar Letters;" it was in prison that 
Elizabeth of England and her victim, Mary Queen of 
Scots, wrote their best poems ; it was in prison that 
Margaret of France (wife of Henry IV.) wrote an 
' ' Apology for the Irregularities of her Conduct ; " 
it was in" prison that Sir John Pettas wrote the 
book on metals, called ' ' Fleta Minor ; " it was in 
prison that Tasso wrote some of his most affecting 
poems. With the fear of a prison how many works 
have been written ! 



394 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



Of countless steps, nor murmur at the toil ; 
For lo ! a Scene, when that ascension's o'er, 
Which Painters love, when most their feelings 

soar. 
There, from the base of her commanding Dome 
O'er many a mile the spell-bound glance may 

roam, 
While music-wing'd, the winds of freshness 

sound, 
Like airy haunters of the region round. 
Yon heavens are azured by one cloudless die ; 
Beneath — romance in stone to charm the eye ! 
Spire, tower, and steeple, roofs of radiant tile, 
The costly Temple, and collegiate Pile, 
In sumptuous mass of mingled form and hue, 
Await the wonder of thy lingering view. 
Far to the west, autumnal meadows wind 
Whose fading tints fall tender on the mind ; 
And near, a hoary Tower with dial'd side, 
And nearer still, in many-window'd pride, 
All Souls', with central towers superbly grand ; 
But see ! the clouds are rent, — they break, — 

expand, 
And sunshine, welcomed by each ancient pile, 
Like Past and Present when they meet to smile, 
With tinting magic beautifully falls 
On fretted pinnacles, and fresco'd walls, 
Till dark St. Mary, with symmetric spire, 
Swells into glory as her shades retire ; 
And Maudlin' trees, which wave o'er Cherwell- 

stream, 
Flash on the view and flutter in the beam : 
In yellow faintness, lo ! that sun-burst dies, 
The vision changes with the change of skies ; 
Again have Centuries their dominion won, 
And shadows triumph o'er the failing Sun. 

And every where time-hallow'd Temples rise, 
Whose classic pomp corroding age defies. 
What solemn beauty by the spirit felt ! 
While feelings into adoration melt, 
As in their depth of Gothic gloom we tread 
Amid the hush of Ages which are dead. 
I well remember, when a stranger, first, 
What stately Vision on my senses burst ! 
From towering lamps a noon-like radiance shone 
O'er pavement mottled with mosaic stone, 
And white-robed Choristers in due array, 
Whose vestments glitter'd like the sheen of day. 
There, silver-voiced, in many a heav'nward note, 
I heard rich Music in soft billows float, 
Now faintly ebb, then loudly swell again, 
And grow resistless as the organ-strain 
Came river-like, in one impassion'd roll 
From the deep harmony of Handel's soul ! 

And tell me, thou whose wandering feet 
have trod 
Like his who trembled on the ground of God, 



The hallow'd soil where classic glories shine 
Back on thy spirit with their beam divine, 
Hath Oxford, haunted by her long array 
Of Memories which cannot glide away, 
No local Magic to entrance thy mind, 
And make it prouder of thy Human Kind ? 
Whate'er of good and glorious, learn'd or grand, 
Delighted ages and adorn'd the land, 
Was foster'd here : — the Senate, Pulpit, Bar, 
The scenes of Ocean, and the storms of War, 
Wherever Mind hath high dominion shown 
To counsel Kingdoms, or secure a Throne, — 
There may Oxonia sons of glory hail, 
And see the Spirit which she nursed, prevail ! * 
Forget awhile the fever of the hour, 
And give the Past its resurrection-power ; 
Around thee Bards and Sages muse or stray, 
And wind the garden that is walk'd to-day. 
The pilgrim-clouds, those time-worn trees which 

wave 
On banks whose beauty constant waters lave, 
Their eyes beheld : — do burning thoughts 

begin 1 
Then dare to rival what you dream within ! 

Too vast Her list, might pen achieve it all, 
Each form of memory into life to call ; 
Yet fain would fondness with some imaged few 
Partake a moment, and believe it true. 
Adown yon path, beside the grassy sweep 
Of Maudlin' park, where light deer couch and 

leap, 
And giant elms the haughty Winds delay, 
There gentle Addison was wont to stray : 
And where the mill-stream turns yon restless 

wheel, 
As writhing on those broken waters steal, 
His tree-lined walk of beauteous length began, 
For ever hallow'd by that holy man ! 
In many a whirl hath Autumn's driving blast 
From these fond trees their summer-foliage 

cast, 
And leafy showers now mournfully abound, 
In sallow redness scatter'd o'er the ground ; 
But here, full oft, the branches waving green, 
And heaven's blue magic smiling in between, 
The pensive Rambler dream'd an hour away, 
Or wove the music of his Attic lay ; 
Saw 2 Cato's grandeur on his soul arise, 
And Heaven half open to a heathen's eyes : 
Or, happier themes, whose ethic pureness glows 
With every tint that character bestows, 
From ancient Lore his tender heart beguiled, 
And lit his features when his fancy smiled, 
Nor be forgot, who all his worth could feel, 
The friend of Addison, delightful Steele i 



* See ' ' Biographical Summary" at the end of the 
poem. 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



395 



Whose classic morn let Merton's annals claim, 
Where first the Drama woo'd him on to fame : 
More roughly hewn than his Athenian friend, 
And venturing oft where Virtues never tend ; 
Yet warm of soul, and child-like to a tear, 3 
As when it dropp'd on Love's parental bier; 
Now madly sunk in passion's deep excess, 
Now high in wisdom which a saint might 

bless ! 
A mixture wild of all that man admires, 
Whose faults may warn him, while his fame 

inspires. 

Ere Steele began, what Addison pursued, 
The path still trod with mental gratitude, 
Those day-born graces, whose refinement blends 
The charm of Manner with the soul of friends, 
La Casa first in Italy awoke, 
And sketch'd the Courtier with a master-stroke. 
But next, a Gallic Theophrastus* threw 
His playful archness o'er the scene he drew, 
Dissected truth with Satire's keenest knife, 
And mirror'd Nature on the glass of life. 
Then rose on English ground the gifted pair, 
Who taught to either Sex a softer air, 
Proved Elegance to Virtue's self allied, 
And laugh'd at Dulness, till her follies died ! 
O'er weeds and thorns which social life beset, 
And tease their martyr into vain regret, 
Their morning-smile satirically pass'd, 
Till fools turn'd wise, and fops were cured at 

last! 
Nor small the debt Society should pay 
To him who flaps her buzzing Flies away ; 
Those noisesome Insects on eternal wing, 
That hum at banquets, or in ball-rooms sting, 
Which, though they cannot heart and mind 

o'erpower, 
May fret the smoothness of the calmest hour. 

Here Collins, too, whose perfect numbers 
roll 4 
Pathetic music o'er the dreaming soul, 
In melancholy loneness pined and thought 
'Mid the sad gloom by stricken genius wrought. 
E'en now the curse was breeding in his brain, — 
A nerveless spirit, and a soul insane ; 
While moon-born fairies would around him 

throng, 
And genii haunt him in the hush of song : 
Ill-fated bard ! like Chatterton's thy doom, 
To seek for fame, and find it in the tomb ! 

To Pembroke turn, and what undying charm, 
Breathed from the Past, shall there thy spirit 
warm] 



La Bruyere. 



There Johnson dwelt ! the dignified and sage, 

The noblest Honour of a noble age ; 

Whose mien and manners, though of graceless 

kind, 
Were all apart from his heroic mind ; 
They were the bark around some royal tree 
Whose branches towering in the heavens we 

see. 
Here lived and mused that unforgotten Man ! 5 
Might Language speak, what only Feeling can, 
As here I view these venerable walls 
And slow as in some fane my footstep falls, 
Young hearts would echo to a welcome strain, 
And feel, as I do, — Johnson live again! 
O'er Time's vast sea a century's waves have 

roll'd, 
And many a knell hath unregarded knoll'd, 
Since, fondly wrapt in meditative gloom,* 
The sage of England sat in this lone room : 
Yet, well may Fancy, at yon evening-fire 
Behold him seated ; and when moods inspire, 
(As Sorrow droop'd, or Hope her wings 

unfurl'd) 
His spirit hover through the varied world 
Of life and conduct, fortune, truth, or fate, 
His future glory, and his present state : 
Or, when the noonshine reign'd in golden 

power 
And dimly smiled some melancholy Tower, 
Muse at his window with far-wandering eye, 
And drink the freshness of the open sky ; 
Or round the gateway woo admiring Ears 
To listen, while he charm'd beyond his years, 
By spoken magic, or electric wit f 
That flash'd severe, yet sparkled where it hit : — 
A bright deception ! far too often seen 
To hide the heart where agony has been. 
Oh ! hideous mockery the mind endures, 
To forge the smile whose merriment allures, 
To gild a moment with fictitious ray 
Yet feel a viper on the spirit prey ! X 
Departed Soul ! how oft when Laughter fed 
On the bright frolic which thy fancy bred, 
And happy natures, as they saw thee smile, 
Seem'd mingling with thy sunny heart awhile, 
Back to thy chamber didst thou darkly steal, 
And there the blight of thine own bosom feel 1 



* Quis enim est cui non. interdum obrepat mceror 
ac tsedium quoddam intuenti mala quibus undique 
plena sunt omnia ? — Erasmus. 

t Johnson was a classical punster, and used to 
assert that his conversational rival, Burke, could not 
accomplish the enviable art of manufacturing puns : 
yet is not Burke's pun on Wilkes being carried on the 
shoulders of the mob, transcendent? e.g., " numeris 
que fertur Lege solutis" — i. e., a lawless mob ! 

X A plague of the sense, a convulsion of the soul, 
an epitome of hell — I say of the melancholy man, he 
is the cream and quintessence of human adversity ! 
— Burton's Anat. 



396 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



Then sink to slumber with a heated brain, 
To-morrow wake, and wear that smile again ! 6 

I know not why, but since a dream of Fame, 
My heart hath gloried in great Johnson's name, 
And deeper worship to his Spirit vow'd 
Than others have to loftier worth allow'd. 
In what a mould was his high nature cast, 
Who never ventured, but he all surpass'd ! 
And reign'd amid the realms of thought alone, 
JSTor left an equal to ascend his throne. 
How truly deep, how tenderly divine ; 
The lofty meaning, the majestic line ! 
A moral sweetness, a persuasive flow 
Of happy diction, whether joy or wo 
Touch'd the deep springs of his devoted mind, 
Where'er they muse, delighted myriads find ; 
And though the bleakness of his spirit threw 
Round earth's rare sunshine too severe a hue, 
How Life and Character before him stand, 
Their mysteries open, and their scenes expand ! 
And well for wisdom, could the loud pretence 
Of puny language with profoundest sense, 
Such massy substance in the meaning show, 
A s that which ages to a Johnson owe ! 

Descend from learning to the nearer view, 
Where Man appears in vital colours true ; 
And where was Piety more deeply shrined, 
Than in the temple of that awful Mind 
Whence day and night eternal incense rose 
To Him from whom the tide of Being flows ! 
That self-respect, around whose constant sway 
The purest beams of happiness must play, 
He ever felt ■ the same proud dream it gave 
To hours that wither'd in the toils of Cave, 
And him, in aidless fortune high and free, 
Who taught a Lord how mean a Lord could be ! * 
And, mix'd with harshness, irritably loud, 
Which came like thunder from the social cloud 
Which pride or pertness round the moment 

threw, 
His faith, how firm ! his tenderness, how true ! 
For Goldsmith's worth, or Garrick's lighter 

grace, 
The tears of fondness trembled down his face ; 
And when did Want or Wo to him appeal, 
ISTor find a hand to give, a heart to feel ? 
While Truth he worshipp'd with severest awe, 
Of Fame the glory, and to life a law. 7 
So great he lived : yet round the greatest soul 
How weakness hovers with its vile control ! 
As when some organ of the frame appears 
In matchless strength beyond the mould of 

years, 
A weakness balancing that strength is found ; 



Lord Chesterfield. 



So oft in mind where miracles abound, 
The lying pettiness of nature seems 
Revenged in mocking what perfection dreams. 
In Johnson thus : the piety which trod 
Each path of life, communing with his God, 
In gloomy hours could childish phantoms see, 
And give to Penance what was due to tea ! 8 
The mind that reason'd on the fate of Man, 
And soar'd as high as wingless nature can, 
Would oft descend, the petty bigot show, 
And roll lip-thunders o'er some prostrate foe ! 
Or else, in whirlwind fury sweep along, 
And risk the right, to prove a victor wrong. 
The Soul which spake angelically wise 
When Truth and he were throned amid the 

skies, 
In human life his Rasselas forgot 
To wear the meanness of our common lot, 
By passion bow'd, each prejudice obey'd, 
And grew ferocious o'er a smile betray'd ! 
Yet peace to such ! of all by men adored, 
Than Johnson, who could better, faults afford] 
Let Time exult that such a man hath been, 
And England follow where his steps are seen. 

To swell the records of collegiate-fame 
See Lincoln rise, and claim her Davenant's 

name ; 9 
Within her walls the minstrel-student wove 
Poetic dreams of melody and love. 
On him, as yet a verse-enchanted child, 
The prince of nature, Shakspeare's self, had 

smiled ! 
Oh ! to have listen'd to that glorious Tongue, 
And seen the Man on whom a World has 

hung,* 
Till admiration, too intensely wrought, 
Becomes a worship, and adores in thought ! 
And, Wesley ! 10 often in thy room I see 
A holy Shadow which resembles thee ; 
Let others laugh at that o'erheated mind 
Which never gloried but to bless Mankind ; 
Be ours the tribute to as pure a soul 
As Fame recordeth in her sacred roll. 
A kindred line to pious Hervey n pay, 
Whom Lincoln boasted in his morning-day : 
When night begins, and starry wonders teem, 
My fancy paints him in some mental dream, 
With eye upturn'd to where th' Almighty 

shone 
While vision'd angels warbled round His 

throne. 

From Christ Church, lo ! a dazzling Host 
appears 
Whom Time has hallo w'd, and the World reveres, 



voyy— (SU1DAS.) 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



397 



Of prelates, orators, and statesmen high, 
To be forgotten, — when the world shall die ! 
'Twas here the muse of Tragedy divine 
Bade 12 Jonson rise, and picture Catiline ; 
Immortal Ben ! to Selden dear, and fraught 
With all that Homer loved, or Plato taught. 
A later age, and Locke's eternal mind 
Here soar'dto Reason, such as Heaven design'd ;* 
Help'd Understanding to redeem her sway, 
And out of night call'd intellectual day. n 

One evening, when delightful converse glow'd, 
As friend on friend his gleam of thought 

bestow'd, 
That spark was struck which set the soul on fire, 14 
Whence sprang the work fond ages shall 

admire. 
Hours worthy Heaven ! when cultured spirits 

meet 
Within the chamber of divine retreat j 
There Friendship lives ; there mental Fondness 

reigns ; 
And hearts, oblivious of their lonely pains, 
By feeling blended, one communion make, 
To keep the brightness of the soul awake. 

But who can languish through the leaden 

hour 
When Heart is dead, and only Wine hath power 1 
That brainless meeting of congenial fools 
Whose highest wisdom is to hate the Schools, 
Discuss a Tandem, or describe a race, 
And curse the Proctor with a solemn face ; 
Swear Nonsense wit, and Intellect a sin, 
Loll o'er the wine, and asininely f grin, — 
Hard is the doom when awkward chance decoys 
A moment's homage to their brutal joys ! 
What fogs of dulness fill the heated room 
Bedimm'd with smoke, and poison'd with 

perfume ! 
Where now and then some rattling tongue 

awakes 
In oaths of thunder, till the chamber shakes. 
Then Midnight comes, intoxicating maid ! 
What heroes snore, beneath the table laid ! 
But, still reserved to upright posture true, 
Behold ! how stately are yon sterling few : — 
Soon o'er their sodden nature wine prevails, 
Decanters triumph, and the drunkard fails : 
As weary tapers at some wondrous rout 
Their strength departed, winkingly go out, 
Each spirit flickers till its light is o'er, 
And all are darken'd who were drunk before ! 



* Were the author to write on Locke's Treatise 
now, his opinion would be far otherwise than the one 
here expressed (1853). 

t That asinine feast of sow-thistles and brambles. 
— Milton's Prose Works. 



Oh ! thou, whose eloquence and wit combined 
To make their throne the heart of all Mankind ; 
Whom Memory visions in his wonted place 
Where passions lighten'd o'er a speaking face, 
And sounds of feeling from the soul were heard, 
While music hung on every magic word, — 
Regretted Canning ! oft has Christ Church seen 
Thy glance of lustre sparkle round her scene : 
From 15 Eton famed, where dazzling merit shone 
In each young theme thy Genius smiled upon, 
Her walls received thee ; where thy talents 

grew, 
Bright in the welcome of her fostering view, 
Till glowing Senates mark'd thy spirit rise, 
And England hail'd it with applauding eyes. 
Alas ! that in thy Manhood's noble bloom, 
The shades of death hung grimly o'er thy doom, 
Thy frame, too weak, a fiery spirit wore, 
Though Mind prevail'd till Life's last pulse was 



Thy funeral knell, oh ! when I heard it 

moan 
Like the deep echo of a Nation's groan ; 
That Sky beheld, where sorrow loves to gaze 
When mystery wraps us or the world betrays ; 
And thought how soon thy glorious sun had set ! 
I felt a sadness, which inspires me yet : 
But had I, demon-like, e'er wing'd the dart 
Whose poison fed upon thy feeling heart, 
Inflicted pangs where only praise was due, 
And vilely thwarted every soaring view, 
A more than melancholy for him who died, 
Slain by the weapons which Renown supplied, 
My soul had borne ; and, wrung with inward 

shame, 
Cursed the dark hour that wounded Canning's 

fame ! 

The yew-tree'd walk, and wilderness of shade 
Where rosily the twilight-hues have play'd, 
By 16 Denham haunted, Trinity ! revere ; 
There wander'd he, no step invasive near, 
The world forgot, amid Parnassian skill, 
And dream'd the melodies of " Cooper's Hill." 
And haughty 17 Chatham, at whose humbling 

word 
Proud Walpole trembled, when its sway was 

heard ; 
Who baffled Spain, America, and Gaul, 
To throne his England like a Queen o'er all, — 
Thy paths have echo'd his immortal feet, 
Thy Shades enjoy'd him in sublime retreat. 
Here 18 Warton's soul emparadised his hours, 
And strew'd Antiquity with classic flowers ; * 



Nor rude, nor barren, are the winding ways 
Of hoar antiquity, but strewn with flowers. 

Waeton. 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



Where'er he went, saw dim Cathedrals rise, 
Or Gothic windows in their sunset-dyes. 

And thou, whose ever-gentle page is fraught 
With the sweet lore poetic sadness taught, 
Not unremember'd let thy name be found 19 
Where Genius hallows an enchanted ground. 
Upon that brow the seal of Time hath set 
A mournful grace, but left no dark regret 
For wither'd years, whose flowery bloom 

remains 
In the pure freshness of Aonian strains. 
Yet oft thy Memory in creative gloom 
May fondly sigh o'er many a distant tomb. 
Where moulder forms which brighten'd other 

Days 
Whose eyes have glisten'd o'er thy youthful 

lays ! 
Thy noontide spent, serener twilight glows 
Around thy spirit like a soft repose ; 
And oft I turn, when fancy wanders free, 
Romantic Bowles ! to meditate with thee : 
Oh ! long in Bremhill may the village-chime 
Peal solemn anthems o'er departed Time ; 
And fairy echoes, while they float along, 
Awaken visions which were born in song, 
Of hope and fame, when first thy feeling 

Youth 
Their beauty painted on a world of truth. 20 

Thy pleasing life, in pastoral quiet spent, 
Where heaven and earth comminglingly are 

blent, 
A prayer evokes, that England long may see 
In wood-hung vales, from city-murmur free 
That landscape-charm in varied shadow drest — 
The village-steeple with its towery crest, 
When dimly taper'd by romantic height, 
Or grayly melted into morning-light. 
Not Windsor vast, with battlemented towers, 
With charm so deep a pensive gaze o'erpowers 
As village-spires, in native valleys seen, 
With nature all around them, hush'd and green : 
How oft some eye, as o'er the wheel-track'd 

road 
The whirling Coach conducts its motley load, 
Hath wistful gazed where neat the parsonage 

rose, 
With Church behind it in revered repose ! 

Ah! little know they, whom the harsh 
declaim 
Of Folly leads to scorn a Curate's name, 
* In hamlets lone what lofty minds abound 
And spread the smiles of charity around ! 



* " For about three quarters of a century, the public 
laboured under the delusion that Pope was a poet 
and, moreover, a man of tolerable morals, till an 



It was not that a frowning Chance denied 
An early wreath of honourable pride : 
In College-rolls triumphantly they shine, 
And proudly Alma Mater calls them, " mine ! 



amiable clergyman took upon himself to disabuse the 
world of its errors. " — Such is the lame sarcasm with 
which Dr. Madden, in his "Infirmities of Genius" 
(vol. i.), introduces the name of Bowles. Having 
some years ago been enabled to offer a few critical 
remarks on the " Pope controversy," in a periodical 
since defunct, we may be permitted, perhaps, to 
record our sentiments on the present occasion. Now, 
has Dr. Madden really perused Bowles' edition of 
Pope? or has he merely quoted the article which 
appeared in some hostile review on this subject ? "We 
suspect the latter ; from the style in which he alludes 
to Mr. Bowles' edition, which in fact, so far from 
aiming to impress the reader with a dark idea of 
Pope's moral character, breathes throughout of gene- 
rous appreciation, and candid inquiry. True, Pope is 
not imaged forth to our imagination as a sun without a 
spot ; but there is no mean tendency in the occasional 
remarks on various and somewhat dubious passages 
in his life. It is a mock generosity, and a miserable 
desertion of the high and peerless cause of Truth, to 
deify the dead at the expense of the living ; and wc 
may recal to Dr. Madden a passage which he himself 
has quoted with singular complacency: — "Truth is 
to be sought only by slow and painful progress ; but 
error is, in its nature, flippant and compendious ; 
hops with airy and fastidious levity over proofs and 
arguments, and perches upon assertion, which it calls 
conclusion." 

With reference to the question of Pope's rank and 
height on the debateable Mount of Parnassus, 
Dr. Madden luxuriates in the idea, that Lord Byron 
fired off one or two epistles to his publisher, which 
were intended to annihilate Mr. Bowles and his creed 
altogether. But, after the contrast exhibited be- 
tween Lord Byron's private opinion of poets, as ex- 
pressed in the correspondence edited by Moore, and 
his public sentiments on the same authors, men will 
estimate at its due worth the aristocracy of taste. 
For instance, in various parts of his "Letters," it 
appears that his lordship did think very highly of 
Southey and Wordsworth — and yet with what savage 
and ungenerous contempt does he ever allude to these 
men in his poetry ? Yes, he could lavish unneeded 
eulogies on Pope, who was beyond his praise, and, 
from his peculiar style, utterly removed from rival- 
ship with him — but for Wordsworth, at the fountain 
of whose intellect he had taken so many clandestine 
draughts, — there was no epithet too mean, and no 
ridicule too coarse, which he did not employ to under- 
rate his worth ! For our own part, we are free to 
confess, that the perversion of his popularity to 
blind the public against the genius of Wordsworth, 
Southey, &c, was an odious trait in Lord Byron's 
life. But these times are over ; and in the increasing 
popularity of Wordsworth, is to be recognised the 
dawn of nobler taste, and higher appreciation for 
philosophic poetry. 

As to the " Letters " to Murray, no one can read 
them without being amused by their animation, 
point, and drollery ; but, we believe, it is generally 
allowed, the advantage of argument and solid criticism 
was on Bowles' side. Bowles considered Pope as 
the first in the second rank of poets, that is to say, 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



399 



But heavenlier dreams than ever Fame inspired 
Their spirit haunted, as the World retired. 
The fameless quiet of parochial care 
And sylvan home, their fancy stoop'd to share ; 



next to Shakspeare and Milton ! — was this deprecia- 
tion? Are we to place his exquisite but artificial 
verse beside the sublime revealings of Milton, or the 
dramatic creations of Shakspeare ? We believe no man 
but Lord Byron would do so ; if, indeed, he actually 
felt all he wrote about Pope, for there is much vanity 
in applause ; and Lord Byron began to consider him- 
self as the sole defence and support of Pope's immor- 
tality ! But, had not the genius of Pope animated, as 
it were, the poetical life-blood of the country long 
before his lordship became illustrious? And though 
the heretics of Cockneyism presumed to invalidate 
the claims of the bard of Twickenham, and (as at the 
present) pale-faced young gentlemen, panting to be 
"Corsairs" enamoured of the "dark blue sea," 
and prating, in parrot-like tones, of "passion," 
"pride," and "discontent," uttered puerile nonsense, 
on the subject and sources of Pope's Inspiration, — still 
there was not a leaf withered in the laurel of his 
fame. 

We shall not conclude without an allusion to one or 
two more passages in Dr. Madden's "Infirmities." 
He remarks, "There is a paradox in the conduct of 
literary men, which makes it necessary to draw a 
distinction between their actions and their senti- 
ments, between the author with a pen in his hand, 
and the man without it." Is not the "paradox" 
the Doctor's own property? Does he expect a poet 
to come into drawing-rooms, and be the incarna- 
tion of his poetry? or wonder why the glow, the 
exultation, and purity of his mind, while composing, 
are so rarely visible in the intercourse and social 
morals of daily life ? We suspect Dr. Johnson has 
unravelled the mystery in that pithy sentence, " It is 
easy to despise death when there is no danger, and to 
glow with benevolence when there is nothing to be 
given." Here is the difference between the abstract 
and concrete! "Poetry," says de StaeL "is the 
apotheosis of Sentiment !" — it is a love and a venera- 
tion for the ideal, a passion for the beautiful and 
unearthly — a consciousness and belief of the "im- 
mortal powers that lie folded up in man!" And 
surely it is no paradox, that a poet should be able 
to know, feel, and express all this, and, while sur- 
rounding himself with dreams of loveliness in the 
hush of retirement, picture forth the noblest speci- 
mens of man's mind — and yet, when the power of 
inspiration is past, come forth with all the imper- 
fections of prose, and flesh, and blood. 

Dr. Madden's work is not devoid of interest, and in 
its main tendency is benevolent ; but he has attributed 
too much to the moral influence of malady. Indi- 
gestion has been admirably defined as "the remorse 
of the stomach ;" and, doubtless, under its various 
inflictions, the most amiable hearts may for a while 
do injustice to their nature, and the most musical of 
tongues be out of tune ; but this does not apply to all 
those cases cited by the author of the "Infirmities." 
He says (vol. ii.), " Who knows under what paroxysm 
of disease he (Pope) might have written those bitter 
sarcasms which he levelled against his literary oppo- 
nents? " (he might have added, "and against his old 
friends and acquaintances.") And does Dr. Madden 
believe that poets compose under "paroxysms of 



And when arrived, no deeper bliss they sought 
Than that which undenying heaven had 

brought. 
On such, perchance, renown may never beam, 
Though oft it glitter'd in some College-dream ; 
But theirs the fame no worldly scenes supply, 
Who teach us how to live, and how to die ! 

In life so calm, unworldly, and refined, 
What pictured loveliness allures the mind ! 
Hast thou forgot that balmy summer-noon 
That glow'd so fair, and fled, alas ! so soon, 
My chosen Friend ! in whose fond smile I see 
A spirit noble, and a nature free, 
When Blenheim woo'd us to that proud domain 
Where History smiles, and Marlborough lives 

again. 
And on the way how sweet retirement threw 
A shade of promise o'er Life's distant view ? 
How softly-beautiful the bending sky, 
Like heaven reveal' d, burst radiant on the eye ! 
A Spirit, bosom'd in the winds, appear'd 
To chant noon-hymns, where'er a sound career d ; 
While ev'ry leaf a living gladness wore 
And bird-like flutter'd as the breeze pass'd o'er : 
The lark made music in the golden air ; 
The green earth, yellow'd by a sunny glare, 
In twinkling dyes beheld its flowery race 
Dance to the wind and bloom with sparkling 

grace; 
Faint, sweet, and far, we heard the sheep-bell 

sound, 



Horace thought far differently, and so did 
Juvenal, 1 who was no mean judge in these matters. 
But, allowing that Pope did commit his poetical 
vengeance to verse under "paroxysms," — was he 
obliged to publish it? The elaborations which his 
poems underwent are well known ; they were not 
written by steam, nor published immediately after 
then production ; consequently Pope had time to re-- 
cover from his "paroxysms," and to soften down the 
maledictions of his rhyme — if he thought them unjust 
or undeserved. In regard to Lord Byron's physical 
"infirmities," whatever they may have been, the 
disposition of heart which would enable any man to 
compose such atrocious stanzas as those lately pub- 
lished on Rogers — for whom he professed the deepest 
regard, and on the Altar of whose Genius he had often 
laid the gift of his praise — is not to be explained by 
dyspepsia, or indigestion. Dr. Madden's practice 
must have taught him that Genius is not the only 
thing which undergoes infirmities ; and though there 
are some mental " infirmities " which are peculiar to 
the temperament of literary men, — to refer a moral 
obliquity of mind and meanness of heart to such 
cause, is frail and imperfect philosophy. 



Sed vatem egregium, cui non sit publica vena, 
Qui nihil expositum soleat deducere, — 

Hunc 

Anxietate carens animus facit, omnis acerbi 
Impatiens, cupidus silvarum, &c, &c. 

Sat. vii., 1. 5. 



400 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



While insect-happiness prevail'd around : 

And rich varieties of hill and glade, 

Where viewless streams, by verdure oft 

betray'd, 
(Like Charity, who walks the world unseen 
Yet leaves a light where'er her hand hath been) 
By bank and mead roll'd windingly away, — 
'Twas ours to witness in adorn'd array. 

Noon glided on, till day's declining glow 
Beheld us sweeping o'er the verdant flow 
Of meadow'd vales, to where the village-hill 
In garden bloom we welcomed, bright and still. 
That sunny eve in smiling converse fled 
Around a banquet generously spread, 
Beneath a roof where Elegance combined 
The pure in Taste with Fancy the refined : — 
The 21 Church antique, whose ivied turret won 
The dream-like changes of departing sun 
And glanced upon us at our parting hour, 
I still remember in its beauteous power. 
Then home we sped beside romantic trees 
Whose leaf-pomp giitter'd to the starting 

breeze, 
And fondly view'd in symmetry of shade 
The mimic branches on the meadows laid. 
In wave-like glory burn'd the sunset sky ; 
Where rosy billows seem'd to swell and lie 
Gleaming and vast ; — as if that haughty Day 
Ere yet th' horizon saw him sink away, 
His clouds and colours vassal-like would see 
Once more awake, and own their deity ! 

Where Balliol frowns along yon ancient road, 
By 22 Evelyn hallow'd, his endear'd abode 
I never pass, nor think of them who died, 
Heroic Martyrs, burning side by side ! 
Upon her walls there hung a crimson glare, 
And red fires raven'd on the breezeless air ; 
But thou, false Bigot ! * in that murderous hour 
To heaven couldst look, and on thy victims lour, 
Then feed thy gaze with agonies of fire, 
As limb by limb the tortured Saints expire ! 
In serpent-writhings, lo ! the flames awake, 
Hiss as they whirl, and riot round the Stake ; 
While mitred fiends, as they behold them rise, 
Glare on the martyrs with their wolfish eyes ! 
Yet firm they stand : behold ! what Glories 

smile 
Above the fury of that burning pile ; 
Ten thousand harps, ten thousand anthems 

swell, 23 
And heaven is worshipp'd in a scene of hell ! 



* Doctor Smith, the apostate, who recanted in 
King Edward's time. In perusing the dark volume 
of ecclesiastical history, how frequently is that sound 
maxim of Fenelon verified: — "La force ne peut 
jamais persuader les hommes ; elle ne fait que des 
hypocrites ! " 



Here Southey, 24 in the springlike morn of 

youth, 
His feeling, conduct, and his fancy, truth, 
Beheld the orb of Liberty arise 
To gild the earth with glory from the skies : 
What wonder, then, if his Chaldean gaze 
With glowing worship met her morning-rays, 
Beheld them bright as freedom's rays should be 
And thought they darted from a deity 1 
Who did not feel, when first her shackles fell, 
The truth sublime that France inspired so well, — 
There is a freedom in the Soul of man 
No Tyrant quenches, and no Torture can ! 
But when high Virtue from her throne was 

hurl'd 
And Gaul became the dungeon of the World, 
No mean deserter was that patriot proved 
Whose Manhood censured what his Youth had 

loved. 

In bloom of life he sought domestic shade, 
Devoting hours a world had not betray'd 
In deep affection to delightful lore, 
Which Feeling loves, and Wisdom may adore. 
While others linger'd in the restless Town 
To wear the thorny wreath of young renown : 
Or, spirit-worn, see rivals mount above, 
With few to honour, and with none to love, — 
Afar to Keswick's mountain-calm he hied, 
And found the haven which a Home supplied. 
There Nature pure to his pure soul appeals, 
With Her he wanders, and with Her he feels, 
While earth and sky for poesy unite, 
And the hush'd mountains hallow morn 

and night. 
Thus flowingly the fairy hours depart 
And each day adds a virtue to the heart. 
Ah, blissful Lot ! which few have lived to 

share 
Who haunt the world, and seek to find it there : 
Forgetful that one day of Life is fraught 
With years of meaning for inductive Thought, 
In baffled hope the mind exhales away, 
Their each to-morrow a renew'd to-day ; 
Too meanly anxious for some poor applause, 
They burn for Glory, but betray her cause. 
Time fame is genius, in its earthless hour 
Sent from the soul with world-subduing power, 
From heart to heart electrically known 
Till Realms admire, and Ages are its own ! 

Oh ! blest resolve which consecrates a life 
To leave for studious calm the noisome strife 
Of London's everlasting round of self, 
Pursued by Learning, or career'd for Pelf. 
In wise seclusion heaven-ward thoughts incline 
To form in Man the elements divine ; 
From day to day their semblance nearer grows, 
Till kindred Mind a kindred Maker knows ; 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



401 



And then, what beautiful accordance seen 

In all that Wisdom taught, or time hath been ! 

What once was dark becomes divinely clear, 

And earth itself a heaven-reflecting sphere. 

That living God enthron'd all worlds above 

Whose Name and Nature are reveal'd by Love, 

Our spirit feels within itself abide, 

The Will direct, and o'er each thought preside ; 

In man or nature, whatso'er befal — 

True faith can fathom and interpret all ! 

Turn from the calm secluded life bestows, 
A life which Evelyn loved and Southey knows, 
To London ; where a world of anxious mind 
In one dark fever of excess we find ; 
Where talent sparkles with incessant rays, 
And authors * perish — for the want of praise ! 
Though minds abound, whose magical control, 
Like truth from heaven, can elevate the soul, 
Too rapidly our soaring authors teem 
For each to fill the circle of his dream. 
Though high the hope which Energy awakes, 
And far the flight a free-wing'd Spirit takes, 
A thousand hearts o'er disappointment bleed, 
The many venture, but the few succeed. 
Hence of all crimes, the last to be forgiven 
Eternal barrier to some critic's heaven, 
Success is proved ; — that hour Her star appears 
In daring brightness to outdazzle years, 
The fogs of hate, the clouds of dulness rise, 
To quench her lustre, and deface her skies ; 
Hence martial pens in pugilistic rage, 
And venom oozing from each vulgar page, 
Slander abroad on its exulting wings 
To frighten fools, or flap the face of kings, 
While faded authors, overcome with bile, 
Turn into villains, and lampoon the Isle ! f 

But, hark ! to sounds so musically dear, 
By Flattery melted into Folly's ear ; 
Behold a " Lion " who must roar to-night, 
And doubt if homage be not man's delight ! 
Amid the sweet,soft words, which come and go + 
From lord to lady, and from belle to beau. 
There in thyself a night-throned Idol see, 
'Tis all thou art, and all a fool should be ! § 



* " Stat contra, dicitque tibi tua pagina — fur est ! " 
— Mart. 

"There came by chance into my company a fellow 
not very spruce to look on. I asked him what he 
was? He answered, a poet. I demanded why he 
was ragged ? He told me this kind of learning never 
made any man rich ! " — Burton's Anat. 

t " II n'y a point au monde un sip^nible metier que 
celui de se faire un grand nom." — Bruyere. 

t The pregnant brevity of one of Montaigne's say- 
ings is applicable to these artificial scenes — " Combien 
est le langage faux moius sociable que le silence ! " 

§ 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be ! — 
Pope. 



Enamour'd thus, nonsensically dream 
Thy mental worth a supernat'ral theme ; 
Yet, look around thee ere the night be o'er, 
Thy heart is free, and thou a fool no more ! 
Thy mien, thy manners, and thy person tend 
To make no charm Politeness could commend ; 
And, lest they should not quite sufficient see, 
The faults of others are bestow'd on thee ; 
Thus on, till all that once was "glory" thought 
From tongue to tongue is whisper'd into 

nought ; 
While each is conscious, as thy fame's 

o'erthrown, 
To wound another's, is to heal his own.* 

Yet oft ambiguous Hate her truth beguiles, 
And Envy wriggles into serpent-smiles ! 
Some cringing, cawing, sycophantic Sneak 
With heart as hollow as his head is weak, 
In smother'd voice will chance a rival sue 
To feed the pages of a starved Review : 
" Dear Sir ! I think your genius quite 

divine," — 
To-morrow, turn, and lash it line by line ! 
And can it be, to such ignoble life 
Of ceaseless longing and chicaning strife, 
Where fever'd passion frets the nour along, 
That woman's gentler soul would fain belong ] 
Oh ! deem not the assuming pride of Man 
Would claim a glory which no Woman can ; 
Nor think to her soft nature is not given 
The flame of genius with the form of heaven. 
Her tenderness hath made our harshness weep, 
And hush'd our passions into child-like sleep ; 
Her deAvy words fall freshly on the soul ; 
Her numbers sweet as seraph-music roll ; 
And beautiful the morn-like burst of mind 
When first her spirit wakens o'er mankind ! 
Now painting clouds, now imaging the sea, 
Bloom on the flower, and verdure on the tree !- 
But difl'rent far a genius thus display'd, 
From mind corrupted into menial trade, 
When reputation is the theme adored, 
And pilfer'd learning + all its charms afford, 
Those hues divine which delicately please, 
The smile unfashion'd, and the soul at ease, 
All, all that language is too frail to tell 
Which forms in woman what we feel so well, 



* "The life of a celebrated man was more glorious 
in ancient times ; but that of an obscure individual is 
more happy in this modern period." — De StaEl. In 
allusion to the same subject this acute writer remarks 
in another place — "The most glorious triumph the 
Greeks could obtain excited much less hatred than 
the limited applause resulting from the niggard hand 
of modern criticism." 

f One is almost tempted to suppose that human 
invention is limited, like a barrel-organ, to a specific 
number of tunes. — Dugald Stewart. 



402 



OXFORD: OR, ALMA MATER. 



In public life too often dies away- 
Like dreams forgotten in the flush of day. 
There, taunting Pens dissect her dubious claim, 
Or jeering coxcombs jest away her fame : — 
Behold the beauty of yon garden-flower 
In lovely bloom beside its native bower ; 
What winning freshness in its healthful dye, 
Pure as the spring, and radiant as the sky ! 
Transplant it thence to some o'erheated room, 
AVhere hands profane it, — and, alas, the bloom ! 

Let Man his intellectual sceptre wield ; 
To him have Ages in their march appeal'd 
To shape the Elements of mind and power 
Through the vast scene of Life's unrestral hour. 
But thou, fond Woman ! * on affection's throne, 
Behold a kingdom of the Heart thine own ! 
Their feelings form the subjects of thy sway, 
And all is Eden where thy glances play : 
'Tis thine to brighten far from public strife 
The daily windings of domestic life, 
And by thy grace and gentleness of mien 
Adorn and beautify Home's varied scene. 25 

Pleasant is Morning, when her radiant eye 
Opes on the world, enchanting all the sky ; 
And Ev'ning, with her balmy glow of light, 
The beauteous herald of romantic night : 
And pleasant oft to some poetic Mind 
The sound of water, and the sweep of wind, 
A friend renew'd in some heart- welcomed place, 
With years of fondness rising in his face ; 
The tear which answers to a tale of woe, 
And happy feelings in their heavenward flow : 
But sweeter far proves his revengeful lot 
Whom Fame hath slighted, or the World forgot, 
When printed falsehood gratifies each bent, 
And mangles volumes to the heart's content ; 
Corrupts what style, creates what fault you 

please, 
Laughs o'er the truth, and lies with graceful ease! 
Thus Envy lives ; and Disappointment heals ; 
The gangrened wounds a tortured memory feels; 



* Bishop Newton's idea of a "substantial wife" 
would appear very prosaic to the super-sentimental 
ideas of a modern Miss : here it is, reader ! — " Some 
clever, sensible woman, who would lay out his money 
to the best advantage, and be careful and tender of 
his health ; a friend and companion at all hours, and 
who would be happier in staying at home than be 
perpetually gadding abroad ! " — In Burnet's account 
of the iuifortimate Queen Catherine ("Reformation," 
vol. i. p. 38*7), a touch of homely truth occurs, de- 
lightfully illustrative of her domestic character — 
" She was a devout and pious princess ; in her great- 
ness she wrought much with her own hands, and 
kept her women well employed about her, as ap- 
peared when the two legates came once to speak to 
her. She came out to them with a skein of silk 
about her neck, and told them she had been at work 
with her women. " 



And wither'd hopes delightful vengeance 

wreak, 
While pages witness more than scorn could 

speak. 

And thus with one, whose life I now recal ;* 
When pens were daggers, he endured them all ! 
Each Reptile started from his snug review 
To spit out poison, — as most reptiles do ; 
Oh, how they feasted on each faulty line, 
And generously made their dulness thine ! 
From page to page they grinn'd a ghastly smile, 
Yet seem'd to look so heaven-like all the while : 
Then, talk'd of merit to the world unknown, 
Ah ! who could doubt them, for they meant 
their own. 26 

Religion, too ! what right had Youth to scan 
That scheme of Glory which Heaven unveils 

for man ; 
Or paint around him, wheresoe'er he trod, 
The glowing fulness of eternal God 1 ? 
Indeed, 'twas hinted, — hoped it was untrue ! 
His heart had worn an atheistic hue ; 
And still religion, though its hallow'd name 
Imparted freshness to his early fame, 
Had not alike both heart and head inspired ; 
In short, the World was sick, and they were tired ; 
And then to prove his verse was more than vile 
They wrote bad prose with overflowing bile ! 
But venal Commerce hired a Serpent too 
To sound his rattle in the Scotch review ; f 



* This passage, with others of a kindred tone, 
alludes to a wounded state of feeling long passed 
atoay. It is not the only record of past excitement in 
this volume over which, in all sincerity, the writer 
need exclaim — " irxia.? ovag ! " — (1839.) 

t As the note referred to in the text relates to his 
literary past, and contains the published vindication 
of a most estimable person, (Samuel Maunder, the 
author of the well-known " Treasuries, " &c.) the 
author does not feel justified in cancelling it from his 
collected works. But he wishes the reader to under- 
stand it was written some twenty years ago, partly 
in badinage, and partly in seriousness ; and refers to 
a style of popular criticism which has almost expired. 

Were the author noxo to express his feelings on this 
and kindred subjects, the mellowing influence of 
experience would be visible in his strictures ; he 
would speak in a calmer strain of critical injustice ; 
and be reminded, while he wrote, that, after all, 
Criticism is but one of those exponents of our fallen, 
inconsistent, and fallible nature, which (like all we 
do, speak, write, and are) bears the impress of our 
common sin and selfishness. As far as his memory goes, 
he does not think that either Mr. Clarkson or himself, 
when the article in the "Edinburgh Review" ap- 
peared, was aware of the writer of that assault. But, 
as Mr. Macaulay, since then, has had the singular bad 
taste to republish and acknowledge himself to be the 
author of this article, without adding one word of 
explanation to alleviate its virtual untruth, — the 
matter assumes a different bearing; and few will deny 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



403 



And yet, (alas ! that such ignoble end 
Should baffle those who injured Taste defend !) 
Though perfect lies were most profoundly said 
A Poet triumpli'd and the Public read ; 
For truth is stronger than the envious know, 
And gains new vigour from the vilest blow ; 
And when abusive falsehoods cease to pay, 
Malice grows dumb, and slander dies away. 

The faded past my fancy haunts again ; 
And lo ! thine image shadow'd o'er my strain, 
Thou lovely Spirit of celestial worth ! 
"Whose saint-like pureness so adorn'd the earth, 
And, when it vanish' d, thrill' d a world with woe, 
And thoughts, which seldom into language flow, 



the " audi alteram partem " is a mere act of justice 
due alike to the dignity of truth and the cause of 
literature. It is, moreover, to be remembered, that 
occasionally one-sided references are made to Mr. 
Macaulay's attack ; and therefore with the most perfect 
courtesy and good-humour, the present writer will 
venture some observations on the subject, and then 
dismiss it for ever. 

1. In the honour of being misrepresented by 
Mr. Macaulay, the writer of this is not alone. 
Southey, "Wordsworth, Gladstone, &c. &c, have been 
equally distinguished ; indeed, it has not yet been 
discovered, that this gentleman has ever eulogised in 
public a single contemporary. His praise is for the 
dead, and those alone. 2. That a practised reviewer, 
like Mr. Macaulay, should be able to write an "Essay" 
on the first poem of an author, written in his nine- 
teenth year, and by a mere selection of weak lines 
and verbal errors, and a determined concealment 
of all which might be rightly appreciated — produce a 
sarcastic article for a review, is neither surprising nor 
original. How far, indeed, a good man, who reverences 
truth, and scorns to be unjust in order to gratify his 
spleen, would condescend to write such a review, is a 
different question, not here to be investigated. 3. As 
regards critical eulogies, and the blinding effect of 
social attachment on the judgment, no man has 
received from personal or political friends, through 
the medium of criticism, more excessive adulation 
than Mr. Macaulay himself ; or been more willing, on 
the eve of publication, in every way to secure them. 

4. In opposition to Mr. Macaulay's criticism, the 
appreciation of such men as Professor Wilson, 
Southey, "Wordsworth, Crabbe, and Bowles, &c. &c, 
can be adduced ; and perhaps, Mr. Macaulay himself 
will admit that some of these distinguished men are, 
at least, his equals in genius, taste, and discrimination. 

5. If the faults only of any production, either in prose 
or verse, are to be considered as the exclusive qualities 
of an author's mind, according to a crushing article 
in the "Quarterly Eeview," Mr. Macavilay himself 
is a paltry historian, full of prejudice, spleen, 
and partiality. 6. This reference to some galling 
strictures in the "Quarterly" on Mr. Macaulay's 
"History" suggests the following question. Is it 
not a violation of all literary decorum and critical 
truth, for Mr. Macaulay to head his article with, — 
""Writings of Mr. Robert Montgomery," seeing that 
there is not one solitary verbal defect which he cen- 
sures in the " Omnipresence," which has not been 
corrected many years since ? Let an analogous case 



But silently within the soul retire 
And all the sacredness of grief inspire. 

Yet, words and tears have minglingly adored, 
Deep, warm, and true, as feeling Hearts afford, 
Those angel-attributes which good men prize, 
Lamented Heber ! when they leave the skies, 
Awhile some Spirit pure as thine array, 
Smile on the World, and heaven-like pass away. 

There is a shadow round the holy Dead : 
A mystery, wherein we seem to tread, 
As oft their lineaments of Life awake 
And sorrowing Thoughts their hallow'd sem- 
blance take. 



be put. How would Mr. Macaulay, or his Mends, like 
an "Essay "from the " Quarterly " to be published, 
headed, "Writings of Mr. Macaulay," which essay 
should be nothing more than a severe and searching 
exposure of blunders and incoherences long since 
removed ? Yet this is the unchivalrous and splenetic 
wrong to which Mr. Macaulay condescends to put his 
name ; and with perverse obstinacy continues to 
publish against an author who for more than five 
and twenty years, has done his best to proclaim 
Truth and Righteousness, and who would rather let 
the " flesh-fly blow in his mouth," than imitate such 
palpable injustice. And even this analogy does not 
meet the case. Mr. Macaulay's "History " was pub- 
lished in the full maturity of his powers ; but the 
"Omnipresence of the Deity" was written on the 
verge of boyhood; and the specimens which he pre- 
tends to give of that poem in his "essay" have as 
much representative truth in them as Sydney Smith's 
question had of rational inquiry, when he begged to 
know " How far it was from the first of January to 
the top of St. Paul's ? " Let Mr. Macaulay express 
and publish what opinions he pleases on his contem- 
poraries ; but let him remember spleen is not 
criticism : and that he who wilfully misrepresents 
the mind and Character of an author, has not only 
degraded the functions of Criticism, but inflicted a 
moral injury, which none but the meanest of mankind 
will approve. This was Southey's and Wordsworth's 
expressed opinion; and perhaps it will one day be 
Mr. Macaulay's also. 7. Lastly, if the continued 
appreciation of public Taste, be the ultimate source 
of an author's reputation, then is the victory, in the 
present case, altogether on the side of the young 
writer, and not on that of the old critic. When 
Mr. Babington Macaulay informed the world " The 
Omnipresence of the Deity " was a worthless production, 
and implied that such men as Wordsworth, Southey, 
and Professor Wilson, were fools for eulogising it, 
the twelfth edition of that poem was then in circula- 
tion. And as the public did not wait to know what 
Mr. Macaulay thought of that production before they 
purchased it, so, up to the present hour, with a 
strange infatuation, they have never ceased to wel- 
come and peruse it. Surely a quarter of a century in 
an age like our own, is a sufficient period to test the 
real pretensions of any work, whether in prose or 
verse ! Hence Mr. Macaulay's elaborate misrepre- 
sentation is as unjust towards his own name, as it is 
a miserable failure in respect to the object of his 
morbid dislike. 



D D 2 



404 



OXFORD: OR, ALMA MATER. 



What once they dreamt, when mortal nature 

threw 
Phantasmal dimness round each soaring view, 
Now, all unearth'd, beatified, and free 
From toil and tears, — their unsealed Eyes can 

see: 
No more on them the fitful whirl of things 
From joy to gloom, eternal trial brings ; 
In light array'd, before The Throne they shine, 
And learn the mysteries of Love Divine : 
Why tears were shed, why pangs of woe 

prevail'd, 
"Why Goodness mourn'd, and Virtue often 

fail'd, 
No longer now a with'ring shadow throws 
Like that which hovers round the World's repose. 

The holy dead ! of Earth and Heaven the dear ! 
Whene'er the darkness of our troubled sphere 
'Twixt God and Man will demon-like arise, 
The soul deject, and doubt away the skies, 
Then Mem'ry .points to where their feet have trod, 
Redeems our nature, and recals her God. 
Creation's debt to discontented Time 
They help'd to cancel by a worth sublime, 
And wisdom, which enthrones the good and great 
High o'er the meanness of our mortal state ; 
The smile that withers in its cynic play 
Each hope of earth when budding into day, 
By merit awed, in forceless meaning falls, 
Whenever mind exalted mind recals, 
Since eras bright of holiness and love 
Their spirits promise from a World above ! 

And such was he, whose toiling virtues won 
A tomb of fame beneath a foreign sun. 
In childhood, ev'ry dawning sweetness made 
A tender magic which no truth betray 'd ; 
While, fond as feeble, blendingly began 
Those mental traits that ripen into man. 
Romance and fairies, and Crusades inspired 
The poesy which deeper Years admired : 
Heaven's awful Book he loved to learn and read, 
And mourn'd to see the great Redeemer bleed; 
In all he did, benevolence prevail'd, 
And from his frown no shrinking pauper quail'd ; 
Nor form of Woe, nor face of Grief, he pass'd, 
But pitied all, and pitied to his last ! 27 

From Neasden fresh, lo ! Oxford hails him 

now, 28 
And fancies new are bright'ning o'er his brow : 
Too warmly toned, too feelingly endow'd, 
Companionless to linger in the crowd, 
A brother's fame around him lives and blooms, 
His mind awakes, — and magic fills his rooms ! 
Where souls have listen'd as he charm'd the 

hour, 
And young eyes sparkled to confess his power. 



Still, unentangled by the social net, 
Though smile and banquet oft the heart beset, 
Each dawn beheld him at his classic tome, 
And pure, as in his unforgotten home. 29 

Scarce enter'd yet, and honours flower'd his 
way ! 
And soon the music of a master-lay 
From circling thousands woke a thrill divine 30 
While England wept o'er weeping " Palestine ! " 
There are, that still in this cold world remain, 
Whose ears are haunted by that holy strain, 
Whose eyes dejected Salem still behold 
As scene on scene the vision was unroll'd, 
When invocation with her sweetest sound 
Woe'd angel-forms, and angels watch'd 

around ! 
While grandly swelling into giant view, 
"Like some tall palm the noiseless Fabric 

grew ! " 
Then Israel harping by her willow'd streams, 
And Prophets bright with more than prophet- 
dreams, 
The poet vision'd in his pictured strain 
Amid the glory of Millennium's reign : 
Then, bade his Thunders tell of time no more, 
Till Nature shudder'd at their dooming roar ! 

Fond eyes were fix'd upon the Minstrel now ; 
A raptured sire beheld his laurell'd brow ; 
And blest his boy with all that tears bestow 
When Heaven seems by, and human hearts 

o'erflow : 
And where was he ? escaped the glowing throng, 
In the proud moment of triumphant song 
He sought his chamber ; — silent and alone 
A Mother saw him at his Maker's throne ! 31 

That hour hath pass'd : a village-curate 
made, 
How nobly seen amid the pastoral shade ! 
Parochial cares his cultured mind employ, 
Domestic fife and intellectual joy. 
The old men cry, a blessing on his head ! 
And Angels meet him at the dying bed ; 
Let fever rage ; disease or famine roll 
Tormenting clouds which madden o'er the soul, 
Where life exists, there Heber's love is found, 
And heaven created by its welcome sound ! 

None are all blest; without some mental 
strife 
To ripple, not destroy, the calm of life : 
That heart for ever open to the poor, 
Who weeping came, but smiling left his door, 
Was all unapt, when mean annoyments rose 
From rustic fools or mercenary foes, 
By happy lightness to o'erleap them all, 
And melt the clouds which daily life befal. 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



405 



More wisely oft, where common nature guides, 

A pliant spirit of the world presides, 

Than he, whose loftiness of feeling fails 

To stoop or wind, as subtlety prevails. 

Xor could that Souhthoughhigh its lot had been, 

Forget to paint a more expanded scene, 

Or sphere of duty where his mind would sway 

The wider realms of intellectual day. 

They dawn'd at length ! a not unclouded dream, 

From golden climes by Ganga's idol-stream. 

That Indian soil poetic Fancy knew, — 

Her sculptured wrecks, and mountain's roseate 

view, 
Her palmy meads by banks of radiant green, 
And dusky cots where cooling plantains lean. 
But when he felt a meek-eyed Mother's gaze, 
And thought how soon might end her lonely 

days ! 
Beheld his child in cradled hush asleep, 
Too frail to dare the thunders of the deep ; 
His books deserted, friendship's riven chain, 
And he, a pilgrim on the boundless main, — 
That strife of soul might well forbid him roam, 
And softly hue the tenderness of home ! 

Those shading doubts a Providence dispell'd; 
Each home-born fear aspiring goodness quell'd : 
The parting o'er, behold ! the billows sweep 
In rushing music as he rides the Deep, 
That wafts him onward to his Indian clime, 
While mused his heart on future toil sublime, 
Whereby Redemption and her God would smile 
On heathen Lands, and many a lonely isle, 
Where stinted Nature, in degraded gloom 
From age to age had wither' d to the tomb ! 
And haply, too, when rose the twilight-star, 
And billows flutter'd in a breezy war, 
At that dim hour regretted England came, 
Familiar walks, and sounds of early fame, 
And village-steeple, with the lowly race, 
Whose fondness brighten'd to behold his face ! 

The Land was reach'd; and oh! too fondly 
known 
How Heber made that sunny Land his own, 
Till pagan souls a Christian nature wore, 
And feeling's sprang which never bloom'd before, 
As toil'd he there with apostolic truth, 
Redeem'd the Aged, and reform'd her Youth, 
For praise to honour with a powerless line 
A heart so deep, a spirit so divine ! 32 
He lived ; he died ; in life and death the same, 
A Christian martyr ! whose majestic fame 
In beacon-glory o'er the world shall blaze, 
And lighten Empires with celestial rays, 
While Virtue throbs, or human hearts admire 
A poet's feeling with a. prophet's fire, 
Or pure Religion hath a shrine to own 
Where man can worship at his Maker's throne ! 



PART II. 

; The still ah- of delightful studies."— Milton. 
" To range 



Where silver Isis leads the stripling feet ; 
Pace the long Avenue, or glide adown 
The stream-like windings of that glorious street ! " 

"Wordsworth. 



ANALYSIS OF PART II. 

The proud feelings arising from a Survey of the Past 
— Commencement of College Life — Entrance into 
Oxford — First Morning in the University — Chapel 
Service — A "Walk through the Town — The New 
Clarendon — Circulation of the Scriptures — Sublime 
Hopes — Picture of the Indian reading his Bible — 
Return to Oxford Life — The Freshman — Acquaint- 
ances—Characters — Difficulty and danger of Selec- 
tion — Importance of the First Step in College 
Life — The Pure Associations of Home — Advance- 
ment and Triumph — The Reprobate Tutors — Fellow- 
ships — Collegiate Retirement considered in reference 
to Happiness— Reflections on the same — Chime of 
Evening Bells — The Student — Fascinations of Mid- 
night Study — Mental and Physical Effects — Nigh 
Scene — Moonlight — Its Splendours — Reflective con 
elusion — Time — Youth — Retrospections and Anti- 
cipations — Thirst for Fame and Struggles for renown 
— The Evanescent Nature of Human Glory — A 
Farewell View, and Apostrophe to Heaven. 

And thus, o'er visions of thy matchless few 
Hath Fancy revell'd in her fleet review ; 
And, oh my country, glorious, brave, and free, 
Heart of the world ! what spirits hallow thee ! 
There is a magic in thy mighty name, 
A swell of glory, and a sound of fame ; 
And myriads feel upon thy hills and plains 
The patriot-blood rush warmer to their veins, 
As all thou wert, and art, the mind surveys 
With glowing wonder and enchanted gaze ! 

To this proud scene of architect'ral pride, 
To all but Her, the ocean-famed, denied, 
A parent sends, with many a voiceless fear, 
His child, to arm him for the world's career. 
Nor deem unawful that remember'd hour 
When Fate and Fortune, with seductive power, 
To Inexperience urge their blended claim, 
And lead to honour, or allure to shame. 
At length, young Novice ! comes that hush'd 

farewell 
Which words deny, but tears as truly tell ; 
The distance won, behold ! at evening-hour 
Thine eye's first wonder fix'd on Maudlin tower; 
Then, Gothic Structures, as they swell to view 
In steepled vastness, dark with ages' hue ; 
And on thine ear when first the morn-bells wake 
As o'er the wind their wafted echoes break, 
Delighted fancy will illume thy brow, 
To feel thyself in ancient Oxford now ! 



406 



OXFORD: OR, ALMA MATER. 



Collegiate life * next opens on thy way, 
Begins at morn, and mingles withihe day; 
The pillar'd-Cloister, in whose twilight gloom 
Pale dreams arise, like shadows from the tomb, 
Now hears thy step : and well at first I ween, 
The stately Chapel, with its sculptured screen ; 
The windows dim, where Bible-dramas+ live 
For ages in the glow which colours give, 

* A Sermon preached at "Poulis Cross, the xiii. 
day of December, 1550," contains the following de- 
scription of University discipline at that period : — 
' ' There be diuers which rise dailie betwixt three and 
fyve of the clock in the mornyng, and from fyve 
until syxe of the clock use common prayer, with an 
exhortation of God's Word, in a common chapelle, 
and from syxe untoo tenne use euer eyther private 
studie or commune lectures. At tenne of the clock 
they go to dyner, where as they be contente with a 
feine piece of befe amongest iiii, having a few potage 
of the brothe made of the same befe, with salt and 
oatmeal, and nothing elles. After this slender dyner, 
they be eyther teachinge or learninge until fyve of the 
clocke in the euyning, when as they have a supper 
not much better than their dyner, immediately after 
which they go eyther to learninge in problems, or to 
some other studie, until the nyne or tenne of the 
clocke, and there being without fire, are faine to 
walk or runne up and down half a heure to get a 
hete on their fete when they go to bed." 

t This expression recals the Mediaeval Church, and 
the lover of ecclesiastical antiquity will thank us for 
the following curious details connected with the 
pulpits and preachers of the middle ages. The an- 
nexed is from the pages of a contemporary journal : — 

" During the Middle Ages we find that the Pulpit- 
orators of that period delivered their discourses some- 
times in the Latin language and sometimes in the 
vulgar tongue. Pierre de Limoges, a writer of the 
thirteenth century, relates that the festival of St. 
John the Baptist, falling on the fifth Sunday after 
Pentecost, a priest, by name Barthelemy, delivered in 
the Latin language the panegyric of the Saint, and 
on the Sunday following preached a sermon in vulgari. 
There are still extant some fragments of these pulpit 
addresses, in a manuscript bequeathed in the year 
1260 to the Sorbonne by this same Pierre de Limoges. 
The mixture of Latin and French in the same sermon 
dates from about the year 1262 ; as for example : 
' Demoniacum matrem sanavit, et tunc, lo muz parle, 
lo popJes s'en maravilhet (the dumb spake, the people 
were astonished). Under the reign of Philip the Bold, 
and before the canonisation of Louis IX., Giles of 
Orleans, while preaching in the Chapel Royal, ex- 
pressed himself in the following terms : ' Predicatores 
tenentur ramentevoir (to remember) statum Ecclesia?.' 

"The Abbe" de la Rue, in the 13th volume of his 
' Archeeologia' relates that he was greatly surprised 
to find, in a sermon on the Virgin, composed by 
Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, who 
died in the year 122S, the following stanza : — 

' Bele Aliz matin leva, 
Son cors vesti et para ; 
Enz un vergier s'en entra ; 
Cink flurettes y' truva. 
Un chapelet fet en a 
De bel rose flurie. 
Pur Dieu trahez vus en la 
Vus ki ne amez mie. ' 



And golden beams of mellow'd radiance pass 
Through vested figures on the tinted glass, 



"The orator applies each of these lines to the mother 
of the Saviour, and derives from thence a mystical 
explanation. ' The Virgin,' he says, — 
' Ceste est la bele Alis 
Ceste est la flur, ceste est le lis.' 

"This fact of an English prelate employing the 
French language in a sermon delivered before an 
English congregation, is worthy of note ; but more 
than one example of a similar kind may be met with. 
St. Bernard, in the year 1146, went to preach in 
Germany, and his reputation drew after him an 
immense concourse of hearers. Although he preached 
in the Latin tongue, the fire of his elocution and the 
eloquence of his gestures, made, according to the 
account of his companion Geoffroi de Clairvaux, so 
powerful an impression on his auditors, who could 
not understand his words, that they interrupted him 
with tears and sobs, and cried aloud as they smote 
on their breasts, ' Christ uns genade ! Die Heiligen alle 
helfen uns ! ' (Christ have mercy upon us ! May all 
the saints aid us !) 

" Jaques de Vitry, a French chronicler of the thir- 
teenth century, has left us some very curious details 
respecting one of the most celebrated preachers of that 
day, named Foulques de Neuilly, by which we can 
form some idea of the immense influence the speech 
of an eloquent man exercised on the masses. ' He 
so inflamed all people,' says the historian of the 
Crusades, 'by his few and simple words, and not 
only the humblest classes but even kings and princes, 
that none dared or could resist him. They followed 
him in crowds to distant countries, both to hear his 
words and to witness the miracles which the Lord 
wrought by his hands. Those who could tear off and 
preserve the smallest portion of his garments esteemed 
themselves happy. Hence, as his vestments were in 
great request, and the multitude of the people tore 
them unceasingly, he was obliged almost every day to 
put on a new frock. As the crowd were accustomed to 
press upon him in an intolerable manner, he would fre- 
quently strike pretty smartly the most importunate 
with a stick which he carried in his hand, in order that 
he might get a little breathing room for himself, and 
not be stifled by those who desired to touch him. And 
although he sometimes wounded rather severely 
those whom he struck, the latter were not offended, 
and would not complain, but, in the excess of their 
devotion and the firmness of their faith, would kiss 
their own blood, as though it were sanctified by 
being drawn by the man of God. One day, as a 
certain individual made rather too free with the tail 
of his frock, he spoke to the crowd saying, 'Beware, 
lest you tear away portions of such of my garments 
which have not been blessed ; but I shall bless this 
man's garment, ' whereupon he made the sign of the 
cross, and instantly the poor man's coat was torn 
into a thousand pieces, and everyone that could obtain 
a fragment carefully preserved it. 

"'The immodest priests and their concubines, 
whom he called the Juments clu Didble, he harassed with 
severe reprimands and so many maledictions, that 
they were overwhelmed with shame and confusion, 
and were so pointed at, and even followed and hooted 
by all classes, that, in most cases, the servants of this 
description deserted their masters. A certain noble 
lady, dwelling in a village which she possessed, 
several times warned the companion of a priest of the 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



407 



While Saints and Prophets, Priests and Prelates 

there, 
And mitred Abbots, kneel in blended pra} T er ; 



neighbourhood to quit her master, but the latter 
refused Whereupon Foulques, commanding the 
priest's concubine to be brought into Ms presence, 
performed on her the ceremony of the tonsure, 
saying : ' Since you will not quit the priest, I ordain 
you priestess." — Histoire des Crusades, liv. ii. c. 7 — 
Collection Guizot, tome xxii. 

' ' For the rest, those preachers, who, like Foulques, 
sed the secret of assembling crowds around 
them, succeeded easily in amassing wealth, due in 
part to the collections which ordinarily accompanied 
each discourse. The most eloquent of the disciples 
of Foulques, Master Pierre de Roussi, ' who, ' says 
Jacques de Vitry, ' preached poverty, gorged himself 
with wealth by the effect of his preaching, but from 
this cause he rendered his exhortations despicable.' 
Foulques himself having made numerous collections, 
under the pretext, real or feigned, of distributing the 
money among the poor crusaders, ' from this moment, 
by a secret judgment of God, his authority and the 
effect of his preaching began to diminish much among 
the people, and in measure as his wealth increased, so 
decreased visibly the fear and respect he had inspired 
in the breasts of men.' 

" The ninth canon of a council held at Rouen in the 
year 1214 sought, and probably in vain, to remedy the 
abuses resulting from the habit which had crept in 
among the priests, of preaching for money ; we find, 
also, that at this epoch laymen devoted themselves 
to a trade which most probably was highly lucrative, 
for many such were accustomed to travel about the 
country, offering their services in the various towns 
and villages at a certain fixed stipend, to those priests 
who, through ignorance, were incapable of pro- 
nouncing a discourse. Certain bands of lay preachers 
were thus established, who farmed by the year all 
the sermons of a parish, a diocese, or even a province, 
engaging by the terms of their articles either to 
preach themselves, or to furnish capable preachers 
whenever and wherever required. 

" The bishops formerly were obliged to preach 
themselves, and there were for a length of time pre- 
served in several churches in France traces of this 
ancient custom. The statutes of the diocese of Rouen 
directed that the bishop of that city should preach 
on certain days of the year, as, for instance, on the 
first Sunday in Lent, &c. In the seventeenth century, 
a bishop having required from the chapter the sup- 
pression of this statute, the chapter refused, alleging 
that if that custom was no longer followed, it at 
least ought to be followed, and that it was only 
right that the bishops should be kept in mind of 
their duty. 

" Up to the seventeenth century nothing could be 
more grotesque and ridiculous than the style of the 
preachers of France. In order that the reader may 
judge of the materials of which these edifying dis- 
courses were concocted, we will lay before him a few 
extracts from some of the sermons of the most cele- 
brated orators of the period. 

" Gabriel Barletta, a Dominican of the fifteenth 
century, in a sermon preached on the day of the 
Resurrection, moves the question, to wit, who was the 
bearer of this great news to the Holy Virgin ; where 
upon he relates an imaginary conversation supposed 
to take place in heaven upon this subject, in which 



The graven fretwork on the Gothic wall, 
And flowery roof, which over-arches alh- 



Adam, Abel, Noah, St. John the Baptist, and the 
good thief, in turn proffer their claims for the honour ; 
but all are refused, each receiving an appropriate 
answer : Adam lest he should stop on the way to eat 
figs : Abel lest he should meet Cain ; Noah lest he 
should be overcome with wine, &c. Finally, an angel 
is sent, who sings : ' Regina cceli ketare remrrexit sicut 
dixit, alleluia.' 

" Marini, bishop of Glandeve, and confessor of King 
Rene", in his sermon upon the deadly sins, says, 
when speaking of sloth, that a demon is charged with 
the task of noting down all the verses, words, or 
syllables that professing Christians either entirely 
omit or pronounce indistinctly when saying their 
prayers. He calls this demon Tintullus, quia tintillum 
depsalmis et horis non potest emitti quin ab hoc doemone 
scribatur ; and he adds that he has been frequently 
seen, by several pious persons, carrying away whole 
sheets very well filled. 

" In another sermon, preached on the Saturday in 
Passion Week, the same orator enlivens his congre- 
gation with a description of a pleasant method of 
catcliing monkeys. 

" The ' Sermones Quadragesimales' (1519), in the 
macaronic style, of Menot, a French Cordelier sur- 
named the ' Golden-tongue,' are worthy of figuring 
beside those of Barletta. Preaching one day upon 
the parable of the Prodigal Son, he said : — 

" ' When this foolish and ill-advised child, quando 
ille stultus puer et male consultus habuit suam partem 
de, hcereditate, non erat qucestio de portando earn secum 
ideo statim : he made ducks and drakes of it : he took 
it, he sold it, et ponit the cash in sua bursa : quando 
vidit tot precias argenti simul, valde gavisus est dAxit 
ad se : Oho ! non moinebitis sic semper ! Incipit se 
respicere : Ft quamodo ? Vos estis de tarn bond domo, et 
estis dressed like a vagabond? Super hoc habebitur 
provisio : mittit ad qucerendum the drapers, tailors, 
and silk-mercers, and had himself accoutred from 
head to foot : he had no fault to find with his equip- 
ment. Quando vidit emit sibi pulchras caligas of 
scarlet well fitted, the beautiful shirt with a frilled 
collar, the showy doublet adorned with velvet, the 
Florence cap,' &c. &c. 

" In another sermon, upon the Magdalen, he ex- 
presses himself as follows : — ' Et ecce Magdelena pro- 
ceeds to strip herself, and takes so much in shifts 
et costeris indwmentis, the lewdest garments that any 
one fecerat ab atate septem annorum. Habebat suas 
domicellas juxta se in apparatu mundano : habebat her 
perfumes, aquas ad faciendum relucere faciem, ad 
attrahendum ilium hominem [Jesum^ et dicebat : Vere 
habebit cor durum, nisi eum attraham ad meum amorem. 
Et si deberem, to mortgage, omnes meas harreditates, 
nunquam redibo Jerusalem nisi colloqvAo cum eo Jiabito. 
Credatis quod visa dominations ejus, et comitivd facta 
est sibi place, the chair is decked cum panno aureo ; et 
venit se presentare her pretty muzzle, face to face, ante 
nostrum Redemptorerm ad attrahendum eum, at her ease. ' 

" His sermon for the Wednesday after the second 
Sunday in Lent, contains the following passages : — 
' Est una maquerella quce posuit multas pueltos at the 
trade ; ad malum ibit, she will go full gallop ad omnes 
diabolos. Est ne totum? No, she will not have so 
good a bargain, non hoibebit tarn bonum forum ; sed 
omnes quas incitavit ad malum, servient ei with faggots 
and firewood to warm her thirty ribs. ' 



408 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



These in full action now, combine their charm, 
And thrill young feelings, with devotion warm. 



"A work entitled, 'Semumes Dorrdnicales dorrni 
secure, vulgo nuncupate. Cologne, 1625,' affords some 
specimens of a similar kind. 

"In the Gospel Narrative of the Temptation of 
Christ, the author introduces the devil, saying civilly 
to the Redeemer, ' Let us proceed to the desert, we 
will be alone there, and we will pray. ' And after the 
Saviour's victory, the Holy Virgin sends him the 
dinner which she had prepared for herself; a cabbage, 
or a bowl of soup, or spinach, and perhaps sardines. 
Virgo misit prandium quod pro se paraverat, ut caulas, 
vel brodium, ut spinachia, et forte sardinctd. 

" On Ash Wednesday he exempts from fasting those 
who travel on foot from necessity, but not so horse- 
men ; he permits however the mule or horse, as the 
case may be, to eat its daily food without sinning : 
Equitantes autem non excusantur ; equus et mula potent 
ccenare, sed non vos sine peccato. 

" The first work in which mention is made of a 
species of pulpit eloquence, which may be styled, for 
want of a better term, catarrhal eloquence, is 'The 
Sermon preached on the fifth Sunday in Lent in the 
city of Bruges, Anno Domini 1500,' by the celebrated 
Olivier Maillard. 1 In this work we find marked in 
the margin, by the woi-ds, Hem ! hem ! the particular 
spots of the sermon where it was fitting for, or even 
the duty of, the preacher to cough ! An edition of the 
Sermons of this preacher has been given by Crapelet. 

" Musso, bishop of Bitonto, who died in 1574, at the 
commencement of a sermon upon the Magnificat in- 
vokes the Virgin by these words of Terence : " Lucina, 
Lucina, fer opem. " 

'"At this epoch in fact,' as has been well said by 
La Bruyere, ' the sacred and the profane were inti- 
mately allied ; they had glided together even into the 
pulpit : St. Cyril, Horace, St. Cyprian, Lucretius 
spoke alternately. The poets were of the opinion of 
St. Augustine, and all the Fathers : they spoke Latin, 
and for a long time in the presence of women and 
churchwardens they spoke Greek. It was necessary 
to be prodigiously learned to preach badly. Other 
times, other customs ; the text is still Latin, but the 
entire discourse is French, the Gospel even is not 
quoted ; now-a-days we need to know very little in 
order to preach well. ' 

" The first sermon preached in the French language 
in Provence, where hitherto they had preached solely 
in Latin, was the funeral oration of Henri Quatre, 
delivered at Avignon in the year 1615 by Doni 
d'Attichi. 

' ' Claude de Lingendes, one of the most celebrated 
preachers of the seventeenth century, was accus- 
tomed to compose in Latin the sermon he was after- 
wards to deliver in French. ' But, ' says one of his 



1 " Ollivier Maillard was an eccentric French eccle- 
siastic of the fifteenth century. His sermons were 
distinguished by their gross and ridiculous denun- 
ciations against those who might happen to offend 
him. Having glanced in one of them at some 
traits in the character of Louis XL that king, who 
had just established the post in France, sent him 
word that he would have him thrown into the Seine. 
'The king is master,' he replied, 'but tell him I 
shall get to Heaven by water, sooner than he will by 
his post-horses.' He died in 1502." 



contemporaries, ' he thought only of the strength of 
the argument, of the vehemence of the passions, 
and the grandeur and sublimity of the figures; and 
he was of the opinion of that ancient writer who con- 
sidered that a discourse was composed when the words 
in which it was to be dressed only had to be found. ' 

" Tycho Brahe - , perceiving the flights of the imagina- 
tion, into which the preachers of his time permitted 
themselves to be enticed, was desirous that they should 
learn mathematics, in order to introduce more logic 
into their arguments, and to rid themselves of sub- 
tleties and vain discussions. Another geometrician, 
Father Mercennus, invited the sacred orators to adorn 
their discourses with illustrations and texts derived 
from the conic sections. 

" Until the middle of the seventeenth century, the 
style of preaching criticised by La Bruyere found 
hosts of admirers, and people used to run in crowds 
to hear the sermons of the witty ecclesiastic Andre', 
commonly called le petit pere Andre", of whose nu- 
merous bon-mots almost every collection of anecdotes 
is full. Here is the judgment pronounced by a 
serious critic upon Theophilus Raynaud, one of the 
most learned Jesuits of the seventeenth century. 
' The fifth treatise of his volume entitled Marialia, ' 
says Gallois, ' displays the vast erudition and fecun- 
dity of this author. For having to preach upon the 
seven solemn anthems which the Church chants before 
the festival of Christmas, each of which commences 
with the letter O, he took this single letter for the 
subject of his sermons, and in the sterility of this 
subject he found an infinity of beautiful things of 
which this treatise is composed. ' 

"The same preacher delivered one day a sermon 
upon noses, passing in review those of the Virgin, the 
Saviour, &c. &c. 

"Fantastic as was the style of eloquence then in 
vogue, certain preachers produced nevertheless great 
effects at times upon their auditors. 

"Jerom Mautin de Narni, a famous Capuchin 
preacher under the pontificate of Gregory XV., 
' having,' relates Balzac in his tenth discourse, 'been 
appointed to preach before the Pope and Cardinals, 
he struck such terror into his hearers, by showing 
the sinfulness of a neglect of duty, that no less than 
thirty bishops posted the next day to their dioceses. 
The effects of his oratory upon the people were no 
less extraordinary, and many went from the church 
crying for mercy as they walked along the streets. 
On another occasion the conversion of an entire city 
was the fruit of one of his Lenten sermons ; and it 
was computed that during the Holy "Week there were 
sold cords for the purpose of discipline to the amount 
of two thousand crowns, though this article of com- 
merce was by no means an expensive one. Narni, 
however, saw so little real fruit produced by his 
eloquence, that he resolved to give over the profession, 
and retired to his cell, where he employed himself 
in writing the histoiy of his order. ' 

' ' Several authors, among others La Bruyere, have 
drawn a parallel between the advocate and the 
preacher; and Bayle, in the article "Accius" of his 
Dictionary, has written the following lines : — 

" ' I know,' he says, ' a man of sense and discrimi- 
nation who made use of the following argument in 
order to deter his son from the study of jurisprudence, 
and to encourage him to pursue instead that of theo- 
logy : '"What more agreeable,' said he, 'than the 
power of being able to speak before men who cannot 
contradict you ? This is the advantage which preachers 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



409 



But, now the walk of wonder through the 

town 
In the stiff foldings of a new-bought Gown ! * 
From cap and robe what awkward shyness 

steals ! 
How wild a truth the dazzled Novice feels ! 



possess : and what more disagreeable than that of 
being obliged to hear, the instant you have ceased 
speaking, a man who sentence by sentence refutes 
all your arguments, and who will pitilessly compel 
you to render an account of every word you have 
uttered : such is the position of an advocate.' ' 1 

" During the early age of Christianity, there was 
introduced into the Church a singular custom, which, 
derived from the stage, had crept from thence into 
the Christian assemblies : we allude to the custom 
of applauding the preacher. The congregation was 
accustomed to applaud the bishop when he preached 
with stamping of the feet and other sounds, but 
little suited to the sanctity of a place of worship. 
We find, from several passages in the writings of 
St. Chrysostom, that this father had conceived the 
idea of putting down the abuse, which, however, 
subsisted for a length of time. 2 In the year 1782, 
the Abbd Boulogne having delivered in the Church 
of the Oratory, the panegyric of St. Louis, the public 
interrupted him several times with bursts of applause, 
as though they were in a theatre. 

"St. Chrysostom, however, while severely cen- 
suring the custom of applauding in churches, merely 
reproduces the arguments urged by the sages of 
antiquity against the same custom, which had, it 
appears, established itself in the schools of philosophy; 
for we find in the writings of Aulus Gellius these 
remai-kable words : 

" ' When a philosopher,' said the philosopher 
Musonius, ' exhorts, warns, advises, blames, or gives 
a lesson in some branch of the moral sciences, if his 
auditors give vent with all the strength of their lungs 
to a host of empty and vulgar laudations ; if, carried 
away by the graces of his style, by the harmony of 
his expressions, and the cadenced fall of his periods, 
they utter exclamations of admiration and delight, 
then be assured that both orator and auditors are 
losing their time — that we have not before us a philo- 
sopher instructing the mind, but rather a skilful flute- 
player tickling the ear.'" 

* The scholars are supposed in their dress to have 
imitated the Benedictine monks, who were the chief 
restorers of literature. Their gowns at first reached 
not much lower than the knees. The shoulders were 
but a little, or not all gathered; neither were the 
sleeves much wider than those of an ordinary coat, 
but were afterwards enlarged. When degrees became 
more frequent in the reigns of Richard I. and John, 
other fashions were invented, both with respect to 
degrees and faculties. The wide sleeves are still worn 
by bachelors, and by those undergraduates who are 
on the foundation. The gowns were originally black ; 
afterwards of different colours. In the chancellor- 
ship of Archbishop Laud, all were confined to black, 
except the sons of noblemen, who were permitted to 
select their colour. The present gown of the Masters 

1 If we do not mistake, Sydney Smith, in one of his 
essays, makes use of a similar argument. 

2 See the Treatise of Ferrari, De Vtterum Acclama- 
tionibus et Plausu, 1627. 4to. 



Restless the eye, his voice a nervous sound, 
While laughing echoes are evoked around ; 
Each look he faces seems on him to leer, 
And fancied giggles are for ever near ! 
Through High-street then, the Town's 

majestic pride, 
Array 'd with palaces on either side, 
He roams : him tradesmen's greedy eyes 

behold, 
Each pocket gaping for a freshman's gold. 
The Clarendon may next his look beguile, 
Theatric dome, and Ashmolean pile ; 
Or Bodley-chambers,* where in dusky rows, 
The volumed wonders + of the Past repose ; 
Or, some bold thought his wayward fancy rules, 
To take a freeze of horror from the Schools,* 
From lofty benches send a downward gaze, 
Hear awful sounds, and dream of future Days ! 

But lo ! in towering pride, with massy gate, 
The Clarendon§ uprears its modern state ; 
There pause, and think; for then a sense 

sublime, 
How proud a victor over Space and Time 
When Mind hath wielded its undaunted power 
Is man, both slave and monarch of an hour ! — 
Comes o'er thy spirit with unutter'd thought, 
Life melody with years of feeling fraught. 
Yet, not the miracles of England's Press, 
(That mighty Oracle to curse or bless !) 



of Arts is not ancient, and was not known before the 
time of John Calvin, who is recorded as the first 
who wore it. The primitive gown had the sleeve 
longways, and the facing lined with fur. 

* The Bodleian. 

t King James, in his visit to the magnificent 
library of Sir Thomas Bodley is recorded to have said : 
— "If I were doomed to be a prisoner, and the 
choice were given me of my prison, this library 
should be my dungeon ; I would desire to be chained 
by no other bonds than the clasps which incarcerate 
these pages, and to have no other companions in my 
captivity than these volumes." 

X In the statute, "De Exercitiis praestandis pro 
Gradu Baecalaurei in Artibus,' the exercises required 
are "Disputationes in Parvisiis." Chaucer, in the 
prologue to the Canterbury Tales, says, — 

" A seargant at law, ware and wise, 
That often had been at the Pervise." 

And in the glossary at the end of an ancient edition, 
the word Pervise is explained, a church-porch, con- 
tracted from Paradisus — i. e., locus porticibus et 
de ambulationibus circumdatus ; and Spelman says, 
that our lawyers formerly used to walk in such a 
place to meet their clients. Before the schools were 
erected, they held their disputations in Parvisiis in 
the porch of St. Mary's church. There they sat, 
vis-a-vis. This might, in the Xorman-French of those 
times, perhaps be expressed by Par-vis, which, in 
barbarised Latin, would become Parvisiis. 

§ This refers, of course, to the new building, deno- 
minated ' " The University Press. " 



410 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



Alone the worship of high thought demand ; 
Lo ! earth-wide dreams around the soul 

expand, 
As dwells thy gaze on yon enormous piles 
Of hallow'd Books, for heathen Lands and 

Isles ; * 
A godlike present for benighted Man 
Far as the soul can read Salvation's plan ! 

Transcendent thought ! when changing 
Years have flown 
Yon Bibles speak to every Clime and Zone ! 
The hut, the hovel, or the cottage wild 
Where Sorrow shudders o'er her weeping 

child, 
Their living words of holiness and love 
Like angel-tones, shall warble from Above. 
Omnipotence is there ! — a power to be 
God's voice on earth, inspired with Deity ; 
Thou Infidel ! in tomb-like darkness laid, 
By heaven deserted, and by sin betray'd ; 
And thou, pale mutt'rer in some midnight- 
cell, ' 
Whose sad to-morrow is a dream of hell ; 
There is a Yoice to wake, a Word to spread 
Deep as the thunders which arouse the dead ! 
That Sound is heard ; a Welcome from the 

skies ! 
Despair is vanquish'd, and Dejection flies ; 
Hope fills a heart where agonies have been, 
The dungeon brightens, and a God is seen ! 

Immortal Pages ! may your spirit pour 
Celestial day, till heathen night be o'er. 
In fiery lands, where roving Ganga reigns, 
Eternal pilgrim of a thousand plains ! 
The tawny Indian, (when the Day is done 
And basking waters redden in the sun, 
Behold him seated, with his babes around, 
To fathom mysteries where a God is found ! 
The Book is oped, some wondrous page 

began, 
Where heaven is offered to forgiven man ; 
Lo ! as he reads, what voiceless wonder steals 
On all he fancies, and on all he feels ! 
Till o'er his mind, by mute devotion wrought, 
The gleaming twilight of regen'rate thought 
Begins, and heaven-eyed Faith salutes above 
The God of glory, and a Lord of love ! 



* What a glorious contrast does this immense collec- 
tions of Bibles suggest, between the past and present 
state of Christian philosophy, when we read that — 
"So little were the Scriptures used in the time of 
Wickliff, that some secular priests of Armagh, who 
were sent by Archbishop Firzralph (the translator of 
the Bible into Irish) to study divinity at Oxford, 
about A.r>. 1357, were obliged to return, because they 
could nowhere find a Latin Bible. The clergy were 
then seldom able to read Latin." — Bishop Gray. 



" Thou dread Unknown ! Thou unimagincd 

Whole! 
Thou vast Supreme, and Universal Soul, 
Oft in the whirlwind have I shaped Thy form, 
Or throned in thunder heard Thee sway the 

storm ! 
And when the ocean's heaving vastness grew 
Black with Thy curse, — my spirit darken'd too ! 
But when the world beneath a sun-gaze smiled 
And not a cloud the crystal air defiled, 
Then I have loved Thee, Thou parental One, 
Thy frown a tempest, and Thy smile a sun ! * 
But if there be, as heaven-breathed words 

relate, 
A seraph-home in some hereafter-State, 
Almighty Power ! thy dark-soul'd Indian see 
And grant the Mercy which has bled for me ! " 33 

O'er Oxford thus the staring freshman 
roves f 
By solemn Temples, or secluded Groves ; 



* "In matters of faith and religion we raise our 
imagination above our reason, which is the cause 
why religion sought ever access to the mind by simili- 
tudes, types, parables, visions, dreams, &c." — Bacon, 
Adv. Learn., p. 128. 

t "A Companion to the Guide, and a Guide to the 
Companion." A jeu d'esprit, under the above title, 
was attributed to Tom Warton ; his account of the 
libraries and schools is thus humorously sketched : — 
"The prevailing notion is equally erroneous with 
regard to the number of our libraries. Besides those 
of Radcliffe, Bodley, and private colleges, there have 
of late years been many libraries founded in our 
coffee-houses, for the benefit of such academics as 
have neglected, or lost, their Latin and Greek. In 
these useful repositories grown gentlemen are accom- 
modated with the ' Cyclopaedia. ' The ' Magazines ' 
afford history, divinity, &c. The ' Reviews ' form 
the complete critic, without consulting the dry rules 
of Aristotle, Quintilian, and Bossu, and enable the 
student to pass his judgment on volumes which he 
never read — [what a prophetic description of the rail- 
road style of criticism that now prevails !] Novels 
supply the place of experience, and give lectures of 
intrigue and gallantry. Occasional Poems diffuse the 
itch of rhyming, and happily tempt away a young 
fellow to forsake logic, turn smart, and commence 
author either in the pastoral, lyric, or elegiac way. 
As there are here books suited to every taste, so are 
there liquors adapted to every species of reading. 
Amorous tales may be perused over arrak, punch, 
and jellies; insipid elegies over orgeat or capilaire ; 
politics over coffee ; divinity over port ; and defence 
of bad generals and bad ministers over whipt sylla- 
bubs. In a word, we may pronounce that learning 
is no longer a dry pursuit. The schools of this uni- 
versity are more numerous than is commonly sup- 
posed, among which we must reckon three spacious 
and superb edifices, situated to the south of the 
High-street, one hundred feet long, by thirty in 
breadth, vulgarly called Tennis Courts, where exercise 
is regularly performed both morning and afternoon. 
Add to these certain schools, familiarly denominated 
Billiard Tables, where the laws of motion are exem- 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



411 i 



Then, introduced, the social charms begin 
By tongues which flatter, or by hearts that win; 
Mien, mind, and manner, — all in varied style 
Now woo his fortune, or reflect his smile. 
For here, as in the World's unbounded sphere, 
The countless traits of character appear. 
In some proud youth, of feeling soul, we find 
The winning magic of a noble mind ; 
Truth, taste, and sense whate'er he does 

pervade, 
No virtue lost, no principle betray 'd ; 
Another, — wildness marks his mien and tone ! 
His hand extends — and honours are his own ; 
Eternal plaudits in his ear resound ; 
He rides on wings, while others walk the 

ground ! 
A contrast see, whom hearts nor dreams 

inspire, 
The booby offspring of a booby sire, 
With leaden visage passionlessly cold 
And ev'ry feeling round himself enroll'd. 
Then, happy Pertness ! how sincerely vain ! 
And, sour Perfection ! — what sublime disdain ! 
For ever in detraction's art employ'd, 
No virtue welcomed, and no look enjoy'd : 
Then, pompous Learning! deeply read and 

skill'd 
In pages which profoundest heads have fill'd, 
Yet harsh and tasteless, and but rarely fraught 
With knowledge sprung from self-excited 

thought.* 
But, save me, Heav'n ! from what no words 

can tell, 
A human Nothing, made of strut and swell, 
Who thinks no University contains 
Sufficient wisdom to employ Ms brains : 
Yet, frothy Creature ! what a vacant skull ! 
In all but falsehood villanous and dull ; 
Big words and oaths in one wild volley roll, 
And Nature blushes for so mean a soul ! 



plified, and which may be considered as a necessaiy 
supplement to our courses of experimental philo- 
sophy. Nor must we omit the many Nine-pin and 
Skittle-alleys, open and dry, for the instruction of 
scholars in geometrical knowledge, and particularly 
for proving the centripetal principle. Other schools 
and places of academical discipline, not genei*ally 
know as such, may be mentioned. The Peripatetics 
execute the courses proper to their system upon the 
parade ; navigation is learnt on the Isis ; gunnery on 
the adjacent hills; horsemanship on Port-Meadow, 
Ballingdon-Green, the Henley, Wyecombe, Wood- 
stock, Abingdon, and Banbury roads. The Axis in 
Peritrochio is admirably illustrated by a scheme in a 
phaeton. The doctrine of the screw is practically 
explained most evenings in the private rooms, 
together with the motion of fluids." 

* Gilbert Wakefield, in his correspondence with 
Fox, observes, that "his custom was 'multum potius 
quam multa legere ; ' " and Hobbes, with a pithy sar- 
casm, said, " if I had read as much as some others, I 
should have been as ignorant as they are." 



By these begirt, how oft may heart-warm 

Youth 
Grow blindly fond, and misinterpret Truth, 
When feelings in their flush'd dominion lend 
To fancied kindness what completes a friend ! 
Now dawns the moment, doom'd in future 

years 
To waken triumph, or be born in tears ; 
When Morals sway, Religion lives or dies, 
And cited Principles to action rise. 
Oh ! thou, o'er whom a Mother's eye has wept, 
Or round thy cradle frequent vigils kept ; 
Whose infant-brow a father's love survey'd, 
And oft for thee with Heav'n communion 

made; 
Be thine the circle where true Friendship lives 
In the pure light exalted spirit gives ; 34 
And far from thee the infamous and vile 
Who murder feeling with a Stoic smile, 
Blaspheme the Innocence of early days, 
Make virtue vice, impiety a praise, 
Disease the health of unpolluted mind 
And call it glory to disgrace mankind ! 
What though the eye may sparkle o'er the 



Or fondling words for fascination pass, 
While flowers of friendship oft appear to bloom, 
In the false sunshine of a festive room, 
A day will come when sterner truths prevail 
And* friendship dwindles into folly's tale ! 

But shouldst thou waver, when the awful 

hour 
Of Pleasure tempteth with a demon-power, 
And time and circumstance together seem 
To dazzle nature with too bright a dream, 
Let Home and Virtue, what thou wert and art, 
A Mother's feeling, and a Father's heart, 
Full on thy mem'ry rise with blended charm 
And all the serpent in thy soul disarm ! 
For who shall say, whenjirst temptations win 
A yielded mind to some enchanting sin, 
What future crime, that once appear'd too 

black 
For life to wander o'er its hell-ward track, 
May lead the heart to that tremendous doom, 
Whose midnight hovers round an early tomb ? 
Let Home be vision'd where thy budding days 
Their beauty open'd on parental gaze : 
For there, what memories of thee abound ! 
Your chamber echoes with its wonted sound : 



* Hunc quern ccena tibi, quern mensa paravit amicum 
Esse putas fidse pectus amicitiee ? — 

Jam bene si coenem noster amicus erit ! — Martial. 

"For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a 
gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, 
where there is no love."— Bacon's Essays, 27th. ' 



412 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



The flow'r you reared, a sister's nursing hand 
Still fondly guards, and helps each leaf expand ; 
The page you ponder'd with delighted brow 
Was ever dear, — but oh ! far dearer now ; 
The walk you loved with her sweet smile to 

share 
She oft repeats, and paints your image there ; 
And when bright meanings have adorn'd the 

sky, 
Her fancy revels in your fav'rite dye ; 
While oft at evening when domestic bloom 
Hath flung a freshness round a social room, 
When hearts unfold, and Music's winged note 
Can waft a feeling wheresoe'er it float, 
Some chord is touch' d, whose melodies awake 
The pang of fondness for a brother's sake ; 
And Eyes are conscious, as they gaze around, 
That looks are falling where a son was found ! 

Let home begird thee like a guardian dream, 
And time will wander an unsullied stream, 
Whose wildest motion is the rippled play 
Of rapid moments as they roll away ! 
Meanwhile, delightful studies, deep and strong, 
To graduate-honours waft thy soul along ; 
They come at length ! and high in listed fame 
A College hails, a Country reads thy name ; 
And in that List when first thy name appears, 
What triumph sparkles in those happy tears ! 
In after-life, when Oxford's ancient towers 
Thy mem'ry visions in creative hours, 
Or college-friends a college-scene restore, 
Thy heart will banquet on the bliss of yore ! 

Now mark a contrast, in whose meanness 

lies 
What purer thought should soaringly despise. 
From careless boyhood to uncultured man 
Indulged to act, ere principle began ; 
With just enough of spirit for excess, 
And heart which nothing save a vice, can 

bless, 
In Oxford see the reprobate appear ! 
Big with the promise of a mad career. 
With cash and consequence to lead the way, 
A fool by night, and more than fop by day, 
What happy vileness does his lot reveal ! 
How Folly burns with imitative zeal 
Whene'er the shadows of his greatness fall 
In festive chamber, or collegiate-Hall ! 
Romantic lot ! to vegetate secure 
From all which might to mental paths allure ; 
To wake each morning with no deeper thought 
Than that which yesterday's excess hath 

brought ; 
Then, wing'd by impulse, as the day proceeds, 
To follow where coxcombic fashion leads. 
Hark ! Woodstock rattles with eternal wheels, 
And hounds are ever barking at his heels, 



The Chapel, voted a terrific " bore," * 
The " Dons," head-pieces for the college door ! 
The Lecture scouted, the Degree reviled, 
And Alma Mater all save alma styled ! 
Thus on; till Night advance, whose reign divine 
Is chastely delicate to cards and wine, 
Where modest themes amusive tongues excite 
And faces redden with the soul's delight; 
A Roman banquet ! with Athenian flowers 
Of festive wit, to charm such graceful hours ! 

Alas ! that Truth must fling a doleful shade 
On the bright portrait which her hand hath 

made : 
Few years have fled,f and what doth now 

remain 
Of him the haughty, who but smiled disdain 



* When Hooker was at Corpus "enriching his quiet 
and capacious soul with the precious learning of the 
philosophers, casuists, and schoolmen," Izaak Walton 
thus describes his chapel conduct: — "In four years 
he was but twice absent from the chapel prayers ; 
and his behaviour there was such as showed an awful 
reverence of that God which he then worshipped and 
prayed to, giving all outward testimonies that his 
affections were set on heavenly things." — Oh si sic 
omnes ! 

Before concluding this note, the reader will not find 
the following anecdote of Hooker tedious or uninter- 
esting : — When, by his marriage with her ' ' who 
brought to him neither beauty nor portion," the good 
man was drawn from the tranquillity of his college, 
into those corroding cares that attend a married priest 
and a country parsonage, — which was Drayton Beau- 
champ, in Bucks, not far from Aylesbury, — his two 
pupils, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, took a 
j ourney to see their tutor, where they found him with 
a book in his hand (the " Odes of Horace "), he being 
then, like humble and innocent Abel, tending his 
small allotment of sheep in a common field, which he 
told his pupils he was forced to do then, for that his 
servant was gone home to dine, and assist his wife to 
do some necessary household business. But when 
his servant returned and released him, then his two 
pupils attended him unto his house, where their best 
entertainment was his quiet company, which was 
presently denied them, for Richard was called to rock 
the cradle ! Having paraphrased on many of the 
innocent recreations of their younger days, and other 
like diversions, and thereby given him as much com- 
fort as they were able, they were forced to leave him 
to the company of his wife, Joan, and seek themselves 
a quieter lodging for the next night ; but at their part- 
ing from him, Mr. Cranmer said, " Good tutor, lam 
sorry your lot is fallen in no better ground as to your 
parsonage, and more sorry that your wife proves not 
a more comfortable companion after you have wearied 
yourself in your restless studies. " To whom the good 
man replied, "My dear George, if saints have usually 
a double share in the miseries of this life, I that am 
none ought not to repine at what my wise Creator 
hath appointed for me, but labour, as indeed I do 
daily, to submit mine to his will, and possess my soul 
in patience and peace." 

t " In general, the foundations of a happy old age 
must be laid in youth : and, in particular, he who has 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



413 



On all young Virtue in her meekness dared, 
Ambition hoped, or Principle declared 1 
His friends are dead ; his fortune sunk away 
In midnight-Hells, where midnight-demons 

play ; 
A wither d Skeleton of sin and shame 
With nought but infamy to track his name 
The wreck of Fortune, with despairing sighs, 
Fades from the world, and like a felon dies ! * 



not cultivated his reason young, will be utterly unable 
to improve it old." — Bolingbroke. 

* The fate of the poet Churchill, a man gifted with 
genius, but not inspired by virtue, may be profitably 
studied by youthful ambition, when tempted by the 
seductions of circumstance to violate the sacredness of 
Conscience and Truth. His biography is summed up 
in the following narrative : — 

He was educated at Westminster, but made so little 
use of the advantages afforded by that academy, that 
he was refused admission at Oxford on account of 
classical deficiency. A marriage, as early as it was 
imprudent, rendered a profession doubly desirable ; 
and, after studying for some time in private, he was 
admitted to holy orders, and obtained a Welsh curacy 
of about thirty pounds a year. The death of his 
father, who was curate of St. John's, Westminster, 
brought him once more to London ; and he obtained 
the vacant curacy. Still, his income was small, while 
his love of gay and expensive pursuits was unbounded ; 
and he was on the verge of imprisonment, when 
Dr. Lloyd, of Westminster School, interfered, and 
effected a composition with the creditors. He now 
determined to exert the talents he had so long 
allowed to lie idle ; and his first production was the 
"Rosciad," an energetic decription of the principal 
actors of that time. Public attention was fixed on this 
poem by the vehemence with which the players replied 
to it ; and Churchill found it worth his. while to give 
the town a new satire, under the title of an "Apology" 
for his former one. "Night," the " Ghost," in which 
he assailed Dr. Johnson, at that time all but omnipo- 
tent in the literary world, and the "Prophesy of 
Famine " followed ; and he at length threw aside all 
regard for his profession, separated from his wife, and 
became a complete "man of wit about town," and a 
professional political satirist. He now rapidly pro- 
duced an "Epistle to Hogarth," the "Conference," 
the "Duellist," the "Author," "Gotham," the 
"Candidate," the "Times," "Independence," and 
tae " Journey." The vigour displayed in these makes 
it probable that he would in time have devoted him- 
self to higher subjects than party politics, and have 
produced works calculated to give him higher and 
more lasting fame ; but a fever hurried him to the 
grave at the early age of thirty -four, in 1764. 

To this biographical record, let us append the fol- 
lowing truthful and touching account of a visit to 
Churchill's neglected grave in the ancient church of 
St. Martin-le-Grand, Dover. We are indebted for the 
record to the "Home Friend," published by the 
' ' Society for promoting Christian Knowledge : " — 

' ' We shall not easily forget the impression of dreari- 
ness produced on our mind by the first visit to the 
burial-ground of the old church of St. Martin-le- 
Grand. It was on a November afternoon, amid gloomy 
fogs and in a cold wind which swept over the ne- 
glected tombs like a wail for those whom men had 
long forgotten. As we could then trace more clearly 



A nobler Theme ! ere yet my strain conclude, — 
The learn'd and gifted, dignified and good, 
Those tasteful Guides, by whose directing hand 
The seeds of learning ripen or expand ; 



the broken remains of the once magnificent church 
and priory, the words of Robert Nicholl came to the 
mind: — 
' Decaying roofless walls ! and is this all 

That Desolation's blighting hand hath left 
Of tower, and pinnacle, and gilded hall ? 
The everlasting rocks by time are cleft, 
Within each crevice spiders weave their weft. 
****** 

Where are the glancing eyes that here have beam'd, 
Where are the hearts which whilom here have 
beat, 

Where are the shaven monks, so grim who seemed, 
Where are the sitters on the abbot's seat ? ' 

' ' The burial-place, though but recently disused, 
had the most melancholy aspect of desertion. Heaps 
of broken crockery and other refuse from the adjoin- 
ing houses lay at one end. Scarcely a daisy would in 
spring look up to the sky from that mould, and now 
not a robin was there to chant a requiem for the de- 
parted summer. The graves were wet with the late 
rains, but neither rain nor sunshine brought green- 
ness to the sods, for there was little grass in that 
dreary churchyard. We wandered on amid the 
gloom, searching for the spot where the last remains 
of the poet Charles Churchill found their resting-place 
in 1764. It was long ere we could discover the lowly 
grave ; but at length an old headstone, green with 
slimy moss, was found, bearing the poet's name and 
time of decease, with the epitaph from his own poem 
of the 'Candidate,' — 'Life to the last enjoyed, here 
Churchill lies.' One could have wished, certainly, that 
that life and its enjoyments had been more in accord- 
ance with the dictates of ■virtue and religion ; yet it 
was impossible to look without sorrow on these last 
memorials of a man of genius — for a man of genius 
Churchill certainly was. ' Churchill, ' says Cowper, 
' is a careless writer for the most part ; but where 
shall we find in any of those authors who finish their 
works with the exactness of a Flemish pencil, those 
bold and daring strokes of fancy, those numbers so 
hazardously ventured upon, and so happily finished-; 
the matter so compressed, and yet so clear, and the 
colotiring so sparingly laid on, and yet such a beautiful 
effect ? In short, it is not his least praise that he is 
never guilty of those faults which he lays to the charge 
of others ; a proof that he did not judge by a borrowed 
standard, or from rules laid down by critics, but that 
he was qualified to do it by his native powers and 
his great superiority of genius. ' 

" But neglected as was the poet's grave now, it had 
not been so always ; there had been an interval when 
the last resting-place of genius had been honoured, 
and when the poet's own wish had in part been 
fulfilled :— 

' Let one poor sprig of bay around my head 
Bloom whilst I live, and point me out as dead ; 
Let it, — may Heaven indulgent grant my prayer ! — 
Be planted on my grave nor wither there : 
And when on travel bound, some rhyming guest 
Roams though the churchyard, while his dinner's 

drest, 
Let it hold up this comment to his eyes, 
Life to the last enjoyed, here Churchill lies ! ' 



414 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



And if one task there be the Soul to try, 
Whose with'ring toils a due reward defy, 
On them it falls whom Merit ranks her own 
And Talent seats on Education's throne. 
Each mode of mind, the stubborn, wise, or 

stern, 
The headstrong Wit that cannot stoop to learn, 
The dunce or drone, the freshman or the fool 
'Tis their's to counsel, teach, o'erawe, and rule ! 
Their daily meed, some execrating word 
To blight the hour when first their voice was 

heard, 
From prating coxcombs, whose foul tongues 

declare 
In froth and flippancy, what fools they are ! 

Yet well may such a doom be nobly faced ; 
There comes a scene by no dark cloud dis- 
graced, 



"Between thirty and forty years since a bay was 
planted, and for some time carefully tended on the 
spot. A pilot from the neighbouring town of Deal, 
named Mowll, planted it there. Few who looked on 
the weather-beaten exterior of the brave sailor would 
have guessed that he should be the only one to fulfil a 
poet's wish ; but the brave are often the gentle too, 
and he who had many times dared the raging ocean, 
had a thought of pity for neglected genius. Honoured 
be his name for this touching expression of sympathy ! 
But the bay-tree did not thrive on the grave ; ever- 
greens are said not to flourish well on the soil of 
Dover ; and the sheep browsed on its young leaves, 
and thoughtless persons broke away its shoots ; and 
all the care of the planter could not save it. Those 
who looked upon it tell how it always seemed droop- 
ing. Long since it disappeared altogether, and when 
we stooped to the grave to gather a blade of grass to 
carry off as a remembrance of Churchill, nothing was 
there but a small nettle ; and no raised sod marked 
a tomb, for the ground was trodden to a perfect level. 
It must have been in somewhat similar state in 1816, 
when Lord Byron, while his dinner was preparing at 
a neighbouring inn, literally fulfilled the poet's wish 
by visiting his grave, and who thus records his 
impressions : — 

" I stood beside the grave of him who blazed 

The comet of a season, and I saw 
The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed, 

With not the less of sorrow and of awe, 
On that neglected turf and quiet stone 
With names no clearer than the names unknown 
Which lay unread around it ; and I asked 

The gardener of that ground why it might be 
That for this plant strangers his memory tasked 

Through the thick deaths of half a century : 
And thus he answered : ' Well, I do not know 
Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so. 
He died before my day of sextonship, 

And I had not the digging of his grave.' 
And is this all ? I thought — and do we rip 

The veil of Immortality, and crave 
I know not what of honour and of light, 
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight 

So soon and so successless ? " 



An hour when Genius, borne aloft to fame, 
On Oxford sheds the brightness of her name, 
Whence first her wings those eagle-heights 

explored, 
Where now She reigns, adoring and adored ! 
Then, he who taught her, shares with proud 

surprise 
And dewy gladness of delighted eyes, 
That hour triumphant, when a World repays 
The toilful dulness of collegiate-days. 
Ah ! who forgets the Parents of the mind'?* 
What heart so dead, as no deep bliss to find 
In thoughts which wander to their school-day 

scene, 
Though years and distance darkly intervene 1 
The foot-worn mead ; the playmate, wood, and 

walk 
So sweetly shared in tenderness and talk ; 
The feats and pranks of undejected Youth 
When Fancy wore the fairy mask of Truth, 
Dull, drear, and worldly is the Soul that sees 
No smile reflected from such joys as these ! 

And they who haunt, from year to year 

content, 
That sacred home where studious hours are 

spent, 
Does fancy think their stormless life must be 
One still romance of mental liberty ?- 
Yet Mind alone, whate'er the lot or state, 
Her true delight must fancy or create ; 
From her the sunshine and the shadows fall, 
Which brighten, tint, and oversway it all. 
The daily clockwork of collegiate-life 
Where nought is new, but Convocation-strife ; 
The bigotry which olden Times beget ; 
A sickly dulness, and a proud regret 
For aught which seems of reformation sprung, 
To let in light where ancient cobwebs hung, 
If such combine, where weaker traits are found, 
Who would not mourn that Fellowships abound'? 
The mighty brothers of the Sun and Moon, 
Who tremble, lest a lip should smile too soon ; 
Nor treat their mouths except with college 

twang, 
Where heavy words in heavy speeches hang ; 
Who hate the Present, but adore the Past, 
And think their world the only one to last, — 
How pitiful ! should such a race be seen, 
Where all the Monarchs of the mind have 

been. 

Retirement, classic love, and studious ease, 
A heart which deems it no disgrace to please, 



* Di majorum umbris tenuem, et sine pondere 
terrain, 
Spirantesque crocos, et in urna perpetuum ver, 
Qui prEeceptorum sancti voluere parentis 
Esse loco.— -Juv. Sat. 7, 207. 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



415 



With retrospections fond of other Days 
When minds were nursed, that now repeat 

their praise, — 
A lot so calm no virtue will destroy, 
But season life for solitary joy. 
And yet, let shades of accident unite 
lu happy union for its best delight, 
A life of Learning is a life forlorn : — 
Be mine the world which social scenes adorn, 
Where Woman's heart the central bliss is found, 
And happiness, the smile it sheds around ! ' 

But night is throned ; and full before me 

frown 
The dusky Steeples which o'ershade the town ; 
High in the midst, a dark-domed shadow 

see. — 
The Radcliffe, pile of unworn majesty ; 
Around it, silver d by some window-ray 
Whirls many a smoke-wreath in ascending 

play : 
Beneath, what massy roofs inmingled lie, 
Misshaped by fancy, till they awe the eye ! 
Hush'd are the groves, in leafy dimness veil'd, 
The winds unheard, as though they ne'er had 

rail'd. 
But hark ! the iron voice of Wolsey's bell 35 
Floats o'er the city like his last farewell, 
While answ'ring Temples, with obedient sound, 
Peal to the night, and moan sad music round ; 
But dread o'er all, like thunder heard in dreams, 
The warning spirit of that Echo seems ! 
Now gates are barr'd ; and, faithful to his stand, 
The crusty Porter, with his key-worn hand. 
Yet not with day, the day-born studies end ; 
Wan cheeks, and weary brows, — I see them 

bend 
O'er haughty pages breathing ancient mind, 
For Man and Immortality design'd : 
The brain may burn, the martyr'd health may 

fail, 
And sunken eyelids speak a mournful tale 
Of days protracted into hideous length, 
Till mind is dead, and limbs deny their 

strength : 
Still, Honours woo ! — and may they smile on 

thee, 
Prophetic Youth ! as bright as visions see ; 
Hours, days, and years severer far than thine, 
In toil, and gloom, and loneliness, are mine. 

The Day is earth, but holy Night is heav'n : * 
To her a solitude of soul is given, 



* That ideal paradise in which imagination 
delights to roam, and gather hues of glory, wherewith 
to invest the bleak realities of life, beautiful as it is, 
has met with little respect from ethical writers. — 
Foster (vide " Essays ") appears by no means 
enamoured of it, in the following passage : — " If a 



Within whose depth, how beautiful to dream, 

And fondly be, what others vainly seem ! 

Oh ! 'tis an hour of consecrated might, 

For Earth's Immortals have adored the night ; 

In song or vision yielding up the soul 

To the deep magic of Her still control. 

My own loved Hour ! there comes no hour like 

thee, 
No world so glorious as thou form'st for me ! 
The fretful ocean of eventful day 
To waveless nothing how it ebbs away ! 
As oft the chamber, where some haunted Page 
Renews a Poet, or revives a Sage 
In pensive Athens, or sublimer Rome, 
To mental quiet woos the Spirit home. 
There Stillness reigns, how eloquently deep ! 
And soundless air, more beautiful than sleep. 
Let Winter sway, — her sounds the scene 

inspires : 
The social murmur of a blazing fire ; 
The hail-drop, hissing as it melts away 
In twinkling gleams of momentary play ; 
Or wave-like swell of some retreated wind, 
In dying sadness echo'd o'er the mind, 
But gently ruffle into varied thought 
The calm of feeling blissful night has brought. 
How eyes the spirit with contented gaze 
The chamber mellow'd into social haze, 
And smiling walls, where, rank'd in solemn 

rows, 
The wizard Yolumes of the Mind repose ! 
Thus, well may hours like fairy waters glide, 
Till morning glimmers o'er their reckless tide ; 
While dreams, beyond the realm of day to view, 
Around us hover in seraphic hue ; 
Till Nature pines for intellectual rest, 
When home awakens, and the heart is blest ; 
Or, from the window reads our wand'ring eye 
The starry language of Chaldean sky, 
And gathers in that one vast gaze above, 
A bright eternity of awe and love ! 

So heav'nly seems the visionary night : 
But, ah ! the danger in such deep delight. 
The Mind, then beautified to fond excess, 
With all things dare to brighten, or to bless : 
A world of sense more spiritual is made 
Than the stern eye of nature hath survey'd ; 
Some false perfection which hath never been, 
By fancy imaged, lives through ev'ry scene ; 



tenth part of the felicities that have been enjoyed, the 
great actions that have been performed, the beneficent 
institutions that have been established, and the beau- 
tiful objects that have been seen in that happy 
region, could have been imported into this terrestrial 
place, what a delightful thing it would have been to 
awake each morning to see such a world once more ! " 
Abercrombie has also touched on the illusive danger 
of such dreams in his work on the "Intellectual 
Powers," p. 155, 3rd ed. 



416 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



But morn awakes, and lo, the spells unwind, 
As daylight melts light darkness o'er the mind ! 
The worldly coarseness of our common lot 
Recals the shadows which the night forgot ; 
Each dream of loftiness then dies away, * 
And heav'n-light withers in the frown of Day ! 
And then, the languor of each parching vein, 
And the hot weariness of heart and brain, 
That hideous shade of Something dread to be, — 
Oh, fatal midnight ! these are doom'd for thee. 
Each breeze comes o'er us with tormenting 

wing, 
Each pulse of Sound an agony can bring ; + 
Let Chatterton 36 Thy deathful charm reveal, 
And mournful White, whose genius loved to 

steal 
A placid sense of some angelic Pow'r 
Around prevailing at thine earthless hour. 37 
And oft, methinks, in loneliness of heart 
As noons of night in dreaming calm depart, 
My room is sadden'd with the mingled gaze 
Of Those who martyr'd their ambitious days ; 
The turf-grass o'er their tombs, — I see it wave 
And visions waft me to a kindred grave ! 

But lo ! the yielding Dark hath gently died, 
And stars are sprinkled o'er yon azure tide 
Of lustrous air, which high and far prevails, 
"Where now the queen-like moon in glory sails. 
City of fame ! when Morn's first wings of light 
Wave their fresh beauty o'er thy mansions 

bright, 
Have I beheld thee ; but a moonrise seems, 
Like hues that wander from a heaven of dreams, 
To hallow thee, as there thy Temples stand 
Sublimely tender, or serenely grand, — 
Spire, tower, and pinnacle, a dim array, 
Whose spectral features in the moonlight sway : 
The stony muteness of thy massive piles 
Now silver'd o'er by melancholy smiles, 
With more than language, spirit-like appeals 
To the high sense impassion'd Nature feels 
Of all which gloriously in earth or sky 
Exacts the worship of her gazing eye. 



* "The heroism of morals, the enthusiasm of elo- 
quence, and the ambition of fame, are supernatural 
enjoyments necessary only to those minds which, at 
once exalted and melancholy, are weaned and dis- 
gusted with everything transitory." — De Stael. 

t The wasting effect of excessive and protracted 
study did not escape the observation of Rousseau : — 
"Elleles rends delicats, affoiblit leur temperament ; 
et que Tame garde difficilement sa vigueur, quand le 
corps a perdu la sienne ; que l'e"tude use la machine, 
epuise les esprits, de"truit les forces, enerve le courage, 
rend pushlanime, incapable de register egalement a la 
peine et aux passions." In Lord King's "Life of 
Locke," there is an admirable "Essay on Study," 
which ought to be perused by every man who deems 
the martyrdom of health an interesting accompani- 
ment to the acquirement of learning. 



There is a magic in the moonlit-hour 
Which Day hath never in its deepest pow'r 
Of light and bloom, when bird and bee resound. 
And new-born flow'rs imparadise the ground ! 
And ne'er hath City, since a moon began 
To hallow nature for the eye of man, 
Steep'd in the freshness of her fairy light, 
More richly shone, than Oxford shines to-night. 
No lines of harshness on her Temples frown, 
But all in one soft magic melted down, 
Sublimer grown, through mellow air they rise 
And seem with vaster swell to awe the skies ! 
On arched windows how intensely gleams 
The glassy whiteness of reflected beams ! 
Whose radiant slumber on the marble-tomb 
Of mitred Founders, in funereal gloom, 
Extends ; or else in pallid shyness falls 
On Gothic casements, or collegiate-walls. 
The groves in silver-leaf 'd array repose ; 
And, Isis ! how serene thy current flows 
With tinted surface by the meadow'd way, 
Without a ripple, or a breeze at play : 
Yet, once again shall summer-barks be seen, 
And furrow'd waters, where their flight has 

been ; 
While sounding Rapture, as her heroes speed 
From Iffly locks, flies glorying o'er the mead, 
Hails from the bank as up the river ride 
In oary swiftness and exulting pride 
Her barks triumphal : — let the flag be rear'd, 
And thousands echo, when the Colour's cheer'd ! 

Again upon the wind a wafted swell 
Of ebbing sound, proclaims a midnight-bell ; 
Lo, phantom-clouds come floating by the moon, 
Then melt away, like happiness, too soon : * 
And as they glide, an overshadowing smile 
Of moving light is mirror'd on each pile. 
Farewell the Scene ! Farewell the fleeting song ! 
Wherein my spirit hath been borne along 
In light and gloom through many a lonely hour, 
With nought to gladden but its own weak pow'r. 
In morning-youth far brighter dreams have 

play'd 
A round a Heart which hope has oft betray'd, 
Than those which hover o'er this dying strain ; 
But, faded once, they never form again 1 
"Farewell " to Oxford ! soon will destined years 
That word awaken which is spoke by tears : 
When scheming Boyhood plann'd my future lot, 
No scene arose by Oxford centred not ; 
And now, as oft her many-mingled chimes 
Swell into birth, like sounds of other times, 
Prophetic life a living mystery seems, 
Unravell'd oft by consummated dreams ! 



* So calm the waters, scarce they seem to stray, 
And yet they glide, like happiness, away. 

Lara. 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



417 



Farewell! if when I cease to haunt her 
scene 
Some gentle heart remember I have been, 
As Oxford, with her palaces and spires, 
The mind ennobles, or the fancy fires, 
No vain reward his chosen theme attends 
Howe'er the fate of him who sung it, ends ! 

Oh ! fearful Time, the fathomless of thought, 
With what a myst'ry are thine ages fraught ! 
Whose wings are noiseless in their rush sublime 
O'er scenes of glory, as o'er years of crime ; 
Yet comes a moment when their speed is felt, 
Till Past and Future through our being melt, 
And boding shadows from a world unknown, 
Deepen around us, and bedim our own. 

A moment ! well may that a moral be, 
Whoe'er thou art, 'tis memory to thee : 
A tomb it piled, a mother bore to heaven, 
Or like a whirlwind o'er the ocean driven 
Rush'd on thy fate with desolating sway, 
And flung a desert o'er its darken'd way ! 
A moment ! — Midnight wears a wonted hue, 
And orbs of beauty speck yon skyward view; 
Deep, hush'd, and holy is the world around, 
But yet, what energies of Life abound ! 
In blended action through the realms of 

space 
Where time and nature multiply their race 
What crimes enacted, or what hearts awake 
Which beat for glory or with anguish break ! 
And thou, dread spirit-World ! to man unknown, 
AVhere reigns Jehovah on His sightless throne, 
Sense cannot view, but dreams would fain 

expand 
Their wings ethereal o'er that mystic Land 
Where Glory circles from the awful Three, 
And Life is Love, and Love is Deity. 

Who breathes, in good and ill must bear his 

part, 
And each can tell a history of heart, 
How Time hath tinged the moral of his years 
Through gloom or glory, triumph, pangs, or 

tears. 
And yet, howe'er Confession prove the right, 
To give it voice is deem'd a vain delight ; 
And far too deeply is my mem'ry fraught 
With the cold lesson blighted hours have taught, 
To think a life so valueless as mine 
With the stern feelings of a world may twine. 
But words w ill rise from out perturbed mind 
As heave the waters to the helmless wind, 
In some fond mood, when dreaming thoughts 

control 
Departed years that slumber in the soul ! 



Life still is young, but not the world, with 

me; 
For where the freshness I was wont to see 1 
A bloom hath vanish'd from the face of Things ; 
Nor more the Syren of enchantment sings 
In sunny mead, or shady walk, or bower, 
Like that which warbled o'er my youthful hour. 
Let reason laugh, or elder wisdom smile 
On the warm phantasies which youth beguile, 
There is a pureness in that glorious prime 
Which mingles not with our maturer time. 
All earth is brighten'd from a sun within 
As yet unshaded by a world of sin, 
While mind and nature blendingly array 
In light and love, whate'er our dreams 

survey : 
Though perils darken from the distant years 
They vanish'd, cloud-like, when a smile appears ! 
And the light woes that flutter o'er the mind 
Are laugh'd away, as foam upon the wind. 
Thou witching Spirit of a younger hour ! 
*Did I not feel thee in thy fullest pow'r, 
As oft school-free I rambled, lone and still 
Through the green twilight of some wooded 

hill; 
Or oped my lattice, when the moonshine lay 
In sleep-like beauty on the brow of Day, 
To watch the mystery of moving stars 
Through ether gliding on melodious cars ; 
Or musing wander' d, ere the hectic morn, 
To see how beautiful the sun was born ] 

A reign of glory from my soul hath past, 
And each Elysium proved mere Earth at last ; 
Yet mourn I not in mock or puling strain, 
For joys are left which never beam in vain : 
The voice of friends, the changeless eye of love, 
And, oh ! that bliss all other bliss above, 
To know, if shadow frown, or sunshine fall, 
There is One Spirit who pervadeth all ! 

And has that fame, for which pure feelings 
pine, 
No motive sanction'd by a Creed divine 1 
To be remember'd, — is the hope for this, 
A false ambition for unholy bliss ] 
Time, Man, and Nature speak a deeper truth 
When hope predicts the fancies of our youth ! 
But, 'tis not fame to form the midnight-show, f 
Where Vice and Vanity alike may go ; 



* Rousseau, when dying, ordered his attendant to 
place him before the window, that he might view the 
declining glow of day, and bid farewell to the wor- 
shipped countenance of Nature ! 

t Fame begets favour, and one talent, if it be 
rubbed a little bright by use and practice, will procure 
a man more friends than a thousand virtues. — 
Cowpek's Letters. 



418 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



It is not fame, to hear the shallow prate 
Of busy Fondness, or intriguing Hate, 
To feast on sounds of patronising pride 
And wring from dulness what the world denied. 
A high-soul'd nature is its own renown, 
And needs no jewels to begem the crown ! 
For 'mid the heat, the hurry and the strife, 
Or daily nothings of distemper'd life, 
Our spirit thirsteth for a purer World : 
O'er this the wings of fancy are unfurl'd ; 
Hence painter's hue and poet's dream are 

brought, 
And the rich paradise of blooming thought : 
To quench that thirst, let heaven-born feelings 

flow, 
Let genius wake ! let inspiration glow ! 
Why thus we panted for a world like this 
May form a knowledge in our future bliss.* 

All are not framed alike : Love, Hope, and 

Truth, 
Those three Inspirers which attend on youth, 
To various minds a varied tone impart ; 
What this man freezes, — fires another's heart ! 
The words that waken melodies of soul, 
In tuneless ears monotonously roll ; 
The Shapes and Shadows which creation forms 
And Fancy moulds from seasons and from 

storms 
To living beauty or to lovely hue, 
And waves them phantom-like before our view, 
Will rouse the life-blood into fresher play 
Of him who visions what the words array : 
Another, eyeless save to sterner things, 
Will frown them back as false Imaginings ! 
And thus in nature, as her vales reply 
To voices wafted where the echoes lie, 
Our spirits answer to appeals alone 
When tuned accordant with some inward tone.f 
I've stood entranced beneath as bright a sun 
As Poet's dream hath ever gazed upon, 



* There are some exquisite allusions to the philo- 
sophy of poetry in ' ' Schiller's Lectures on Dramatic 
Poetry; "and Bacon has comprehended in one elo- 
quent paragraph a world of criticism — e.g.,Videtur 
Poesis hsec humanse naturae largiri, quae Historia 
denegat ; atque animo umbris rerum utcunque satis- 
facere. ■* * * Firmum ex Poesi sumitur argumen- 
tum, magnitudinem rerum magis illustrem, ordinem 
magis perfectum, et varietatem magis pulchram 
animse humanse complacere, quam in natura ipsa post 
lapsum reperire ullo modo possit. * * * Adeo ut 
Poesis ista non solum ad delectationem, sed etiam ad 
animi magnitudinem et ad mores conferat." — De Aug. 
Sclent., lib. 2, cap. 13. 

t The action of mind on mind is an unfathomable 
mystery, yet as beautiful as it is deep. It is recorded 
by Fontenelle, that when Malebranche first read 
Descarte's "Treatise on Man," he was sometimes 
compelled to lay aside the work " till the palpitation 
of his heart had subsided ! " 



In the warm stillness of that wooing hour 
When skies are floating with seraphic power, 
The gales expiring in melodious death, 
The waters hush'd, the woods without a breath ; 
But when I look'd where lay immingled forms 
Of fairy mountains or refulgent storms, 
And cloud-born phantoms, delicately bright, 
Laugh'd in the paleness of departing light, 
Each fainting into each, a long array, 
Like lovely echoes when they glide away, — 
Another babbled in that beauteous hour, 
Light as the leaf, and mindless as the flower ! 

Thou young Aspirer ! darest thou dream of 

fame, 
And hope another Age will read thy name 1 
The hidden stirrings of each voiceless pride, 
The pangs unutter'd, by the soul supplied, 
The ghastly dimness of dejected hope, 
By dreams assail'd with which no pride can 

cope ; 
Those nameless thoughts of venom'd fierceness, 

sent 
From the dark heavings of our discontent ; 
And, dreader still, — the clouds of daily life 
That welter round us in disease or strife, 
And the cold atmosphere of worldly sway 
Where Life is self, and Self the life of day, 
In mingled power will oft thy soul appal ; 
Too well I picture, for I felt them all ! 
Yet bear thou on ! and when some breathing 

page 
Of godlike poet, or divinest sage, 
And secret energies of soul begin 
To feed the passion that is form'd within, 
Then let thy Spirit in her power arise 
And dare to speak the language of the Skies ! 
Her voice may fail, in deathlike muteness lost, 
Her hopes be visions, and those visions cross'd ; 
But, pure and noble if thy song began, 
And pour'd high meanings through the heart of 

man, 
Not echoless perchance a note hath been 
In some lone heart, or unimagined scene. 
How many a breeze that wings a noiseless way, 
How many a streamlet unbeheld by Day, 
How many a sunbeam lights a lonely flower, 
Yet works unseen in its creative power ! 
Then highly soar, whene'er thy spirit feels 
The vivid sway impassion'd thought reveals ; 
ITnchill'd by scorn, undarken'd by despair, 
So Martyrs lived, and such the Mighty were ! 

There is a pleasure in a praise denied ; * 
It feeds a folly, or protects a pride, 



* Three endowments are required to constitute 
a noble critic of the genuine type. 1st. Intellec- 
tual competency. 2nd. Moral rectitude. 3rd. A 
spiritual faculty. As to the first, we understand by 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



41! 



It teaches Dulncss what no Wit can say, 
" I don't approve, let no one write to-day." 
Thou narrow-minded, petty, pompous Thing ! 
What lent a feather to the boldest wing 



it the possession of a pure imagination, a refined 
judgment, an intense love of the beautiful, a discrimi- 
nating taste, a talent for analysis and synthesis, 
mental intuition, and a profound reverence for the 
Intellect of Man. But on this subject let us hear the 
words of a master — A. W. Schlegel. " No man can 
be a true critic or connoisseur who does not possess a 
universality of mind, who does not possess the flexi- 
bility, which throwing aside all personal predilections 
and blind habits, enables him to transport himself 
into the peculiarities of other ages and nations, to feel 
them, as it were, from their proper central point, and 
what ennobles human nature, and to recognise and 
respect whatever is beautiful and grand, under those 
external modifications which are necessary to their 
existence, and which sometimes even seem to disguise 
them. " 

As to the second qualification, how applicable are 
Tacitus' words, in his exquisite fragment on Oratory, 
" Nemo orator nisi bonus," so with a genuine critic. 
There must be a deep sympathy for truth in his 
nature; a free and unfettered love for humanity, 
under all its manifold utterances and complexions ; a 
catholic regard for whatsoever things are lovely, pure, 
and of good report ; together with a high disdain for 
the mean, the envious, and the malignant, — or else 
whatever may be the mental acuteness of a critic, he 
will want that severe rectitude which is the binding 
charm which harmonises into a generous whole both 
his censure and his praise. A man inspired by sen- 
timents like these, writes "with the fear of God 
before his eyes," and looks beyond the poor applause 
of his fellow clay. His object is to widen the region 
of human happiness, and so to elevate the just, the 
beautiful, the true and the noble before the apprehen- 
sions of mankind, that art, science, and literature 
may become the handmaids of social virtue, and the 
sisters of genuine religion. 

Finally, and perhaps chiefly, in the highest depart- 
ments of criticism, where the theme is in alliance 
with the objects of faith, the perfections of Deity, the 
destinies of eternity, the glories of the Redeemer, 
and the actings of the Invisible Spirit through the 
organs of our human being— there we feel assured 
something beyond intellectual competency, and what 
surpasses even moral rectitude, is required before the 
critic can be worthy of this exalted oflice. He must, 
in truth, have that which nothing under the throne 
of God can give him ; which genius inspires not ; 
imagination conceives not; talent commands not; 
eloquence supplies not ; nor education bestows, nor 
example begets, nor all the culture of the intellect, 
though carried to the summit of possible attainment, 
will ever procure him;— and that is, a Spiritual 
Facultv. This is that " secret of the Lord which is 
with th?m that fear Him," and with none else. 

But let us endeavour to explain what may be un- 
derstood by a Spiritual Faculty. There are three 
conceivable modes under which objects are manifested 
to human apprehension. The first is physical, 
whereby sensible forms are perceived ; the second is 
intellectual, whereby reason looks into the system of 
things, and to some extent understands their mutual 
relation, adaptation, and position in the universe of 



Of soaring Fancy, — but a praise when due ? 
And wouldst thou hive it for the darling few] 
Though Shakspere sang, and Milton's soul 

aspired, 
Must Gray be scorn'd, nor Goldsmith be 

admired 1 
As well might Ocean of the Earth demand 
To let no river roll, no stream expand ; 
As well might Mountains which embrace the 

skies 
Entreat the heav'ns to let no hills arise ! 
Eternal Spirit ! while thy day -beams smile 
Around my path in many a sunny wile, 
Their shining truth, oh, let my gaze deny 
Ere merit sickens on mine envious eye : 
As ocean kindles to her native sun, 
As waters freshen when the wind's begun, 
So brightening, quickening — let my spirit feel 
Wisdom and genius in their just appeal ! 

Such dimming shades, thou young Aspirer ! 
wait 
On all who seek to glorify their state. 



God. But there is a third mode, and that is alto- 
gether a spiritual one. Now here is the grand dis- 
tinction : while the majority of men are more or less 
adequately endowed for the two former modes of 
apprehension, no man by nature is competent to 
the third? And why? Because " that which is born 
of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the 
spirit is spirit. " Precisely, therefore, as for the dis- 
cernment of natural truth a sensible faculty is needed ; 
for the discernment of mental truth, a reasonable 
faculty ; so for the apprehending of spiritual truth, a 
spiritual faculty is required. Listen to the august 
announcement of Christ, "Except a man be born 
again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." Now the 
kingdom of God is a divine element, reigning for a 
divine purpose, and with a divine power, in and over 
the creation. And the Spirit which by grace is im- 
parted to a believer, is that supernatural power in 
him which corresponds with the hidden divinity 
which constitutes "the kingdom of God" in the 
creature. In harmony with this the apostle of the 
Gentiles thus reasons — " The things of God knoweth 
no man (i.e., simply as such), but the Spirit of God." 
" But the natural man receiveth not the things of the 
Spirit of God ; for they are foolishness unto him : 
neither can he know them, because they are spiritu- 
ally discerned. " " But, ' ' argues the inspired logician, 
"He that is spiritual judgeth all things (i.e., of a 
spiritual order), yet he himself is judged of no man." 
The application of this criticism is as follows : — There 
are, it will be granted manifold kinds of literature ; 
one species belongs to the World, another to the 
Flesh, and another to the Devil. But God also hath 
His literature, both in prose and verse ; and our argu- 
ment is this — that precisely in proportion as a writer 
hath the Divine Spirit inhabiting his being with a 
teaching light and transforming purity, and under 
the tuition of that Spirit prophecies for God, and His 
Christ, and glory — to that same extent both the man 
and his work must be repulsive, and half incompre- 
hensible to critics who have not that same Spirit 
residing in them. (1S43.) 



E E 2 



420 



OXFORD: OR, ALMA MATER. 



But shouldst thou, wafted by a fearless gale, 

Ascend a height no vulgar clouds assail ; 

Should Fame encrown thee, and thy mind suffuse 

O'er other minds its vivifying hues ; 

Wake feeling, passion, and the pow'r sublime 

That bids eternity o'ershadow time, 

The sunny raptures of renown enjoy, 

But deem, oh ! deem them not without alloy. 

The smile of Nations may illume thy fame, 

The good repeat, the glorious love thy name, 

Still, tongues of scorn, and words of venom'd 

pow'r 
To be the vipers of a secret hour, 
The petty tribute, and unfeeling phrase, 
Which nought but iciness of soul betrays, — 
Demand forgiveness in thy brightest reign ; 
On ev'ry pleasure frowns the demon, pain ! 

But deeper peril is the praise which gives 
That very light in which young Genius lives : 
A tyrant weakness is the worst to see, 
Since men are vain, yet all hate vanity ;* 
When safely felt, most insecurely shown, 
For who endures it, save it prove his own ? 
Yet should that energy, whose quenchless ray 
Burns through the blackest and the brightest 

day, 
Intensely pure within thy spirit glow 
And colour dreams beyond the world to know; 
If, eagle-like, thy Spirit dare to soar 
On bolder wing than it had waved before ; 
If virtue love, and wisdom greet thy strain, 
If this be vanity, — then still be vain ! 

Oh ! for a nobler and a deeper sense 
Of all which forms our true pre-eminence ; 
For high-born energies of heav'nly sway, 
And flowers of charity to strew the way, 
That Sin no longer may the world defile 
And Nature glory in a good man's smile, 
As on we hasten to that dreamless Shore 
Where passion sleeps, and prejudice is o'er. 

The days of fever, and the nights of fire 
Felt in the blood, till health and hope expire ; 
An aching slumber, and a spectral tomb 
For ever yawning in the spirit's gloom ; 



* It has been said that Heaven, which gave great 
qualities only to a small number of its favourites, 
gave vanity to all, as a full compensation. — Brown's 
Philosophy. 



And that most agonising waste of soul 
Where the deep currents of excitement roll 
Morn, noon, and night, in one eternal play, 
Are thine, Ambition ! — till Thou wear'st away. 
And, mix'd with agonies of outward state, 
An inward torment which thy dreams create, 
Thirsting within for some perfection made 
By thought alone, or never yet display'd 
Like that pure model which the mind surveys,— 
'Tis thine to suffer through uncounted days. 
Yet, welcome all ! If ever thought of thine 
Hath woo'd a spirit into calm divine, 
Expanded feelings, purified their flow, 
Or shed a sunbeam o'er the hour of wo, 
Thy soul may triumph in exhaustless pain 
And proudly think it has not lived in vain ! 

Ye midnight heavens, a Hand celestial 

hung, 
In ev'ry age by ev'ry poet sung, 
One parting glance, oh ! let my spirit take 
Ere dawn-light on your awful beauty break. 
With what intensity the eye reveres 
Your starry legions, when their pomp appears ! 
As though the glances Centuries have given 
Since dreams first wander'd o'er the vast of 

heav'n, 
Had left a magic where a myst'ry shone, 
Enchanting more, the more 'tis gazed upon ! 
Stars, worlds, or wonders ! whatsoe'er ye 

shine, 
The home of Angels, or the haunts divine 
Wherein the Bodiless from earth set free 
Shine in the blaze of present Deity, 
No eyes behold your ever-beaming ray 
But think, while earthly visions roll away, 
In placid immortality ye glow 
Above this chaos of terrestrial wo ! 

Thy wings, Almighty ! let them long o'er- 
shade 
A clime by Thee a matchless empire made ; 
Here in meek glory may Thy temples stand 
While smiles from heav'n fall brightly o'er the 

land ; 
And those pure Worlds that have for ages roll'd 
O'er Alma Mater, still her towers behold ; 
Till time be dead, eternity begun, 
And darkness blacken round the dying Sun, 
The toils of life, the pangs of being o'er, 
Our doom completed, and the world no more. 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



421 



NOTES. 



PART I. 
Note 1, Page 393, Column 2. 

"Consider me very seriously here in a strange 
country, inhabited by things that call themselves 
Doctors and Masters of Arts ; a country flowing with 
syllogisms and ale, where Horace and Virgil are 
equally unknown; consider me, I say, in this 
melancholy light ; and then think if something be not 
due to yours," &c. 

Christ Church, Nov. 14, 1735. 

Such is the amusive pertness with which "West, 
Gray's friend, alludes to this university. In another 
letter, he talks about "half a dozen new little proc- 
torlings." This rebellious description of his Alma 
Mater is more than matched by the sarcasm of Gray, 
in speaking of Cambridge. "Surely it was of this 
place, now Cambridge, but formeiiy known by the 
name of Babylon, that the prophet spoke when he 
said, ' the wild beasts of the desert shall dwell there, 
and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures, and 
owls shall build there, and satyrs shall dance there ; 
their forts and towers shall be a den for ever, a joy of 
wild asses, ' &c. &c. You must know that I do not 
take degrees, and after this term shall have nothing 
more of college impertinences to undergo. I have 
endured lectures daily and hourly since I came last. — 
Must I plunge into metaphysics ! Alas ! I cannot see 
in the dark ; nature has not furnished me with the 
optics of a cat. Must I pore upon mathematics? 
Alas ! I cannot be in too much light ; I am no eagle. 
— It is very possible that two and two make four, but 
I would not give four farthings to demonstrate this 
ever so clearly. " — Letters. 

"To Oxford," says Gibbon, " I brought a stock of 
erudition that might have puzzled a doctor, and a 
degree of ignorance of which a schoolboy might have 
been ashamed." 

Lord King, in his "Life of Locke," remarks, " That 
Locke regretted his education at Oxford, is stated 
upon the authority of his friend Le Clerc." He adds, 
however, "Perhaps too much stress has been laid 
upon some accidental expressions ; or rather, that 
the regrets expressed by Locke ought to have been 
understood by Le Clerc to apply to the plan of educa- 
tion then generally pursued at English universities ; 
for to Oxford, even as Oxford was in the days of 
Locke, he must have been considerably indebted. If 
the system of education did not offer assistance, or 
afford those directions so useful to a young student, 
the residence at Oxford did no doubt confer ease, 
leisure, and the opportunity of other studies ; it 
afforded also the means of intercourse with persons 
from whose society and conversation we know that 
the idea of his great work arose. " 

"Too much stress" has indeed been laid upon 
ebullitions of peevishness against the system pursiied 
at our universities, which occur in the works and 
correspondence of a few celebrated men. "With regard 
to Gray's opinion, it has been justly remarked, "At 
the time when he was admitted, Jacobitism and hard 
drinking prevailed still at Cambridge, much to the 



prejudice not only of good manners, but of good 
letters. But we see (as was natural enough to a 
young man) he laid the blame rather on the mode of 
education than the mode of the times. " In allusion 
to Gibbon's taunts, a biographer observes; "By his 
course of desultory reading he seems unconsciously 
to have been led to that particular branch in which 
he was afterwards to excel. But whatsoever con- 
nection this had with his more distant life, he was 
exceedingly deficient in classical learning, and went 
to Oxford without either the taste or preparation 
which could enable him to reap the advantages of 
academical education. This may possibly account for 
the harshness with which he speaks of the universi- 
ties. His fourteen months at Magdalen were idle and 
profitless ; and he describes himself as ' gay, and 
disposed to late hours.' "When he sat down to write 
his memoirs — the memoirs of art. eminent and accom- 
plished scholar — he found a blank which is seldom 
found in the biography of English scholars ; the early 
display of genius, the laudable emulation, and the 
well-earned honours ; he found that he owed no fame 
to his academical residence, and therefore determined 
that no fame should be derivable from an university 
education. " — Ex uno disce omnes. 

Note 2, Page 394, Column 2. 

Addison was entered at Queen's, 1687. — In 1689, his 
Latin verses, " Inauguratio Regis Gulielmi," procured 
him the patronage of Dr. Lancaster, by whose 
recommendations he was elected a demy at Magdalen. 
"While a student here, he wrote parts of " Cato," and 
forwarded them to Dryden, who admired them as 
poetry, but doubted then dramatical success. 

Note 3, Page 395, Column 1. 

Steele was removed in 1692 from the Charter-house 
to Merton. In 1695, his first production, a poem on 
Queen Mary, appeared. The Tatler was commenced 
on April 12th, 1709. Addison discovered its author 
by the insertion of a criticism on a passage in Virgil, 
which he had formerly communicated to him. The 
passage alluded to in the text is quoted by the elegant 
essayist, Dr. Drake, as a beautiful example of his 
pathetic powers : — " The first sense of sorrow I ever 
knew," says he, "was upon the death of my father, 
at which time I was not quite five years of age ; but 
was rather amazed at what all the house meant, than 
possessed with a real understanding why nobody was 
willing to play with me. I remember I went into the 
room where his body lay, and my mother sat weeping 
alone by it. I had my battledore in my hand, and 
fell a beating the coffin, and calling ' Papa ! ' for, I 
know not how, I had some slight idea that he was 
locked up there. My mother catched me in her arms, 
and, transported beyond all patience of the silent 
grief she was before in, she almost smothered me in 
her embrace ; and told me, in a flood of tears, ' Papa 
could not hear me, and would play with me no more, 
for they were going to put him under ground, whence 
he could never come to us again. ' " 



422 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



Note 4, Page 395, Column 1. 

Iu 1740, Collins stood first in the list of Winchester 
scholars to be received in succession at New College ; 
but there being no vacancy, he became a commoner 
of Queen's ; from whence, in half a year, he was 
elected a demy of Magdalen. His early life appears 
to have been one continued scene of melancholy, 
want, and obscurity : and, contrasting his present 
fame with his once unnoticed merit, we may well 
recal an observation made by Goldsmith, in his Life 
of Parnell : — "A poet, while living, is seldom an 
object sufficiently great to attract much attention; 
his real merits are known but to a few, and these are 
generally sparing in their praises. When his fame is 
increased by time, it is then too late to investigate 
the peculiarities of his disposition ; the dews of the 
morning are past, and we vainly try to continue the 
chase by the meridian splendour ! " 

The most touching anecdote in his life is thus 
related by Johnson: — "He had withdrawn from 
study, and travelled with no other book than an 
English Testament, such as children carry to the 
school : when his friend took it into his hand, out of 
curiosity, to see what companion a man of letters had 
chosen, ' I have but one book,' said Collins, 'but that 
is the best.' " 

For biographical illustration of the morbid sensi- 
bilities and melancholies to which men of genius are 
peculiarly subject, the reader is referred to D 'Israeli's 
interesting work on the " Literary Character." Allan 
Cunningham, in his Life of Sir Christopher Wren, has 
the following allusion : — "The wives of men of genius, 
in our earlier biographies, are treated with a sort of 
masculine indifference; but a gentler and a juster 
feeling has of late shewn itself. The man of genius 
and sensibility is pretty sure to have his moments of 
doubt and fear, when his noblest works seem weak or 
absurd ; nay, even his days of despondency, when, 
exhausted by mental exertions, he can no longer think 
with clearness, and believes that his mental powers 
are forsaking him ; and he is not unlikely, moreover, 
to be acquainted with those worldly miseries, sad 
enough to all hearts, but doubly so to his, whom a 
wise one of the tribe pronounces to be 

' A thing unteachable in worldly skill."' 



Note 5, Page 395, Column 2. 

Johnson's rooms, with some slight alteration in 
their division, and the substitution of a gothic window 
for the plainer one of his own time, remain as he left 
them. On entering them, who does not remember 
his own lofty sentence ? — " To abstract the mind from 
all local emotion would be impossible, if endeavoured, 
and would be foolish, if it were possible ! Whatever 
withdraws us from the power of our senses — whatever 
makes the past, the distant, or the future, predomin- 
ate over the present, advances us in the dignity of 
thinking beings. Far from me, and from my friends, 
be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us indiffer- 
ent and unmoved over any ground which has been 
dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man 
is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain 
force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety 
would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona." 

There is nothing romantic in their appearance, 
distinct from other collegiate chambers ; but the 
sombre hue which pervades them is not uncongenial 
with the associations which arise when we enter their 



hallowed precincts. Here, as the pensive shades of 
twilight closed around him, and the loneliness of his 
fate darkened on his mind, we can easily imagine him 
retired from the scene his gay hypocrisy had enlivened, 
to nurse those moods of feeling which afterwards 
revealed themselves in the melancholy wisdom of 
" Easselas," and the moral gloom of the "Rambler." 

Johnson was entered a commoner of Pembroke, on 
the 31st of October, 1728, in his nineteenth year. The 
following are the principal anecdotical allusions to his 
collegiate life, as recorded by his worshipper and 
biographer. 

"The Rev. Dr. Adams, who afterwards presided 
over Pembroke college, gave me some account of 
what passed on the night of Johnson's arrival at 
Oxford. His father seemed very full of the merits of 
his son, and told the company he was a good scholar, 
and a poet, and wrote Latin verses. His figure and 
manner appeared strange to them ; but he behaved 
modestly, and sat silent, till upon something which 
occurred in the course of conversation he suddenly 
struck in, and quoted Macrobius. Johnson gave the 
following account of his tutor, Mr. Jorden, — ' He was 
a very worthy man, but a heavy man, and I did not 
profit much by his instructions. Indeed, I did not 
attend him much. The first day I came to college I 
waited on him, and then stayed away four. On the 
sixth, Mr. Jorden asked me why I had not attended. 
I answered, I had been sliding in Christ Church 
Meadow. And this I said with as much nonchalance 
as I am now talking to you. I had no notion that I 
was wrong or irreverent to my tutor. — 'That, sir, 
was great fortitude of mind.' ' No, sir, stark insensi- 
bility.' 

" What he read solidly at Oxford was Greek; not 
the Grecian historians, but Homer and Euripides, and 
now and then a little epigram. One day, while 
sitting in his apartment quite alone, Dr. Panting, 
then master of the college, overheard him uttering 
this soliloquy, in his strong emphatic voice. ' Well, I 
have a mind to see what is done in other places of 
learning ; I'll go and visit the 'universities abroad ; 
I'll go to France and Italy ; I'll go to Padua ; and 
I'll mind my own business. For an Athenian block- 
head is the worst of all blockheads.' " 



Note 6, Page 396, Column 1. 

"Dr. Adams told me, that Johnson, while he was 
at Pembroke college, was caressed and loved by all 
about him, was a gay frolicksome fellow, and passed 
there the happiest time of his life. When I mentioned 
this account of Dr. Adams, he said, ' Ah, sir, I was 
mad and violent; it was bitterness which they 
mistook for frolic ; I was miserably poor, and thought 
to fight my way by my literature and my wit ; so I 
disregarded all power and authority.' The bishop of 
Dromore observes to me in a letter, — I have heard 
from some of his contemporaries, that he was 
generally seen lounging at the college gate with a 
circle of young students round him, whom he was 
entertaining with wit, and keeping from their studies, 
if not spiriting them up to rebellion against the 
college discipline, which in his maturer years he so 
much extolled. " 

" He contracted a love and regard for Pembroke, 
which he retained to the last. A short time before 
his death he sent to that college a present of all his 
works, to be deposited in their library. He took a 
pleasure in boasting of the many eminent men who 



had been educated at Pembroke." Dr. Johnson 
delighted in his own partiality for Oxford : and one 
day at her (Mrs. Thrale's) house, entertained five 
members of the other university with various instan- 
ces of the superiority of Oxford, enumerating the 
gigantic names of many men whom it had produced, 
with apparent triumph. At last Mrs. Thrale said to 
him — "Why, there happen to be no less than five 
Cambridge men in the room now." "I did not," 
said he, "think of that till you told me ; but the 
wolf don't count the sheep." — " Piozzi," p. 27, 28. 

Johnson, it seems, (Hawkins' Life, p. 9,) would 
oftener risk the payment of a small fine than attend 
his tutor's (Mr. Jorden's) lectures. On receiving an 
imposition, he said, — "Sir, you have sconced me 
twopence for a lecture not worth a penny ! " We 
should like to see the expressive ugliness of certain 
living faces undergoing a similar reply ! Mrs. Piozzi 
(p. 27) remarks, that " when he made his first decla- 
mation, he wrote but one copy, and that coarsely ; 
and having given it into the hand of the tutor, who 
stood to receive it as he passed, was obliged to begin 
by chance and go on how he could, for he had got but 
little of it by heart ; so, fairly trusting to his present 
powers for immediate supply, he finished by adding 
astonishment to the applause of all who knew how 
little was owing to study." 

The urbanity of the Rev. Dr. Hall, (now master of 
Pembroke college) has enabled Croker, in his anno- 
tated edition of Boswell's Life, to afford his readers a 
specimen of Johnson's college exercises, preserved in 
his college — e. g., 

EXERCISE. 

" Mea nee Falernse 



Temperant vites, neque Formiani. 

Pocula Colles. 

' ' Quid mirum Maro quod digne canit anna virumque, 
Quid quod putidulum nostra Camcena sonat ? 
Limosum nobis Promus dat callidus haustum, 

Virgilio A r ires uva Falema dedit. 
Carmina vis nostri scribant meliora Poetse ? 
Ingenium jubeas purior haustus alat ! " 

Pemb. MSS. 

Note 7, Page 396, Column 1. 

Mr. Tyers, who knew Johnson intimately, ob- 
served, " that he always talked as if he were talking 
upon oath." 

Note 8, Page 396, Column 2. 

A solitary cup of milkless tea was one of his domestic 
penances ! 



Note 9, 



Column 2. 



" William D'Avenant made his first entiy on the 
stage of this vain world in the parish of St. Martin, 
in the month of February, and on the third of the 
following March, an. 1605-6, he received baptism in 
the church of that parish. His father, John D'Avenant, 
was a sufficient vintner, a very grave and discreet 
citizen, yet an admirer and lover of plays and play- 
makers, especially Shakspere, who frequented his 
house in his journies between Warwickshire and 
London. William, 'the sweet swan of Isis,' was 
educated in grammar learning under Edward Sylvester, 
and in academical, in Lincoln College, under the care 
of Mr. Daniel Hough, and obtained there some 
smattering in logic. But his geny, which was oppo- 



site to it, led him into the pleasant paths of poetry." 
— At~he.no>. 

Shakspere, in his frequent journeys between London 
and his native place, used to lie at Davenant's, the 
Crown, in Oxford. He was well acquainted with 
Mrs. Davenant, and her son was supposed to be more 
nearly related to him than a godson only ! One day, 
when Shakspere was just arrived, and the boy sent 
for from school to him, a Head of one of the colleges 
met the child running home, and asked him whither 
he was going in so much haste ? — The boy said, "To 
my godfather Shakspere." "Fie! child," says the 
old gentleman, "why are you so superfluous? Have 
you not learned yet not to use the name of God in 
vain 1 " — Pope — as related by Spence. 

Note 10, Page 396, Column 2. 
This wonderful man in the course of his itinerancy 
is supposed to have travelled nearly 300,000 miles, 
and to have preached above 40, 000 sermons ! Well, 
indeed, as Southey remarks, would it be for the world, 
if every man of equal celebrity had left a diary such 
as Wesley's ! From the Charterhouse in 1720 he was 
removed to Christ Church, and from thence in 1726 he 
was elected feUow of Lincoln. " Though Wesley was 
not yet eccentric in the habits of his life, the strictness 
of his religious principles was sufficiently remarkable 
to afford subject for satire ; and his opponents hoped 
to prevent his success by making him ridiculous. On 
this occasion his father told him it was a shallow 
virtue that could not bear being laughed at. His 
mother encouraged him in a different manner. ' If, ' 
said she, ' it be a weak virtue that cannot bear being 
laughed at, I am sure it is a strong and well-confirrned 
virtue that can stand the test of a brisk buffoonery. ' 
On his election, which was greatly indebted to the 
good-will of Dr. Norley, then rector, his father thus 
congratulates him : — ' What will be my own fate 
before the summer is over, God knows ! sed passi 
graviora. — Wherever I am, my Jack is Fellow of 
Lincoln.' 

"While he was an undergraduate, his mannei-s 
were free and easy ; and that activity of disposition, 
which bore him afterwards through such uninter- 
rupted labour, displayed itself in wit and vivacity. " 

The rise of methodism is thus traced by his able 
biographer : — "His disposition, his early education, 
the example of his parents, and of both his brethren, 
were in unison ; not knowing how or when he woke 
out of his lethargy, he imputed the change to the 
efficacy of another's prayers, most likely, he said, his 
mother's; and meeting with two or three under- 
graduates, whose principles resembled his own, they 
associated together for the purpose of religious im- 
provement, lived by rule, and received the sacrament. 
The greatest prudence would not have suffered to save 
men from ridicule, who, at such an age, and in such 
a scene, professed to make religion the great business 
of their lives ; and prudence is rarely united with 
enthusiasm. They were called, in derision, Bible- 
bigots, Bible-moths, the Holy, or the Godly Club. 
One person, with less irreverence and more learning, 
observed, in reference to their methodical manner of 
life, that a new sect of methodists was sprung up, 
alluding to the ancient School of Physicians known 
by that name." 

Note 11, Page 396, Column 2. 
James Hervey, author of " Meditations among the 
Tombs," written while he held the curacy of 



424 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



Bedford, in Devonshire. He was one of Wesley's 
earliest religious associates at Oxford. 

Note 12, Page 39V, Column 1. 
" Benjamin Jonson, a poet as soon he was born, 
afterwards the father of our poetry, and most 
admirably well versed in classical authors, and there- 
fore beloved of Camden, Selden, Hoskins, Martin, <fec, 
made his first entry on the stage of this vain world 
within the city of Westminster, (being the son of a 
grave minister, ) educated in the college school there, 
while Camden was master ; thence his silly mother, 
who had married to her second husband, a bricklayer, 
took him home, and made him, as 'tis said, work at 
her husband's trade. At length, being pitied by some 
generous gentleman, Camden got him a better 
employment, which was to accompany a son of Sir 
Walter Raleigh in his adventures. After their return, 
they parted not, I think, in cold blood, and there- 
upon Ben went to Cambridge, and was statutably 
elected into St. John's College ; but what continuance 
he made there, I find not ; sure it is, that his geny 
being most poetical, he did afterwards recede to a 
nursery, or obscure playhouse, called the Green 
Curtain. Dr. Rich Corbet, of Christ Church, and 
other poets of the University, did, in reverence to 
his parts, invite him to Oxon, where, continuing for 
some time in Christ Church, writing and composing 
plays, he was, as a member thereof, actually created 
Master of Arts in 1619; and therefore I put him 
among the Oxford writers. At length, B. Jonson, 
after he had arrived at the sixty-third year of his 
age, marched off from the stage of this vain world, on 
the 16th of August, 1637."— Athena. 

Note 13, Page 397, Column 1. 
Locke was sent to Christ Church in 1651, and was 
speedily distinguished among his fellow collegians. 
He resided partly in Exeter House, and partly at 
Oxford. 

Note 14, Page 397, Column 1. 

"In 1670, his great work, the Essay on the Under- 
standing, was sketched out. It arose from the 
meeting, as the author says, of five or six friends at 
his chambers." — Lord King's Life of Locke. 

We may add to this, that in 1694, Mr. Wynne, 
fellow of Jesus, first recommended his Essay to the 
study of the University, 

Note 15, Page 397, Column 2. 

From Eton, Canning was removed to Christ Church, 
where he gained several prizes. From Oxford he 
went to the Temple, and studied the law ; but being 
patronized by Sheridan, he was brought forward into 
political life, and returned member of Parliament for 
Newtown, in the Isle of Wight. Canning made his 
first speech, equally distinguished for its modesty and 
eloquence, on the treaty between his Majesty and the 
King of Sardinia, on the 31st of January, 1794. 

As a statesman and a patriot, the world can do 
justice to Canning's fame ; as the fascinating com- 
panion in private hfe, the memory of those who were 
honoured with his regard can alone enjoy him. They 
may truly apply to themselves, with a slight altera- 
tion, the words of a great historian, on the death 
of his revered friend,* "Finis vitae ejus nobis 



Tacit, in Agricol. c. 43, 46, 



luctuosus, patriae tristis, extraneis etiam ignotisque 
non sine cura fuit." " Quicquid ex Agricola 
amavimus, quidquid mirati sumus, manet man- 
surumque est in animis hominum, in aeternitato 
temporum, fama rerum." 

The following extracts are taken from a short 
account of the " Early Days of Canning," which was 
published by Mr. Newton : — 

"Mr. Canning quitted Mr. Richard's school at 
Winchester in 1782, and in the same year, at about 
twelve years old, was sent to Eton. He is described 
to have made a considerable progress at Winchester, 
such as sufficiently to account for the distinguished 
rank which he had at Eton, where he was at once 
placed in the fourth form, and was never, therefore, 
in the lower school. He obtained the post of honour 
in the public speeches of 1787, by being made the 
last speaker, and he must consequently have been 
very high in the school, when he quitted it for the 
University. Mr. Robert Smith, the late representative 
in Parliament for Lincoln, who alone, of all the 
Etonians at that period, rivalled Mr. Canning in 
abilities, delivered, in 1788, a speech antecedently 
spoken by his friend, and this occasioned a warm 
discussion among the boys on their comparative 
merits. These two, together with Mr. Smith's 
brother, and Mr. John Hookham Frere, who was, 
during the late war, our envoy at Madrid, were the 
authors, while at school, of the Microcosm, to which 
periodical work a few other Etonians contributed 
papers occasionally. Dr. Pett, canon of Christ Church 
who lately declined a bishopric which was offered to 
him with circumstances of peculiar grace and favour, 
was Mr. Canning's tutor, as he was mine ; and, in our 
various walks of life, we have seldom found a person 
who united, with literary acquirements, qualities 
more amiable, more considerate, and more estimable ; 
he would have adorned the mitre. When I heard 
that Mr. Canning had only left behind him a small 
fortune, it did not at all surprise me, for he possessed 
from his youth a most liberal spirit in pecuniary 
matters. At college, his habits were uniformly 
studious. Enter his rooms in Peckwater when you 
would, you were almost sure to find him occupied 
with a pen or a book. Superior to all idle amusements, 
improvement was his continual object. He did not 
even keep a horse, and I have no recollection that he 
ever hired one. 

"In the year 1787, a speaking society was 
established at Christ Church, the members of which 
were the Hon. Robert Banks Jenkinson, now Lord 
Liverpool, George Canning, Lord Henry Spencer, Sir 
William Drummond, sometime British ambassador at 
Constantinople, Charles Goddard, and myself. Most 
of these names are well known in the world, and are 
connected with the history of the country. 

"Mr. Goddard, soon after he quitted Oxford, was 
the private secretary of Lord Grenville, at whose 
house in St. James's Square, Mr. Canning, Lord 
Liverpool, and myself, were in the habit of visiting 
him. I remember him with pleasure as a very 
instructive and agreeable companion. He is at 
present Archdeacon of Lincoln, and has been long 
distinguished for the active and zealous discharge of 
the arduous duties of his profession, and station in 
the church. This club, in which were heard the first 
speeches ever composed or delivered by Lord Liverpool 
and Mr. Canning, met every Thursday evening at 
the rooms of the members, who were, at its first 
establishment, limited to the number of six. Before 
our separation at night, or frequently at one or two 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



425 



o'clock in the morning, we voted aud recorded the 
question which we were to debate on the ensuing 
Thursday. Sometimes we appeared at dinner in the 
hall, dressed in our uniform, which was a brown 
coat, of rather an uncommon shade, with velvet 
cuffs and collar. The buttons bore the initials of 
Demosthenes, Cicero, Pitt, and Fox. 

"Thus habited, and much the object of notice to 
every passing observer, we pleased ourselves with 
the excessive curiosity which our dress excited. As 
secret were we as the grave on all that concerned our 
oratorical institution, and it would be difficult to give 
an idea of the anxiety evinced by our fellow collegians 
to discover the meaning of this brown coat and velvet 
cuffs. 

"These, indeed, were boyish feelings, nor should I 
have entered so much into the particulars, were it 
not that, whether the questions debated by us were 
trivial or profound, this club cannot remain in 
obscurity, since it is the leading subject of Mr. 
Canning's lettez\ to which these remarks are 
introductory. Those who have been educated at 
public schools, which are the world in miniature, 
must have observed that boys are apt to exhibit 
themselves there very much in the same characters 
which they afterwards maintain on the more im- 
portant theatre of life. 

" I was the lowest boy in the list at Harrow, when 
I first went to that school, the only one at which I 
ever was placed ; and having gradually ascended to 
the highest forms, many are the instances I could 
recollect in support of this observation. No example, 
however, of an early and decisive display of cha- 
racter could be more peculiarly striking than that 
which is exhibited in Mr. Canning's letter. Dr. Cyril 
Jackson, at that time dean of Christ Church, enter- 
tained the most favourable opinion of Mr. Canning's 
abilities, and foresaw his high destiny in those 
glances into futurity in which the dean was accus- 
tomed to indulge his contemplative and deeply 
penetrating mind, and frequently with an accuracy 
which was extraordinary : he had probably seated 
Mr. Canning on the woolsack. 

"There was one member of our club at Christ 
Church, Lord Liverpool, whom it would be unbe- 
coming in me to pass over without a more particular 
notice. "When at the university, he was not only a 
first-rate scholar, but he had confessedly acquired a 
greater share of general knowledge than perhaps any 
undergraduate of that day. He was an excellent 
historian, and his attention had been directed so early, 
by his father, to the contending interests of the 
European nations, that intricate political questions 
were already familiar to his mind. Lord Liverpool's 
public career is now, alas ! consummated. We have 
a complete view, and the world is able to make a 
full estimate of his transcendent abilities. These, we 
know, were extensively operative in the conduct of 
the last war, which was brought to its glorious 
termination by the prowess of our British hero, 
whose mode of warfare was marked in its superiority 
by so much of genius, that had his Grace continued 
to range his forces, from the year 1815 to the present 
hour, against the most celebrated captains in Europe, 
there is a moral certainty, or, to say the least, a 
strong conviction in those who had the best means of 
appreciating his talents in the East Indies, in the 
Peninsula, and in Flanders, that a succession of 
battles would have been to the Duke of Wellington a 
succession of victories. To return to Lord Liverpool. 
After dedicating himself for nearly forty years to the 



service of his king and country, his merit is uni- 
versally acknowledged, and never did any man go 
through a long and arduous life less reproached, or 
more irreproachable. His temper was extremely 
conciliating, and all who reflect on the trying scenes 
in which he bore a distinguished part, and are 
happy enough to recollect the benignity of his 
personal intercourse, will feel the truth, and even the 
moderation, of this friendly testimony to his virtues. 
There was, perhaps, in all England, but one individual 
who was formed to compete successfully with Lord 
Liverpool, at that inexperienced age of academic life 
of which we have been speaking, and that was 
George Canning. He accidentally entered at Oxford 
about the same time with Lord Liverpool. The 
vivacity of Mr. Canning's conversation was invaluable 
to those of his fellow-collegians who enjoyed his 
intimacy. It sweetened the severity of our studies, 
just as the sallies of his vigorous imagination have 
since delighted the House of Commons, and cheered 
their midnight hours." 

Brighton, Sept. 1st, 17S8. 

"My dear Newton, 

"That the idleness of a long vacation should not 
have afforded you an answer to your two very 
deserving letters before this, to a mere contemplater 
of events might perhaps seem extraordinary ; but to 
a philosopher, who is well convinced of the truth of 
the observation, that ' we are never more taken up 
than when we have nothing to do, ' there will not be 
much room for surprise. Believe me, however, that 
I feel myself, very highly, very sincerely, obliged by 
your punctual performance of your kind promise, and 
that absence has not in the smallest degree weakened 
the desire I have always felt of proving to you in how 
high esteem I hold you, and howgreat a value I set upon 
your friendship. You will be a good deal surprised 
at the answer which your questions relative to our 
club will receive. That club, Newton, is no more. 
' And by what dread event ? what sacrilegious hand ? ' 
you will exclaim. Newton, mine ! My reasons I 
never gave to any of the members, but I will open 
them to you. What my reasons for first becoming a 
part of the institution were, I protest I cannot at 
present call to mind. Perhaps I was influenced by 
the novelty of the plan ; perhaps influenced by your 
example ; perhaps I was not quite without an idea of 
trying my strength with Jenkinson. Connected with 
men of avowed enmity in the political world, pro- 
fessing opposite principles, and looking forward to 
some distant period when we might be ranged 
against each other on a larger field, we were 
perhaps neither of us without the vanity of wishing 
to obtain an early ascendancy over the other. 

' ' So long as the purport and usage of the club 
were a secret, I was very well contented to be of it : 
but when it became notoriously known — when the 
dean to me (and to me only), in private, recommended 
some reasons against its propriety to my serious 
consideration — (for had he presumed to interpose 
authoritatively, that single circumstance, 'albeit 
considerations infinite did make against it, ' would 
have been sufficient to determine me upon its 
continuance) — when he represented it to me in a 
very strong light, as being almost an absolute avowal 
of parliamentary views — to a professional man an 
avowal the most dangerous — this representation 
made me resolve to abandon an undertaking which I 
saw evidently could neither promise eventual 



426 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



advantage, nor maintain a temporary respectability. 
Thus resolved, at my return after the Easter vacation, 
without any previous confidential communication of 
my reasons or intentions, I sent my resignation by 
Lord Henry on the first night of their meeting. 
William Spencer was now come, and was that night 
to take his seat. The message which Lord Henry 
brought occasioned, as it were, a combustion, which 
ended in the moving of some very violent resolutions. 
Among others, I was summoned to the bar ; of 
course, refused to obey the summons. A deputation 
was then sent to interrogate me respecting the 
causes of my resignation, which, of course, I refused 
to reveal; and they were at last satisfied by my 
declaring that the reasons of my resignation did not 
affect them collectively or individually. I, of course, 
was anxious that everybody should know that I was 
no longer a member of the club ; and, therefore, 
whenever it was a subject of conversation, disavowed 
any connexion with it. Lord Henry I with much 
difficulty prevented from resigning at the same time 
that I did. He however, attended but two more 
debates, and then formally 'accepted the Chiltem 
hundreds,' to use a parliamentary phrase. They all 
now unanimously gave out that there had been a 
complete dissolution, and that the thing was no 
longer in existence ; altered their times and modes 
of meeting, abolished the uniform, and suspended 
their assemblies for a time. This, it seems, was 
intended to punish me, by carrying the face of a 
common, and not a particular secession. It was not 
long, however, before the truth came out ; and their 
nightly debates are again renewed, not undiscovered, 
but with less pomp, regularity, numbers, and vocifera- 
tion. This, then, is a full and true account of the 
decline and fall, and of the revival also, of the society. 
I do not think you can blame my conduct, when you 
recollect that the imputation of parliamentary pros- 
pects, already too much fixed upon me, is what of all 
others a person in my situation ought to avoid. I am 
already, God knows, too much inclined, both by my 
own sanguine wishes, and the connexions with 
whom I am most intimate, and whom I above all 
others revere, to aim at the House of Commons, as 
the only path to the only desirable thing in this 
world, the gratification of ambition ; * while, at the 
same time, every tie of common sense, of fortune, 
and of duties, draws me to the study of a profession. 
The former propensity, I hope, reflection, necessity, 
and the friendly advice and very marked attentions 
of the dean, will enable me to overcome ; and to the 
law I look as the profession which, in this country, 
holds out every enticement that can nerve the 
exertions and give vigour to the powers of a young 
man. The way, indeed, is long, toilsome, and 
rugged, but it leads to honours solid and lasting — to 
independence, without which no blessings of fortune, 
however profuse, no distinctions of station, however 
splendid, can afford a liberal mind true satisfaction — 
to power, for which no task can be too hard, no 
labours too trying. I look round the world, and 
even in the comparatively confined circle of my own 
acquaintance, I see an infinite number starting 
forward to the same goal ; all fired with the same 
hopes, and animated with a like ardour. That your 
health may permit you to j oin us in our career — that 
the elasticity of your mind may spring from under 
that habitual indolence (pardon me for speaking in 
such a term) of philosophic pursuits, is very much my 



The child is father of the man ! — "Wordsworth. 



wish ; though, with your heart and intentions, I do 
not doubt but you may be employed with equal, and, 
perhaps, better founded satisfaction to yourself, and 
with benefits to mankind, more real and more widely 
diffused, by putting into execution, where you have 
the will and the power, those systems which I have 
often admired you for forming, of useful beneficence 
and practical Christianity. Theories are easily 
formed, and plans easily laid down for the cultiva- 
tion of the human mind, for the cure of those evils 
incident to a state of perpetual subjection, and the 
diffusion of those blessings of which every state is 
capable. Be it your work, as far as lies within the 
circle of your influence, to give life to the inactivity 
of philosophy, and energy and efficience to the idle- 
ness of speculation. I am much pleased with the 
idea of seeing you in England ; for if in England you 
are, I trust you will not leave it without seeing me. 
The return you mention to me with you is a pleasing 
fairy scheme, but which, then at least, will not be 
put in execution. My plans for next summer are 
fixed, and I think will be improving and agreeable. 
You may know that I am shamefully ignorant of 
French, and though I have fifty times formed the 
intention of learning it, I never yet have brought my 
intention to the maturity of practical application. By 
this time twelvemonth, I intend to procure a 
smattering sufficient to call a coach, or swear at a 
waiter ; and then to put in execution a plan formed 
long ago, in happier days, of going abroad with my 
three fellow scribes, the Microcosmopolitans. One of 
them you know and admire ; the other two, though 
not equal to him in abilities, are not behind him in 
qualities to conciliate affection and secure esteem. 
Our idea is not that of scampering through France 
and ranting in Paris ; but a sober sort of thing, to go 
and settle for some months in some provincial town, 
remarkable for the salubrity of its climate, the 
respectability of its inhabitants, and the purity of its 
language ; there to improve our constitutions by the 
first, to extend our acquaintance with men and 
manners by the second, and to qualify ourselves for a 
further extension of it by perfecting ourselves in the 
third. I have taken it into my head that I shall 
receive * * * * into favour again. The truth 
about him is, that he is not without good points ; his 
heart has some worth, his abilities very considerable 
eminence. 

****** 

" His character is far above that most nauseous of 
all things, insipidity, and negative good or evil. As a 
competitor, he was troublesome, and worth crushing ; 
but that once done, and I can assure you it cost me 
some pains to accomplish it, ' his good now blazes ; 
all his bad is in the grave,' as Zanga says. W. S. has 
again left Oxford, and I fancy for ever ; he is, I hear, 
gone abroad, but whither I know not. Pity that 
abilities so great should be rendered useless to himself 
and to society, by such an eccentricity of temper, and 
unaccountableness of behaviour, as characterize him. 

1 ' Lord have mercy upon you, who have, in addition 
to the natural heat of the climate, such a letter as 
this to labour through ! Grant you patience, good 
Heaven ! with eyes to make out my scrawl ; perse- 
verance to unravel my meaning ; comprehension to 
understand my allusions ; good nature to be interested 
in my narrative ; a heart to profit by my instructions ; 
and, moreover, to believe me, 

"With very great truth and affection, yours, 

"G. CANNING. 

"My direction is Oxford, of course." 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



427 



D'Alembert, in his "Eloge de Montesquieu," has 
the following passage which appears so happily 
fraught with the social traits of Canning's character, 
that they may be quoted here without intrusion. 

" II e'toit, dans le commerce, d'une douceur et d'une 
ga'iete. Sa conversation e'toit legere, agitable, et in- 
structive, par le grand nombre d'hommes et de 
peuples qu'il avoit connus : elle e'toit couple, comme 
son style, pleine de sel et de saillies, sans amertume. . . 
Le feu de son esprit, le grand nombre d'iddes dont il 
e'toit plein, les faisoient naitre. II e'toit sensible a la 
gloire ; mais il ne vouloit y parvenir qu'en la me'ritant. 
Jamais il n'a cherche" a augmenter la sienne par ces 
manoeuvres sourdes, par ces voies obscures et hon- 
teuses, qui deshonorent la personne, sans aj outer au 
nom." 

Note 16, Page 397, Column 2. 

Denham became gentleman-commoner at Trinity in 
Michaelmas term, 1631 , in the sixteenth year of his 
age. Anthony Wood, in the dehghtful quaintness of his 
usual style, observes, — "Being looked upon as a slow 
and dreaming young man by his seniors and contem- 
poraries, they could never then in the least imagine 
that he could ever enrich the world with his fancy, or 
issue of his brain, as he afterwards did — 'Cooper's 
Hill : ' a poem, Oxon, 1643, in one sheet and a half, in 
quarto. A poem it is, which for the majesty of the 
style is, and ever will be, the exact standard of good 
writing. It was translated into Latin verse by 
Moses Pengrey, as I shall elsewhere tell you. " 

Of Denham's person, Aubrey gives the following 
account : " Denham was of the tallest, but a little 
incurvetting at the shoulders, not very robust. His 
haire was but thin and flaxen, with a moist curie 
His gate was slow, and was rather a stalking (he had' 
long legges), which was wont to put me in mind of 
Horace, de Art. Poet. 

' Hie, dum sublimes versus ructatur, et errat, 
Si veluti merulis intentus decidit auceps 
In puteum foveamque ;' 

His eie was a kind of light goose-gray, not bigge, but it 
had a kind of strange piercingness, not as to shining 
and glory, but (like a Momus) when he conversed 
with you he lookt into your very thoughts." 



Note 17, Page 397, Column 2. 

"William Pitt was born November 15th, 1708, and 
educated at Eton, whence, in January, 1726, he went 
as a gentleman commoner to Trinity college. When 
he quitted the university, Pitt was for a time in the 
army, and served as a cornet : but he quitted the life 
of a soldier for that of a statesman, and became mem- 
ber for the borough of Old Sarum, in February, 1735," 
— Alex. Chalmers. 



Note 18, Page 397, Column 2. 
" Thomas Warton became a scholar of Trinity in 
1743, where in 1750 he took his master's degree, and 
the next year succeeded to a fellowship. In 1785 he 
was chosen Camden Professor of History. His 
'Triumph of Isis,' written as a reply to Mason's 
'Isis,' contains a spirited invocation to his beloved 
Alma Mater : 

" Hail, Oxford, hail ! of all that's good and great, 
Of all that's fair, the guardian and the seat ; 



Nurse of each brave pursuit, each gen'rous aim, 
By truth exalted to the throne of fame ! 
Like Greece in science and in liberty, 
As Athens leam'd, as Lacedsemon free ! " 

Note 19, Page 398, Column 1. 

No living writer must have a memory more delight- 
fully stored with recollections of the past than 
Lisle Bowles. From youth to old age associating with 
the learned, the good, and the great of his country, 
devoted to literature, poetry, and criticism, and 
finally reposing in the calm seclusion of pastoral life, 
— to few is it permitted to say with greater truth, 
"Innocuas amo delicias, doctamque quietem. " This 
quotation may be appropriately followed by his own 
beautiful sentence, in the "Life of Ken," which he 
has lately published. The contrast between the do- 
mestic quiet of Isaak Walton's home, and the 
Puritanic broils of the day, he compares to " passing 
through the tumult and din of the crowd at Hyde 
Park corner to Holland House, the seat of poetry and 
kindred taste, where, opening the garden door, in 
contrast to the noise through which you have passed, 
you hear only with intense delight the ancient pines 
murmuring in the still repose of a summer evening, 
and the nightingales contending in their solitary 
harmony." 

Note 20, Page 398, Column 1. 

It must be no slight gratification to Lisle Bowles, 
that Coleridge (see his Biog. Lit.) has recorded the 
inspiration his youthful mind caught from the perusal 
of some early sonnets by the reverend poet. The 
pure, the gentle, and the pathetic, abound in his 
poetry, and to no ear is "the dream of a village 
chime" more harmonious than his own. In his 
"History of Bremill " he gives an interesting account 
of church bells. " Bells, it has been said, were a late 
introduction into the Christian church ; but respecting 
the common idea of their being introduced by 
Paulinus, Bishop of Nola, in Campania (from whence 
the words Noll and Campana), it is not entitled, I 
imagine, to much credit ; nor can it be admitted that 
their introduction was of a very late period, when 
baptising them was so frequent in the eighth century, 
that Charlemagne, by a public ordinance, forbid 'ne 
clocos baptisent.' In Alet's ritual, the various mys- 
terious applications to which they gave rise are 
minutely recorded. Then early introduction may be 
inferred from one circumstance. Epiphanius de- 
scribing the Gnostic heresy, speaks expressly of the 
powers and princes of the air. Now, in the Roman 
church, one mystical use of bells was to keep 
' these demoniacal powers of the air at a distance ! ' 
The ceremony of papal benediction is very curious. 
Holy water, salt, oil, incense, cotton, myrrh, and a 
crumb of bread are prepared: a procession is then 
made from the vestry, and the priest, instructing the 
people in the holiness of the art he is going to per- 
form, sings a Miserere, blessing the holy water, 
&c. &c. After many ceremonies the bell-baptism is 
performed, by the finger dipt in oil, and the sign of 
the cross being made on its middle : it is then per- 
fumed with incense, and another prayer to the Holy 
Spirit is read." 

Note 21, Page 400, Column 1. 

Combe Longa is in the patronage of Lincoln College. 
The curacy is held by the Rev. Charles Rose, B.D., 



428 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



fellow and tutor of Lincoln, whose delightful cottage 
residence adjoins the church. — (1830.) 



Note 22, Page 400, Column 1. 

John Evelyn became gentleman-commoner of 
Balliol College in January, 1037. By his interest, 
Lord Howard's ancient Marbles, the Arundeliana 
Marmora, were, in 1667, presented to Oxford, for 
which he received the "solemn thanks" of the uni- 
versity, and (1669) the degree of D.C.L. The famous 
old annalist thus sums up his character: "This 
Mr. Evelyn is an ingenious and polite person, and, 
most of all, affects a private and studious life ; and 
was the first of those gentlemen who earliest met 
for the promotion and establishment of the Eoyal 
Society." 

Note 23, Page 400, Column 1. 

The following is the narrative of Foxe, in the third 
volume of his " Ecclesiastical History," respecting 

"The behaviour of Dr. Ridley (bishop of London) 
and Master Latimer (bishop of Worcester) at the time 
of their death, which was the 16th of October, 1555. 

"Upon the north side of the town (of Oxford) in 
the ditch over against Balliol College, the place of 
execution was appointed : and for fear of any tumult 
that might arise to hinder the burning of them, the 
Lord Williams (of Thame) was commanded by the 
Queen's letters, and the householders of the city, to 
be there assisting, sufficiently provided with guards ; 
and, when everything was in readiness, the prisoners 
were brought forth by the mayor and bailiffs. 

" Master Ridley had a fair black gown, furred, and 
faced with foins (fur of the ferret) such as he was wont 
to wear, being bishop, and a tippet of velvet furred 
likewise about his neck, a velvet nightcap upon his 
head, and a corner cap upon the same, going in a pair 
of slippers to the stake, and going between the mayor 
and an alderman, &c. 

" After him came Master Latimer, in a poor Bristol 
frieze (coarse woollen) frock, all worn, with his but- 
toned cap, and a kerchief on his head, all ready for 
the fire ; a new long shroud hanging over his hose, 
down to the feet ; which at first stirred men's hearts 
to rue upon them (to repent of seeing them so, to be 
much concerned for them, or to pity them), behold- 
ing on the one side the honour they sometime had ; 
on the other the calamity whereinto they were fallen. 

" Master Dr. Ridley, as he passed (from the mayor's 
house where he had lodged) towards Bocardo, (a gate- 
way of the city and a prison, over the street opposite 
to where now stands the Three Goats Inn), looked up 
where Master Cranmer (archbishop of Canterbury) 
did lie) hoping belike to have seen him at the glass 
window, and to have spoken unto him. But then 
Master Cranmer was busy with Friar Soto, and his 
fellows, disputing together, so that he could not see 
him through that occasion. Then Master Ridley, 
looking back, espied Master Latimer coming after; 
unto whom he said, 'Oh, be ye there?' 'Tea,' said 
Master Latimer, 'have after as fast as I can follow. ' 
So he, following a pretty way off, at length they came 
both to the stake, the one after the other ; where first 
Dr. Ridley, entering the place, marvellously earnestly 
holding up both his hands, looked towards heaven ; 
then shortly after, espying Master Latimer, with a 
wondrous cheerful look he ran to him, embraced and 
kissed him, and, as they that stood near reported, 
comforted him, saying, 'Be of good heart, brother; 



for God will either assuage the fmy of the flame, or 
else strengthen us to abide it. 

" Then the smith took a chain of iron and brought 
the same about both Dr. Ridley's and Master Latimer's 
middles ; and as he was knocking in a staple, Dr. 
Ridley took the chain in his hand, and shaked the 
same, for it did gird in his belly, and looking aside to 
the smith, said, 'Good fellow, knock it in hard, for the 
flesh will have its course.' Then his brother did 
bring him gunpowder in a bag, and would have tied 
the same about his neck. Master Ridley asked what 
it was. His brother said, ' Gunpowder ! ' ' Then, ' 
said he, " I will take it to be sent of God, therefore I 
will receive it as sent of him. And have you any, ' 
said he ' for my brother ? ' meaning Master Latimer. 
'Yea, sir, that I have,' quoth his brother. 'Then 
give it unto him,' said he, ' betime, lest ye come too 
late. ' So his brother went and carried off the same 
gunpowder unto Master Latimer. 

"Then they brought a faggot, kindled with fire, 
and laid the same down at Dr. Ridley's feet. To whom 
Master Latimer spake in this manner : ' Be of good 
comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man ; we shall 
this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in 
England, as I trust shall never be put out. ' 

" And so the fire being given unto them, when 
Dr. Ridley saw the fire flaming up towards him, he 
cried with a wonderful loud voice, ' In manus tuas, 
Domine, commendo spiritum meum ; Domine, recipe 
spiritum meum ; ' and after repeating this latter part 
often in English, 'Lord, Lord, receive my spirit.' 
Master Latimer crying as vehemently on the other 
side, ' Oh, Father of Heaven, receive my soul ; ' who 
received the flame as it were embracing of it. After 
that he had stroked his face with his hands, and, as 
it were, bathed them a little in the fire, he soon died, 
as it appeareth, with very little pain or none. And 
thus much concerning the end of this old and blessed 
servant of God, Master Latimer ; for whose laborious 
travels, fruitful life, and constant death, the whole 
realm hath cause to give great thanks to Almighty God. 

" But Master Ridley, by reason of the evil making 
of the fire unto him, because the wooden faggots were 
laid about the goss (furze) and over high built, the 
fire burned first underneath, being kept down by the 
wood. Which, when he felt, he desired them for 
Christ's sake to let the fire come unto him, which, 
when his brother-in-law heard, but not well under- 
stood, intending to rid him out of his pains (for the 
which cause he gave attendance), as one in such sor- 
row, not well-advised what he did, heaped faggots 
upon him, so that he clean covered him, which made 
the fire more vehement beneath, that it burned clean 
all his nether parts before it once touched the upper ; 
and that made him leap up and down under the 
faggots, and often desire them to let the fire come 
unto him, saying, ' I cannot bum ;' which, indeed, 
appeared well ; for after his legs were consumed by 
reason of his struggling through the pam, (whereof 
he had no release, but only his contentation in God), 
he showed that side towards us, clean shirt and all, 
untouched with flame. Yet, in all this torment he 
forgot not to call unto God, still having in his mouth, 
' Lord have mercy upon me ; ' intermingling his cry, 
' Let the fire come unto me, I cannot burn. ' In which 
pains he laboured, till one of the standers by with 
his bill pulled off the faggots above, and where he saw 
the fire flame up, he wrested himself unto that side. 
And when the flame touched the gunpowder, he was 
seen to stir no more ; but burned on the other side, 
falling down at Master Latimer's feet. " 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



429 



Note 24, Page 400, Column 2. 

In 1792, Southey became a student at Balliol ; his 
political enthusiasm at this period has never been 
forgotten by his opponents. Yet, how happy may 
that man be deemed, whose retrospections discover 
no greater crime than a change of political principle ! 
"The faults of great men are the consolation of 
dunces, " a sentiment too often verified by Southey's 
foes. The late William Hazlitt has attempted a 
mental portrait of this distinguished writer, in his 
' ' Spirits of the Age ;" and a more curious specimen of 
mingled bigotry, admiration, dislike, truth, and false- 
hood, as employed by one man in analysing the merits 
of another, was never, perhaps, exhibited than in his 
critical development of Southey's character. 

Since the above remarks were written, Hazlitt him- 
self is no more ; "we could well have spared a better 
man." The obscure way in which he was carried to his 
last home was a melancholy comment on an unhappy 
life. There are those who think Voltaire's sarcasm on 
Dante not inapplicate to Hazlitt, "His reputation 
will now be growing greater and greater, because 
there is now nobody who reads him," and others who 
estimate Mm in a nobler way, and that, as Napoleon, 
with his code in his hand, so Hazlitt, with his life of 
that magnificent despot, will go down to posterity. 
Whatever may be said of his biography, none will 
deny the freshness, originality, and delightfulness, 
which often pervade his essays. With much wordy 
paradox, enormous conceit, and ineradicable bigotry, 
they reveal an intense love of the beautiful in the out- 
ward world, with an acute sympathy for all the 
mental workings of the mind within. Party and 
pohtics were his ruin ; they tainted the pureness of 
his thoughts, distorted his views, and made hi 
believe himself a philanthropist, when most he 
became a bigot. To the oblique influence of politics, 
the constitutional infirmity of a bad temper must be 
added, and from these we may explain the unhealthy 
atmosphere in which his mind appears to have lived 
and breathed. To define Hazlitt's rank in contempo- 
rary literature is almost impossible ; " Two voices 
are there ; " the one, denying him all that learning can 
respect, or virtue admire ; the other, a clamorous 
appeal for undying fame. Time, " the beautifier of 
the dead," will be Hazlitt's best historian. If he 
has been the mere effervescence of a frothy age, he will 
be forgotten ; if, on the contrary, he has strengthened 
the Cause he affected to adore, there will be after 
memories to brighten round his fame, while 



'springs 



From the Castalian fountain of the heart, 
The poetry of life, and all that art 
Divine of words, quickening insensate things. " 
Wordsworth. 

Note 25, Page 402, Column 1. 

The early poets are allowed to be the most original : 
but whilst we admire the freshness with which their 
poetry is imbued, we must remember that the re- 
finements of Life have multiplied since their day, and 
consequently, that what was then a single feeling, 
is now divided into a thousand shadowy modifications, 
too delicate for the sympathies of olden time to 
create. May we not, therefore, in some measure, 
console ourselves for absence of originality, by the 
fascinations which refined Sentiment has produced ? 
It is to these that modern times are indebted for a 
galaxy of female writers — stars that never shone upon 



the ancient world. The social ascendancy of Woman 
has advanced with the progress of Christianity ; and 
truly, when we compare the spirit of modern with 
ancient gallantry, we need not blush for the compa- 
rison. To the grossness of mere animal passion has 
succeeded an ethereality of sentiment, which, how- 
ever perverted by sophism, or degraded by affectation, 
has, on the whole, exercised a purifying influence 
over modern life. 

An ethical writer remarks, " The respect he feels 
for the virtues of woman may thus be considered 
almost as a test of the virtues of man." Judged by 
such a test, it is to be feared that both ancient and 
modern poets do not always appear to bright ad- 
vantage. Amid a profusion of stately compliments 
and poetical gallantries, they have from time to time 
been most uncourteously inspired. Two lords of 
Grecian tragedy, iEschylus and Euripides, have pro- 
faned their dramas by some ugly passages which 
might well have been omitted. Mrs. iEchylus was 
evidently a virago ; and the unmusical echoes of her 
voice must have murmured in her husband's ears, 
when he composed some lines in the "Agamemnon" 
and the "Septem;" both the Mistresses Euripides 
were addicted to flirtation ; and hence the exaggerated 
vileness of female character in the "Medea" and 
"Hippolytus." 

There are thousands who admire Horace's poetical 
style of love, and echo his bacchanalian sentiments 
on women. Others rejoice to feel themselves not 
amongst them. Horace, though a splendid lyrist, 
was a great sensualist, and, unlike Anacreon, has not 
always been veiy tasteful in his erotic allusions. A 
woman and a mistress are synonymous meanings 
in his poems; and whenever the " molle Cale- 
num" affected his head, the " dulcium Mater sseva 
cupidinum" (lib. iv. ode 1,) invariably polluted his 
heart. 

No man of humane disposition would willingly crimi- 
nate the Sabine bard ; but the truth must not be 
concealed, — he has fulminated many offensive remarks 
against old ladies, which have not been duly consi- 
dered by those commentators who have indulged their 
tediousness in illustrating his style and meaning. 
That the ancient matrons of Rome were not so 
attractive as the mild old ladies in unassuming caps 
of the present day, it is easy to imagine. But there 
are some elementary principles from which we may 
form a judgment of a man's character in all ages and 
under all circumstances ; it is to be regretted, there- 
fore, that Horace has not evinced a proper respect 
for the venerable glory of a grey head. A wrinkle is 
anathematised as if it were an infamous defect, and 
a dim eye pronounced an odious mockery of nature. 
" May you live to be an old woman ! " appears to have 
been his poetical curse towards offending damsels ; 
and truly, if it were always fulfilled after his fashion, 
they must have become as luxuriantly ugly as his 
fertile fancy could have desired. 

' If we might venture to account for this unamiable 
obliquity in Horace's poetical creed, we should in 
some manner refer it to the voluptuous example of 
his patron Maecenas. From the first time we read 
this person's name, to the present hour, a suspicion 
has haunted us, that he is indebted for his intellec- 
tual fame rather to the inflated adulation of poets 
than to the substantial truth of real character. Seneca 
has satirised his effeminacies ; and if our memory do 
not fail us, Gibbon has ventured some observations 
which tend to demolish his " mountain " of greatness. 
In all probability he was the Bufo of his day, who 



430 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



gave good dinners, and therefore commanded the 
attendance of good poets to eat them. 

"Proud as Apollo on his forked MIL 
Sat full-blown Bufo, puff'd by every quill : 
Fed with soft dedication all day long, 
Horace and he went hand in hand in song." 

We pass by the sarcasms against women, 
sprinkled over the pages of Virgil, Ovid, Catullus, 
Tibullus, Propertius, and others, to arrive at that 
ultima Thule of ferocious invective — the sixth satire 
of Juvenal. To us it appears neither more nor less 
than an obscene libel on Human Nature, utterly 
unworthy of the high spirit which produced the 
third, tenth, and thirteenth satires, in the latter of 
which the terrors of conscience are so sublimely 
depicted. That we may not be deemed arrogant in 
this opinion, we beg permission to quote the words 
of one who lived at a period of no outrageous deli- 
cacy. "This satire (sixth) is a bitter invective 
against the fair sex. 'Tis indeed a common place, 
from whence all the moderns have notoriously stolen 
their sharpest railleries. In his other satires, the 
poet has only glanced on some particular women, 
and generally scourged the men. But this he re- 
served wholly for the ladies. How they offended 
him I know not : but, upon the whole matter, he is 
not to be excused for imputing to all the vices of 
some few amongst them. Neither was it generously 
done of him, to attack the weakest as well as the 
fairest part of creation : neither do I know what 
moral he could reasonably draw from it. To bid us 
beware of their artifices is a kind of silent acknow- 
ledgment that they have more wit than men ; which 
turns the satire upon us, and particularly upon the 
poet, who thereby makes a compliment where he 
meant a libel." — Dryden. 

Indeed, so revolting a picture does this satire 
exhibit, that neither the world nor Juvenal's fame 
would suffer by its omission. It has all Swift's 
impurity, without any of his redeeming wit ; and, as 
a moral corrective, is utterly useless. "We might as 
reasonably expect health would be preserved by a 
nauseous exposition of every disease in the national 
hospital, as hope that Moral Beauty would be pro- 
tected by parading the vilest of our depravities before 
the public view. 

"Maxima debetur puero reverentia." — (xiv. 47.) 

How did Juvenal reconcile this noble sentiment with 
his own practice? — The sentence may be profitably 
remembered by the instructors of youth in the 
present day. 

It would be somewhat interesting to select the 
principal allusions to Female Character from our 
English poets, and endeavour to prove, that in most 
cases they have been tinged by the circumstances of 
each particular writer, whenever they tend to dete- 
rioration. In the present case, however, we can 
only presume on the reader's patience by quoting a 
few. Let us begin with Cowley, termed by Johnson 
"the last of the metaphysical race of poets." He 
has uttered but few direct impertinences against 
Women : but the cold indelicacy of his style and the 
amorous absurdity of his sentiments, almost amount 
to a want of gallantry. One can fancy mathema- 
tical Problems making love to each other, when we 
read the imaginary colloquies of Cowley and his 
mistress ! He has compared her to every mystery- 
above the earth, and every curiosity beneath the sun. 



Let the reader enjoy the following morfeaux. Here is 
a burning lover dried into Egyptian dust ! 

" The fate of Egypt I sustain, 
And never feel the dew of rain 
From clouds which in the head appear ! " — 

What a melancholy plight the lady alluded to in the 
following lines must have been : 

" Her sacrifice is found without an heart, 
For the last tempest of my death 
Shall sigh out that too with my breath !" 

"Once more upon the waters, yet once more." 
Confusion and fearful ruin are threatened ; we should 
like to have seen his mistress perusing the passage 
below : 

" Wo to her stubborn heart, if once mine come 
Into the self-same room ; 
'Twill tear and blow up all within, 
Like a grenado shot into a magazine ! ! " — 

Mr. Gait's sublime description of Lord Byron's 
genius is in some measure applicable to Cowley ; — 
' ' a mystery dressed in a winding-sheet, and crowned 
with a halo ! ! " 

Who has equalled the heaven-like purity of Milton's 
description ? — whether we approach the primeval love- 
liness of her, who 

" down to the slender waist 

Her unadorned golden tresses wore ; " 

or the virgin majesty of "that aidless, innocent lady, " 
whose voice came floating 

"upon the wings 

Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, 
At ev'ry fall smoothing the raven down 
Of darkness, till it smiled ! " 

Yet there are many ladies in the world who denounce 
Milton, and allude unhandsomely to his wife, when 
they read that Eve was 

" all but a rib 



Crooked by Nature, bent as now appears, 
More to the part sinister, " — 

and that Adam dared to ask, 

"why did God, 

Creator wise, that peopled highest heaven 
With spirits masculine, create at last 
This novelty on earth, this fair defect 
Of nature, and not fill the world at once 
With men as angels, without feminine ? " 

We now arrive at the last of bye-gone English 
poets from whose works we shall select instances of 
ungallant poetry, — Alexander Pope. Many bitter 
ironies against the "fair sex" occur in Pope's 
writings ; but the principal are contained in his cele- 
brated "Epistle" on "the Characters of Women" — a 
title, by the way, in queer opposition to a line in 
the Poem, 

" Most women have no characters at all." 
In allusion to this piece, Johnson remarks, "The 
Characters of Men" are written with more, if not 
with deeper thought. In the women's part are some 
defects ; the character of Atossa is not so neatly 
finished as that of Clodio ; and some of the female 
characters may be found perhaps more frequently 
among men ; what was said of Philomede was true 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



431 



of Prior. The sarcastic maxims which have offended 
the "ornaments of creation" are these — viz. 

" Woman and fool arc two hai'd things to hit. 
In men we various * ruling passions find ; 
In women two almost divide the kind : 
Those, only fix'd, they fn-st or last obey, — 
The love of pleasure, and the love of sway." 

" And yet believe me, good as well as ill, 
Woman's at best a contradiction still : 
Heaven, when it strives to polish all it can, 
Its last best work, but forms a softer man, " 

We conclude with that pert blasphemy against the 
purity of woman which has enjoyed immortality on 
the lips of coxcombs and seducers : — 

" Men — some to business, some to pleasure take, 
But every woman is at heart a rake !" 

These opinions are evidently imbued with sickli- 
ness and disappointment, and arose, perchance, from 
a slight on the part of Martha Blount, or from the 
colloquial tartness of Lady Mary Wortley, who sadly 
discomfited our poet at the table of their mutual 
friend, Lady Oxford. 

" C'est que l'enfant toujours est homme, 
C'est que l'homme est toujours enfant." 

Lord Byron's admirers will, perhaps, admit that 
the general spirit of his poetry does not tend to 
elevate the female character. In nearly all his 
Heroines there is a pervading glow of sentimental 
wantonness, which, however attractive in the page 
of poetry, is by no means desirable in the intercourse 
of human life. His lordship evidently considered 
woman in no spiritual light. This view, however, 
was the necessary result of that misanthropic egotism 
which forms the soul of his poetical system. To 
him the world revealed no prospect of gradual pro- 
gression to a better and brighter state of things : as 

it had ever been, so it would ever remain, a 

blackened wilderness of selfish gloom. There are 
many who concur with him ; for, as Shelley says, — 

" Many heartless things are said and done, 
And many brutes and men live on. " 

Yet are there, from time to time, glimpses of moral 
beauty, and loveliness, and lofty energies, and high- 
born hopes, and human charities, to be enjoyed by 
all who live and breathe the healthful air of ex- 
istence. Croly has concentrated, in a few words, 
more than we have read elsewhere, in illustration of 
Lord Byron's mind : — " His moral system as a poet 
is founded on the double error that great crimes 
imply great qualities, and that virtue is a slavery. 
Both maxims palpably untrue ; for crime is so much 
within human means, that the most stupendous 
crime may be committed by the most abject of 
human beings, while the man of the wildest licence 
is only so much the more fettered and bowed down. ' 
This doctrine was anticipated nearly two thousand 
years ago by one who is called a heathen, but whose 
moral sentiments are often purer than those of the 
nomiual Christian : 

Nemo liber est, qui corpori servit. — Senec. Epist. 92. 

Those who think that to assume a Cain-like attitude, 
and wrestle with the Deity in words of doubt and 



1 In his "Essay on Man" he admits but one "ruling 
passion." 



defiance is freedom, will deny the sentiment. Let 
us hope, however, there are many who echo the 
words which Croly has breathed over the grave of 
Byron, "that living long enough for fame, he died 
too soon for his country." 

It was our intention to have concluded this long, 
and, we fear, intrusive note, by a selection of passages 
relative to the minds and characters of women, from 
the works of Southey, Wordsworth, and Wilson — 
they whose fame 

" Must share in Nature's immortality, 
A venerable thing ! and so their song 
Should make all nature lovelier, and itself 
Be loved like nature." — Coleridge. 

Who teach us to 



" recognise 

A grandeur in the beatings of the heart." 

Whose genius surrounds us with 

" A presence that disturbs us with the joy 
Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 
Of something far more deeply interfused, 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
And the round ocean and the living air, 
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man." 

And whose philosophy illustrates the sublime words 
of St. Pierre, "Si l'Auteur de la nature est grand 
dans les grandes choses, il est tres-grand dans les 
petites. " But we will task the reader's kindness no 
farther, but conclude with 

" Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; 
To me, the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often he too deep for tears ! " 



Note 26, Page 402, Column 2. 
(Written in 1S30.) 

During the last year, some twelve or fifteen periodi- 
cals, beginning at the unambitious price of twopence, 
in graceful ascent to the lofty height of six shillings, 
have edified the public, and amused themselves, by 
discharging critical thunder at the head of the 
unfortunate transgressor alluded to in our text. 
Now, the first thing that must strike a reader in 
many of these reviews, is the sincerity of the writers ! 
for who, when an author is glowingly depicted as 
"fool," and "ass," "knave," and hypocrite," "num- 
skull," and sundry other pretty characters, can 
doubt a critic's earnestness ? A few fastidious people, 
here and there scattered over the face of the literary 
globe, may, perchance, think these appellations a 
little uncourteous ; and others compare the critics to 
those "grotesque faces in a gothic church, which 
grin and frown, and make such horrible distortions 
of visage, that you would think them the guardians 
of the whole building; whereas they are only 
excrescences, that add nothing to its strength, but 
disfigure it by their deformity. " Still, sincerity is a 
rare virtue, and ought to be admitted into the very- 
best society, however rudely apparelled. 

To the noisy candour of this class of reviewers, 
succeeds the polite malignancy of more graceful 
criticism. By means of this, an author's poetry is 
anatomized into prose, meaning screwedinto nonsense, 
words distorted into trash, sentiments conjured into 



bombast, and the usual flippancies of "young 
gentleman," "bardling," "poetaster," &c. &c., are 
introduced with becoming effect. But as the subject 
as well as the style must be attacked, it is deemed 
proper to ruin the former, by blazoning forth the 
poetical impossibilities connected with it ; or else by 
collecting its various parts into one ludicrous assem- 
blage, after the manner of an auctioneer's catalogue. 
It cannot, however, be forgotten, that now and then 
a word of comfort and a line of eulogy escape the 
reviewer ; but, ashamed of the weakness, he soon 
returns to a more pleasing task. 

There are others connected with this laudable 
undertaking, acting in the double character of author 
and critic. Without resorting to any ungenerous 
surmise, their hostility may thus be explained, — a 
writer who had pleased the many could not of course 
delight "the few." Doubtless, these "few" are 
difficult personages to define; but as they are so 
frequently mentioned by their admirers, they must 
enjoy a respectable existence somewhere or other on 
the face of the earth. Happy authors ! who, unde- 
graded by a vulgar passion for present fame, fix their 
eyes on a bright futurity ; happy posterity ! that is 
destined to receive instruction which living times are 
unworthy to enj oy. Copies may remain in unsold 
obscurity on booksellers' shelves, and publishers' 
accounts prove inconvenient memorials, but they 
have that within that passeth show. A few years 
hence, when the false idols of the day are disenthroned 
and forgotten, "the few "will swell into the many, 
and then shall editions do justice to their fame. 
Thus, under the weight of unpurchased volumes, 
are they enabled to feel " that a thousand years after 
their death, the Indian on the banks of the Ganges, 
and the Laplander on his hills of snow, will read their 
works, and envy the happy clime that produced such 
extraordinary genius. " * 

Amid such distressful circumstances, a writer 
endowed with true delicacy would have faded into an 
elegant consumption, and died young, in order to be 
tenderly remembered. Such, however, was not the 
case ; his health was audaciously good, and his pen as 
active as ever. To explain this tough pertinacity, we 
must suppose him to have been somewhat acquainted 
with the history of criticism, and to have found that 
from the days when Gray's Elegy was pronounced a 
" respectable piece of mediocrity," f to the time when 
Lord Byron was advised "forthwith to abandon 
poetry," J and betake him to more profitable pursuits, 
similar afflictions had been constantly endured. Popu- 
larity was " vulgar fame ; " praise, " absurd flattery, " 
and religious feeling "mere cant" assumed for the 
occasion. Then, as now, did the great Unknown 
lament the decline of taste, the dearth of genius, and 
the nothingness of public opinion; while every 
author, imprudent enough to succeed, was described 
as the mere idol of the day, beneath the observation 
of the discerning "few." 

May we not hope, then, that those gentlemen whose 
pens are prepared to demolish the present unfortunate 
production, seeing that they have as yet produced 
nothing new in critical warfare, will devise some 
other means for effecting an honourable purpose? 
For truly lamentable would it be, if, after exhausting 
such noble energies in the defence of true taste and 



* See Gibbon's Essay on Polite Literature. 
t See the London Magazine of that period. 
% Vide Edinburgh Review. 



feeling, a headstrong Public should decide for itself ! 
Since mere critical blows, however violent and fierce, 
and constantly repeated, fail in effecting an author's 
annihilation, can they not contrive to invent a few 
immoralities, and phillipise against the hypocrisy, 
cant, and deceitfulness of the times ? Success 
appears to smile on this plan ; since, whatever may be 
the character of the critic himself, the morality of the 
author is indispensable. It is, doubtless, on the 
truth of this sentiment, that several religious 
periodicals have lately acted. Being a little puzzled 
with the Muse, they sneer at her morality; and 
according to the creed of their gospel, insinuate into 
the character of others what piety never admits in 
their own. 

Let us conclude this discussion by a survey of the 
principal charges adduced against a writer whose 
volumes have sold. First in the list of offences 
appears — a portrait without a neckcloth ! Assuredly 
this is a melancholy affair, inasmuch as it no more 
resembles the author than it does the face of Ali 
Pasha ! And vanity, that fault which is only 
agreeable in ourselves, nothing but vanity, could have 
invented that upturned gaze ! Here was a source of 
infinite martyrdom. One gentleman, remarkable for 
Byronic deficiency of cravat, considered the portrait 
a rivalrous attempt ; while every reviewer who 
boasted an ugly face thought it a personal satire. It 
is but fair, however, to add, that any gentleman who 
has the misfortune to possess a copy of this portrait, 
by sending it to Mr. Hobday, the artist, may have his 
money returned, or a neckcloth supplied. 

When we add to this circumstance tbat the author 
"gives no dinners," writes no critiques, corresponds 
with no magazine, haunts no coteries, and is subject 
to the weakness of being rather young, — can we 
wonder that he has been lampooned in periodicals, or 
slandered in reviews ? " * 



* Lord Byron was fearfully alive to the annoyances 
of petty reviewers. Indignant sarcasm against the 
meanest Dennis who invaded his poetical renown is 
continually bursting forth in his correspondence. 
Speaking of critics in one of his letters to Murray, he 
says, after forbidding him to forward any more of the 
reviews, ' ' These do not interrupt, but they soil the 
current of my mind. I am sensitive enough, but not 
until I am troubled." To this remark Moore has 
appended a note, evidently emanating from the smart 
which critical malignance produces: — "The petty 
but thwarting obstructions which are at present 
thrown across the path of men of real talent by that 
swarm of minor critics and pretenders, with whom 
the want of a seat in other professions has crowded 
all the walks in literature." Nor is it only the 
writers of the day who suffer from this multifarious 
rush into the mart ; the readers, also, from having 
"the superficies of too many things presented to 
them at once, come to lose by degrees their powers of 
discrimination ; and in the same manner as the 
palate becomes confused in trying various wines, so 
the public taste declines in proportion as the im- 
pressions to which it is exposed multiply. " 

To such sentiments Bruyere's remark applies : — 
" Quand une lecture vous eleve l'esprit, et qu'elle vous 
inspire des sentimens nobles, ne cherchez pas une 
autre regie pour juger de l'ouvrage ; il est bon et fait 
de l'ouvrage. La Critique, apres ca, peut s'exercer 
sur les petites choses, relever quelques expressions, 
corriger des phrases, parler de syntaxe," &c. &c. 



Foot-note t 26, Page 402, Column 2. 

(Written in 1830.) 

A few months since an ordei- issued from proprietary 
head-quarters, for a certain young writer to be 
immolated in the next number of the venerable 

" Blue and Yellow." In obedience to this command, 
several articles were prepared, all of which finally 
yielded to the one that was inserted, as combining a due 
quality of venom, with affectionate candour towards 
an ill-used public. 

Majoracanamus; let us, with modest gaze, approach 
the "bright excess" of this surpassing criticism. 
After a little uncomfortable wriggling, the reviewer 
works his way into the subject— Puffery. Here it is 
painful to add, that two or three pages are pilfered 
from "The Puffiad," * without any acknowledgment 
of the offence. After this follows a verbal analysis, 
rather clumsy, and by no means original. The 
plagiarisms are proved after the following learned 
manner : — A few lines, selected from various parts of 
the guilty production, are exhibited, in which the 
words "oceari," "dew," &c. &c. occur; some lines 
are also produced from Dryden and Lord Byron, in 
which similar expressions occur. Now, what is 
plainer, than that the former writer is convicted of 
plagiarism, since neither the ocean nor the dew was 
discerned, till Lord Byron and Dryden perceived them 
one day, and patronised them in their poems ? This 
spirited hunt after plagiarisms extends through 
several pages, when, with a gracious smile at his own 
performance, the reviewer receives his pay, and bids 
us farewell. The hint to plagiarists, it is hoped, may 
prove serviceable. The advice given by a respectable 
old lady- to her child of iniquity, in "Paul Clifford," 
ought not to be forgotten : ' ' Never steal — 'specially 
when anybody's nigh ! " Yet may a question be put 
to this ingenious gentleman — If all he has pilfered from 
his predecessors, distilled from old magazines and 
encyclopaedias, gathered from indices, and squeezed 
from the book itself under review, were combined, 
how much of any article he has composed, may 
be called his own ? His critiques remind us of a 
circumstance in Armenia. When a poor man appears 
with a new coat, he is suspected to have stolen it ; 
but if it be cleverly patched by contributions from 
old cloth, it is supposed to be his own ! 

The reviewer had evidently seen better days ; though 
accustomed, from the blushing dawn of his talents, 
to perform the scrubwork of criticism, still he had 
occasionally spoken truth, and slept soundly after 
praising an author. Here, however, was a task of 
peculiar dirtiness, which threatened to soil even his 
hands, all accustomed as they were to menial offices. 
He had to grope his way through sixteen pages of 
lying print, and better men than he might be forgiven 
for not having accomplished this tiresome duty 
without some awkward grimaces on the road. 

The critic's favourite metaphor is "a Turkey 
carpet : " from this it may be concluded that he is an 
upholsterer, haunted by the dreams of a shop ; hot 
but that an upholsterer may be a very excellent 
personage, though seldom, perhaps, a good critic ; 
unless, indeed, after the manner of Addison's trunk- 
maker, who, it is recorded, could knock down an ox, 
or write a comment on the " Ars Poetica, " with equal 
facility. 

* A very unamiable production, concerning which 
the papers maintained a most disinterested silence. 



The article was a decided failure. There was, of 
course, a chuckle of delight among authorlings, and 
a yelp of applause from criticlings. Beyond this, 
nothing was effected. The public has a good memory 
on these occasions, and recollected that the same 
review, now employed in exposing the puff-system, 
had, from its infancy, invariably puffed its own coterie, 
from the budding statesman down to the full-blown 
versifier. It also appeared rather strange, that no 
proofs were produced to support an accusation ; and 
that those who were notoriously addicted to the 
paragraphic vice, were suffered to remain "unknell'd, 
uncoffin'd, and unknown." 

On a primary view of the matter, this treatment on 
the part of the public towards the patronising tender- 
ness of a reviewer may appear unmerited ; but when 
we remember that during the last fifteen years there 
is not a solitary instance in which the northern 
Eeview has guided public taste in conferring eminence 
on a writer, the matter is explained. With respect to 
poetry, this is especially true. All who have won 
reputation, it has endeavoured either to blast in their 
path to fame, or allowed them to be unmentioned till 
years had procured a popularity which required the 
aid of no reviewer to sustain it. Besides, there is a 
little impolicy in a critic's frontless assertion, that the 
public is a mighty Ass, easily led by the nose, 
wherever the popular impulse of an hour may con- 
duct it : for, who is it but this same stultified public, 
that supports the veiy review which contemns it ? In 
this the critic sees profound judgment and correct 
taste ; in every other respect, the judgment of the 
many is altogether Vain. Admirable logic ! and 
urbane conclusion ! No doubt, some literary bubbles 
have been puffed into popular favour, and that 
poetical unworthiness has been occasionally overrated. 
A few months, however, have redeemed the truth, 
and conducted Taste to her legitimate conclusions. 
He must, therefore, be a bigot of the very first water, 
and on tolerable good terms with himself, who con- 
descends to patronise the public by assuming all 
judgment and taste as the inheritance of his own 
brains, while the many are catalogued as blockheads 
and dunces, never to be respected — except when they 
believe an oracular review ! 

The reviewer is, we believe, still alive, and from 
time to time employs himself in making mouths 
at distinguished men. His style is peculiarly his 
own : — 

For Appius reddens at each word you speak, 
And stares tremendous with a threat'ning eye 
Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry. 

His darling topic is the decline of poetry, which 
means, that some little abortion of his own not having 
sold, as a matter of course, true poetry has ceased to 
.exist. On this subject he is known to crawl along in 
elegiac prose for several pages, till, suddenly pouncing 
on some hapless author, he grins himself into critical 
ecstasy : — 

All books he reads, and all he reads, assails, 
From Dryden's fables down to Durfey's tales : 
With him, most authors steal their works, or buy : 
Garth did not write his own Dispensary. 

Let us, however, conclude this strange, eventful 
history; and let us likewise imitate the critic's 
atoning kindness, by expressing our regret, should 
any of these remarks be "painful to his feelings." 
Most heartily do we wish him a nobler office than 



434 



OXFORD : OB, ALMA MATER. 



that of being the hired assassin of a bigoted 
review.* 



* The following extract from the second edition of 
Clarkson's pamphlet, entitled, ' ' Robert Montgomery 
and his Reviewers," London, Ridgway, 1830, will 
unravel some allusions in the above note : — 

"address to the public. 

"The most illiberal attacks having of late been 
repeatedly made upon me as a publisher by certain 
reviewers, who, in their zeal to destroy the popularity, 
and with a view to account for the extensive sale of 
Mr. R. Montgomery's Poems, charged me with having 
unduly raised that author into public favour by a 
system of puffing, which they thus define : — 1st, By 
the publisher having his own reviews ; 2ndly, by his 
exchanging favours with other reviews ; 3rdly, by his 
influencing the public opinion through the literary 
coteries ; and, 4thly, by his bribing the periodical 
press ; I feel myself called upon to declare (and I defy- 
any man living to disprove the assertion), that this is 
a deliberate and malicious calumny. 1st, I have no 
review whatever ; 2ndly, I have not the power of 
exchanging favours with other reviews, and should 
disdain so to use it if. I had; 3rdly, I am not con- 
nected either directly or indirectly, with any of the 
coteries ; and, 4thly, I never bribed, or paid, or 
offered to pay, any individual connected with the 
periodical press, to praise the works of Mr. Mont- 
gomery, or any other works in which I have an interest. 
What others may do, who notoriously possess the above 
means, and as notoriously use them, concerns not me. 
I shall, therefore, make no comment on the motives 
which influence these gentlemen, nor point to the cor- 
rupted source whence the venom flows ; but I appeal 
to the public whether it is not a gross abuse of critical 
power, and a flagrant instance of critical injustice, 
thus to invade my property, and impugn my conduct 
on grounds which, I repeat, are at once malicious, 
scandalous, and false. Samuel Maunder. " 

"This is certainly manly and straightforward 
enough, and written in a tone of such honest indig- 
nation, that if the anonymous gentlemen, thus in- 
scribed and branded, can feel anything lighter than a 
horsewhip, feel they must. That the shamefully dis- 
honest practices resorted to by the junta — who, 
chiefly holding their brief from the Great Arch Puffer, 
audaciously stigmatise the whole town and country 
press with the charge of being bribed like themselves, 
called for some notice from the publisher and pro- 
prietor of Montgomery's Poems, I am quite ready to 
admit, nay, that a total silence on his part might 
have even been regarded by the 'miscellaneous 
rabble ' — who, incompetent of comparative judgment, 
always consider the last and noisiest buffoon to be> 
the victor — as amounting to an admission of the 
validity of these reiterated slanders. Otherwise, the 
whole clique are only fit to be laughed at. But I 
must say, he appears to me to have only half under- 
stood his case. I should really have given him credit 
for knowing the ' mysteries ' of his profession better. 
He not only disclaims all connection with the recip- 
rocally reviewing coteries, and the 'caw me, caw 
thee' system, but he adds with a naivete" quite 
amusing I should think to the gentlemen concerned 
(and concerned they really are), ' I never bribed, or 
paid, or offered to pay, any individual connected with 
the periodical press.' Ay, there's the rub ! One of 



Note 27, Page 404, Column 1. 

See anecdotes of Heber's early life, as recorded by 
his widow. 



the secret motives of attack — perhaps ' the very head 
and front of his offending, ' in the eyes of the Burling- 
tonians. I respect Mr. Maunder's feelings, but I am 
at a loss to conjecture how he could pen the sentence 
just quoted, and not be struck with the fact that his 
greatest sin was a sin of omission (i. e. , ' he never bribed 
or paid,' <fec.) Now, if he had been well read in the 
arcana of Burlington-street; if he had 'bribed or 
paid, ' instead of expecting, ' good, easy man, ' to reap 
honest fame or profit, in times like these, from honest 
practices, neither he nor his author would have been 
the objects of half the rabid abuse which has been 
lavished on them. Had he resorted to that golden 
system of puffing, befitting the present golden age of 
literary morals, there would have been no growling, 
no barking, no biting; the jealous watch-dogs of 
literature would have fawned and slavered on him 
like spaniels, and he might have plundered 'my 
public' with impunity. Ay, had he 'bribed or paid,' 
&c, he might have inundated the country with the 
veriest excrementitious trash that ever exuded in 
a fashionable novel, foamed in Millenarian delirium, 
or piped and snivelled in libellous and penny-trumpet 
imitation of the sonorous, enchanted horn of Walter 
Scott. He might then have been lauded to the skies 
for his 'public spirit and liberality,' instead of being 
lampooned and belied by the hungry descendants of 
Zoilus and Thersites." 

****** 
* ' With at least one half of the article in the ' Edin- 
burgh Review' — all that relates to puffing — I the 
more cordially agree, since I was the first, or among 
the first, to earn the enmity of the publishing puffers, 
by exposing, so long back as 1822, the whole ma- 
chinery of their nefarious practices in a series of 
papers published in a periodical, now extinct. A 
deep scorn of these knavish tricks is, indeed, one of 
the motives which determines my present stand by 
the side of Montgomeiy. All Englishmen like to see 
fair play. The young poet has been a bad politician 
with regard to the avowal of his politics ; but he has 
been an equally bad politician with regard to puffers, 
of whose skill in the ' trade and mystery of picking 
pockets,' he, in the ' Puffiad,' has been the most un- 
compromising and effectual exposer. His frank 
avowal on these two points — politics and puffing — 
are certainly not those of a man trickily courting 
favour and panegyric from all quarters, as the 
'Edinburgh Reviewer' insinuates. He must have 
strange notions, indeed, who thinks to win 'golden 
opinions from all sorts of people,' by knocking, right 
and left, all sorts of people down. But, is it not 
curious and suspicious, that the ' Edinburgh Review, ' 
attacking Montgomery in an article professing to be 
an attack on puffing, should not advert to the cir- 
cumstance, that Montgomeiy himself is the author of 
an attack on puffing, called the 'Puffiad?' There 
appear two reasons for this omission. TJie Reviewer 
has borrowed the whole tenor and substance, nay, in 
some cases, the very words of his expose", from the 
'Puffiad,' without being so polite as to acknowledge 
the loan. Whether Montgomeiy's publisher resorted, 
as warranted by the Reviewer's admitted case of 
exception—' self-defence,' to puff the poet's works, 
I have no means of knowing. I presume he adver- 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



435 



Note 23, Page 404, Column 1. 

"lam much amused with the preparation I see 
making for furnishing me with household stuff, such 
as table-cloths, sheets, &c. It is surely a luxurious 



tised Montgomery as Murray advertised Byron ; 
and Constable, Scott. Unadvised, no author of the 
truest genius could catch the long but shifty ear 
of the puff-ridden public ; and his greatest luck, if 
even appreciated by the discerning few, would be 
glittering starvation — like him of old, who 'fregit 
subsellia versu ' and ' esurit ! ' If, however, Mont- 
gomery's publisher did resort to puff, he deserved 
reproof. But my impression is otherwise. 

"I have demonstrated (demonstrated here is not 
too strong a word), that I could not be actuated by 
the spirit of puff in criticising Montgomery's first 
works — nay, that I was in collision, rather than in 
collusion with it. During my wide connection with 
the press, I never wrote one word (for or against) on 
the subject of Montgomery's subsequent works. Had 
any unfair influence been in his favour been attempted, 
I think it must have come to my knowledge, either in 
town or provincial papers. 



" The tenor of the criticism in the ' Edinburgh 
Beview' might have been (as before hinted) antici- 
pated. But it is pitiful that the great conductors 
of the ' Edinburgh Beview ' should either employ the 
stipendiary of a small magazine to make a collection 
of alleged faults, or copy his long-elaborated collec- 
tanea, with all their mistakes, mis-statements, and 
errata. I have admitted many of the faults imputed, 
and some others not imputed. But if I had only 
adduced those faults, and not exhibited the per 
contra of the account, in drawing the balance, I 
should feel that I deserved the reader's reproof for 
acting a dishonourable part. No work of any age, 
could bear so unfair a test. Could the 'Edinburgh 
Beview? ' Certainly not. Witness the reasoning of 
the critique before us, in which the idea is stolen 
from Montgomery's 'Puffiad,' and disfigured with 
gipsy-like ingenuity to prevent detection. The Be- 
viewer's thus disfigured reasoning, like every other 
instance of integrity, consists of two halves ; but one 
of them contradicts the other. Puffing, he says, de- 
feats itself — this is one half. Puffing thus self-defeated, 
does immense injury, i.e., does not defeat itself; this 
is the other half. Now for his diction. While ac- 
cusing Mr. Montgomery of loose expression, he says, 
' Many intolerable lines of Mr. Montgomery's own.' 
What model of style is this? Again, after quoting 
nearly the worst passage in 'Satan,' he says, 

" 'Here we conclude. If our remarks give pain to 
Mr. Bobert Montgomery, we are sorry for it. But at 
whatever cost of pain to individuals, literature must 
be purified from this taint.' 

"What taint? This is sad slip-slop for an 'Edin- 
burgh Beviewer. ' The writer here forgets that nicety 
of relative grammatical construction, of a lapse in 
which he accuses another. These felicities may be 
found in the limited comments of one article, in 
which the critic, expecting perhaps to be criticised, is 
instinctively on his guard 

" Finally, as Montgomery (with unjustifiable teme- 
rity, as I have always thought) first attacked most of 
the gentlemen understood or admitted to be ' Edin- 



age when a boy of seventeen requires so much fuss to 
fit him out. 'Sat de nugis, ad seria reverto.' My 
studies go on as usual. Machiavel I rather admire 
more than at first. My Greek studies will be soon, I 
fear, gravelled, if I continue at home. My brother 



burgh Beviewers,' their critical article can only be 
deemed a political rejoinder. If it be true, as con- 
fidently alleged, that the minor magazine collector of 
Montgomery's errors — from whom the ' Edinburgh 
Beviewer ' has seriatim, and sometimes literatim, 
borrowed his examples — is the same individual, who, 
by a similar elaborate process, attempted to pluck, 
one by one, the leaves from the bay-wreath of Byron, 
it is a curious reminiscence, that the 'Edinburgh 
Beview' attempted to crush in its bud that fame 
which the magazine writer attempted to canker in 
maturity. 

" The 'Edinburgh Beview ' will permit me to wish 
it joy on this sympathetic uniformity of its fortune. 
It was its lot before to be united in the same sacred, 
though bruised and lacerated, fellowship of attack 
and defeat. Poetical critics are an obstinate tribe ; 
too apt to be mistaken for drones in their 'Idle 
Hours,' they are easily teased to vindicate their cha- 
character as wasps, and assert the honour of their 
sting. Their venomous tooth, like that of some ser- 
pents, is generally sheathed on common occasions — 
but, 'castigati, remordent.' It has been noticed, 
that the elaborately collected charges against Mont- 
gomery's poetical reputation are copied seriatim from 
a new periodical ; the (probably deceived) proprietor 
and editor of which I shall not injure by naming it ; 
the picked and garbled extracts are as unworthy of 
copy as reply ; but among the above-named consecu- 
tive copies of alleged faults, one is curious, as it would 
seem to offer presumptive proof of collusive motives. 
In the magazine here noticed there is a perverted 
passage from the ' Omnipresence, ' on the death of a 
war-horse, whose rider falls on the ' bleeding breast' of 
his horse, while the dying horse ' stares ghastly and 
grimly on the skies.' Will it be believed, that the 
'Edinburgh Beviewer,' copying the garbled passage 
of the magazine, ask how the slain warrior, 'lying 
on his bleeding breast,' contrives to 'stare ghastly 
and grimly on the skies ? ' Fie ! fie ! this perversion 
is unworthy, and ungentlemanlike ; and some writers, 
preferring the rough sincerity of truth to that bien- 
seance, which I shall not lose sight of, would be 
tempted to call it mendacity and fraud, not criticism, 
as some readers, I lament to say, have already 
termed it. 

"Enough has been advanced to show the qu6 
animo of the last attacks on Montgomery. He, and all 
who come before the public, are 'fair game;' an 
anonymous rejoinder to an anonymous attack is fair ; 
an anonymous attack on anonymous writers, though 
less equal, if frankly conducted, is also fair, but the 
fair public will never approve of any individual 
stabbing a long-marked victim, under the appearance 
of fair duello, — like that personification of devilish 
malice, Goethe's Mephistophiles,— beneath the arm 
of a deceived ally. The unfairness of quoting none 
but garbled passages, picked out by an ambushed 
enemy with leisurely malice, might irritate little 
minds, but it can only excite a pitying smile in ' les 
gens comme il faut. ' Alas ! for the littleness of all 
human pretence ! It is well for real genius, that it is 
calm, patiently contemptuous of wilful misappre- 



436 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



particularly recommends me to attend to the public 
lectures on astronomy and mathematics at Oxford, as 
he says they are at present very clever." — Life, by 
Mrs. Heber, vol. i. pp. 22, 23. 

Note 29, Page 404, Column 2. 

"Notwithstanding the miseries of Fellowships on 
which you descant, I should like very well to have 
one. I cannot, indeed, conceive how an excellent 
society, good rooms, and the finest situation for study 
in the world, can have that effect in benumbing the 
faculties which you ascribe to it. There will, no 
doubt, be many illiberal men in these sort of societies ; 
but I fear those men would have been still less gen- 
tlemen than they are at present, had it not been for 
the advantages of a college society. I was much 
entertained, my dear friend, with the account you 
gave of time-passing at Cambridge. ' The beef of yes- 
terday is succeeded by the mutton of to-day, ' are your 
words, when you show me the manner in which the 
Cantabs pass their time. You, indeed, who are clothed 
in purple, and fare sumptuously every day at the 
Fellows' table, would have more reason to reckon by 
meals than I should ; for the dinners we get here, at 
least the commoners (for the gentlemen commoners 
have a table to themselves, and fare very well, ) are 
the most beastly things that ever graced the table of 
a poor-house, or house of correction. (Ohe !) I write 
this letter in a very ill-humour at some circumstances 
I happen to be engaged in, which are as follows : — It 
is thought expedient that as I principally feel myself 
deficient in mathematics, I should stay in Oxford 
during this next vacation, in order to go through a 
course of lectures with the mathematical professor. 
This is certainly very much for a man's interest, but 
it will be very dull, I fear, as few Brazen-Nose men 
with whom I am acquainted will stay. If you could 
contrive to take the opportunity of this vacation at 
once to see Oxford, and make an old schoolfellow per- 
fectly happy by your company for a day or two, I 
need not say how glad I should be. If you con- 
veniently can, pray do come. Per hoc inane purpura 
decus precor. 

' ' I have fagged pretty hard since I have been here, 
on a perfectly different plan, however, from my 
Neasden studies. I was very closely engaged last 
week with a copy of verses, as you will believe, when 
I tell you that I had literally no time to shave, inso- 
much that my beard was as long and hoary as that of 
the celebrated bearded king. I succeeded tolerably 
well in my verses, and had to read them in the hall, 
the most nervous ceremony I ever went through. 

"I agree with you on the subject of the fabled 
academical leisure. We are, at Cambridge and 
Oxford, in the economy of time, perfect Cartesians — 
we admit of no vacuum. I have been through my 
Cheshire connections, and, through the long residence 
of my brother introduced to a great many people, and 
this has, of course, produced very numerous parties ; 
but, I assure you, I shall preserve my character for 
sobriety : no man is obliged to drink more than he 
pleases, nor have I seen any of that spirit of playing 
tricks on freshmen, which we are told were usual 



ciation, and self-confiding as to ultimate results ; that 
though prompt in proper season, it is not easily dis- 
composed ; and that it is only to the small talent of 
the smallest witlings, that the proverbial fallacy of 
talented irritability can justly apply." — Clabkson's 
Pamphlet, p. 156—60. 



forty or fifty years ago at the universities. Yule ; si 
possis, vuni. You seem not much to like the concerts 
at Cambridge ; I very much approve of ours here, 
both as it is a rational scholarlike amusement, and as 
it affords a retreat, if necessary, from the bottle." — 
Life, vol. i. pp. 26—28. 

Heber's first university distinction was the prize 
for Latin verse, gained by his "Carmen Seculare." 
This was followed, in 1803, by "Palestine," to which 
the following notices interestingly refer : — 

" I know not whether I told you in my last, it is a 
sort of prize extraordinary for English verses — the 
subject, 'Palestine.' I was not aware till yesterday 
that the same subject had been some time since given 
for the Seatonian prize. I think it, on the whole, a 
fine one, as it will admit of much fancy, and many 
sublime ideas. I know not whether it ought to have 
been made exclusively sacred or not. Many men, 
whom I have talked with, seem inclined to have 
made it so ; but I have an utter dislike to clothing 
sacred subjects in verse, unless it be done as nearly as 
possible in scriptural language, and introduced with 
great delicacy. I could not, however, refrain from 
mentioning and rather enlarging on the Messiah and 
the last triumphs of Judea. The historical facts of 
Scripture I of course made great use of, as well as of 
the crusades, siege of Acre, and other pieces of 
modern story. My brother, my tutor, and Mr. Walter 
Scott, the author of the ' Border Minstrels, ' whom I 
have no doubt you know by name, if not personally, 
give me strong hopes ; and I am, on the other hand, 
I hope, pretty well prepared for a disappointment. 
Whether the event be favourable or otherwise, I shall 
know in about two days, and will not fail to commu- 
nicate my victory or defeat." — Life, vol. i. pp. 29, 30. 

" In the course of its composition, Sir Walter Scott 
happened to breakfast with him one morning, to- 
gether with his brother and one or two friends, 
previous to their joining a party of pleasure to 
Blenheim; 'Palestine' became the subject of con- 
versation, and the poem was produced and read. 
Sir Walter, to whom the editor is indebted for the 
anecdote, said, 'You have omitted one striking cir- 
cumstance in your account of the building of the 
temple, that no tools were used in its erection.' 
Reginald retired from the breakfast-table to a corner 
of the room, and before the party separated, produced 
the beautiful lines which now form part of the poem, 
and which were at a subsequent period, and alas ! on 
a far different occasion, quoted by Sir Charles Edward 
Grey, as illustrative of the manner in which he trusted 
the church of Asia would arise, and in which the 
friend he then mourned was so admirably qualified to 
hasten its growth. On mounting the rostrum to 
recite the poem, Reginald Heber was struck by 
seeing two young ladies of Jewish extraction sitting 
in a conspicuous part of the theatre. The recollection 
of some lines * which reflect severely on their nation 
flashed across his mind, and he determined to spare 
their feelings by softening the passage, which he 
feared would give them pain, as he proceeded ; but it 
was impossible to communicate this intention to his 
brother, who was sitting behind him as prompter, 



" Oh, lives there one who mocks his heartless zeal ! 
Too proud to worship, and too wise to feel? 
Be his the soul with wintry reason blest, 
The dull, lethargic sovereign of the breast ! 
Be his the life that creeps in dead repose, 
No joy that sparkles, and no tear that flows." 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



437 



and who, on the attempt being made, immediately 
checked him, so that he was forced to recite the lines 
as they were originally written. — Life, pp. 30, 31. 

Note 30, Page 404, Column 2. 

An eloquent article on Heber's Hymns in "Black- 
wood's Magazine," and from the beautiful diction 
that pervades it, apparently written by Wilson, 
contains an affecting allusion to the recitation of 
" Palestine." 

"None who heard Reginald Heber recite his 
'Palestine' in that magnificent theatre, will ever 
forget his appearance, so interesting and impressive. 
It was known that his old father was somewhere 
sitting among the crowded audience, when his uni- 
versally admired son ascended the rostrum ; and we 
have heard that the sudden thunder of applause that 
then arose so shook his frame, weak and wasted by 
long illness, that he never recovered it, and may be 
said to have died of the joy dearest to a parent's heart. 
Reginald Heber's recitation, like that of all poets we 
have heard recite, was altogether untrammelled by 
the critical laws of elocution, which were not set 
at defiance, but either by the poet unknown or for- 
gotten ; and there was a charm in his somewhat 
melancholy voice, that occasionaUy faltered, less from 
a feeling of solemnity, and even grandeur of the 
scene of which he was himself the conspicuous object, 
though that feeling did suffuse his pale and ingenuous 
countenance, than from the deeply felt sanctity of his 
subject, comprehending the most awful mysteries of 
God's revelations to man." 

(Written in 1830.) 
A Magazine, 

" That grins immensely at its own sagacity," 

some time since informed its readers, that the present 
writer had "written for the Newdigate and failed." 
It would be needless to contradict this and similar 
atrocious absurdities, were there not an imbecile race 
in the world of letters always prompt to believe what 
is absurd, and to quote what is malicious. For their 
benefit, be it remarked, — without the faintest sneer 
at a poem which Heber consecrated, and Milman has 
adorned, — that the glorious uncertainty of the 
"Newdigate" has not been endured by the present 
author ; nor is it probable that it ever will. 

In the course of this volume incidental allusions 
have been made to contemporary criticism ; no can- 
did reader will mistake or misapply them. It would 
be a censorious foppery for any man, whatever his rank 
in literature, to express unlimited contempt for an 
art in which many of the most accomplished and pro- 
found scholars of the day are engaged ; and laughable 
bigotry to deny the wit, eloquence, and brilliancy, 
from time to time exhibited in our modern reviews. 
But while we allow the excellences of criticism, we 
cannot be blind to the theoretic dulness, flimsy sar- 
casm, and monotonous twaddle, which distinguish a 
great part of it. Of late, a new class of critics has 
arisen, composed chiefly of bankrupt prosers, and 
miscellaneous rhymers, whom Pope has christened, 
" Grub-street poets run to seed."* At present they 
are trying an experiment with public taste, — whether 
"criticism," diseased with prejudice, and bloated 
with vulgarity, will be popularly relished, and meet 



* Bad poets become malevolent critics, just as weak 
wine turns to vinegar. — Southey. 



with success. Their whole power consists in noise 
and nonsense, and with these they make a most 
industrious rattle from week to week and month to 
month. 

But let no reader consider these remarks as intended 
to excite indignation against a mournful race of men, 
who are too often compelled to eat the bread of 
infamy, and, under the name of critics, unite the 
double character of poltroons and maligners. Rather 
let him change contempt into the Christian feeling of 
pity. For are they not to be pitied, who are born- 
wretched— and die? He may indeed, on observing 
the swagger of their style, and the mock-heroism 
exhibited in their " defence of public taste," — imagine 
them to be the happiest fellows alive. Yet were he 
to single' one out of the herd for minute observation, 
how often would he discover him to be a shrivelled 
unfortunate, gnawed by disappointment, or jaundiced 
by despair ! — one who has indeed been a writer of 
all work— the Helot of literature. Tragedies that 
were never acted, poems that were never read, and 
novels that were never sold, are his to claim. He has 
murdered for morning papers, and set houses on fire 
for evening journals, and yet remains unknown. 
Amid such disasters, let a generous mind pause ere it 
condemn him whom circumstances have twisted into 
a degenerate hireling. When the petty rivalries of 
the hour are forgotten, and truth alone is remembered, 
the retrospections of such a character are by no means 
enviable. To him belongs not the smile of the good, 
nor the friendship of the great : as he has lived to 
be degraded, so will he die to be forgotten. 



"be one poet's praise, 



That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long, 
But stoop'd to truth, and moralised his song, 
Laugh'd at the loss of friends he never had, 
The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad ; 
The tale revived, the he so oft o'erthrown, 
Th' imputed trash, and dulness. not his own. " 



Note 31, Page 404, Column 2. 

" When Reginald Heber returned from the theatre, 
surrounded by his friends, with every hand stretched 
out to congratulate, and every voice raised to praise 
him, he withdrew from the circle ; and his mother, 
who, impatient of his absence, went to look for him, 
found him in his room, on his knees, giving thanks 
to God, not so much for the talents which had, on 
that day, raised him to honour, but that those 
talents had enabled him to bestow unmixed happiness 
on his parents." — Life, vol. i. p. 33. 

The following sketch of Heber by a contemporary, 
while residing in the university, after his political 
triumph, will be read with deep interest. 

" At a time when, with the enthusiasm of the place 
I had rather caught by heart than learnt "Palestine," 
and when it was a privilege of any one of any age to 
know Heber, I had the delight of forming his acquaint- 
ance. I cannot forget the feeling of admiration with 
which, in the autumn of 1803, I approached his 
presence, or the surprise with which I contrasted my 
abstract image of him with his own simple, social, 
every-day manner. He talked and laughed like those 
around him, and entered into the pleasures of the 
day with them, and with their relish ; but when any 
higher subject was introduced, (and he was never 
slow to introduce literature at least, and to draw 
from his exhaustless memory riches of every kind,) 
his manner became his own. He never looked up at 



his hearers, but with his eyes downcast and fixed, 
poured forth in a measured intonation, which from 
him became fashionable, stores of every age ; the old 
romances ; Spenser ; some of our early prose writers ; 
of Scott's published works ; or verses of his own. I 
speak not of one day only, but of my general recol- 
lection of his habits as after that day witnessed 
often. Even at this time, however, he was a very 
severe student, and made up in hard reading at 
night, the time given to society and lighter pursuits 
in the evening." — Life, pp. 345 — 348. 

Note 32, Page 405, Column 1. 

A beautiful letter, descriptive of Heber's character 
in India, must not be omitted in these biographical 
illustrations : — 

" My Lord, — I know not how to refrain from ven- 
turing in some allusion to the general sentiments of 
deep interest and lively gratification excited by your 
lordship's visit to this place (Benares), and the very 
sincere regrets which have followed your departure. 
Of all the pleasing impressions which your lordship 
has left to commemorate your brief sojourn amongst 
us, I will not here presume to speak ; but I may hope 
your lordship will not be displeased with the brief 
assurance that your visit has been productive of 
much good in this community, in points essentially 
connected with those high and sacred interests which 
are so peculiarly under your charge, and even so 
near to all the movements of your heart. For the 
mention of my own individual share in the grateful 
impressions your lordship has diffused amongst us, 
I will hope to have found an admissible excuse with 
your lordship, while I ascribe some portions of it to 
associations awakened by your presence, recalling to 
my mind the days of other times, the scenes of 
my youth, and of my native land; and many a 
recollection of no light or ordinary interest, to one 
who has wandered so far and so long from the dulce 
domum of his early life. Your lordship will readily 
conceive how this might be; and thus it will 
hardly seem strange to you, that the strains of pious 
and holy instruction, which fixed so impressive a 
record of our first visitation by a protestant prelate 
on the minds of us all, should have spoken with 
peculiar emphasis to one, who, after many a year of 
toil and exile in a foreign clime, recognised in the 
accents which now preached the word of the living 
God, amid the favourite abodes of heathen idolatry, 
that self-same voice, which in the days of youthful 
enthusiasm, and ardent and undamped fancy, had 
poured on his delighted ear the lay that sung the 
sacred theme of the Redeemer's hand, amid the long- 
loved haunts of his Alma Mater ; amid the venerated 
temples of the religion of our fathers. But let me 
not give a licence to my pen, which may seem to 
bespeak me forgetful of the high value of your lord- 
ship's time. Permit me, my lord, to conclude with 
unfeigned and most fervent wishes for your long 
enjoyment of health and vigour, for the gratification 
of all the hopes with which you contemplate the 
interesting journey before you, and for the success 
of every plan which you may form for the advance- 
ment of those concerns of eternal moment which 
have been so happily entrusted to your lordship's 
care. 

" I remain, my lord, 
" Most respectfully and sincerely yours, 

" NORMAX MACLEOD." 

(Life, pp. 212-244.) 



PART II. 

Note 33, Page 410, Column 2. 

The sublime hopes which are awakened by the 
circulation of the Scriptures suggest the name of one, 
whose pure spirit now brightens in the presence of 
his Maker, but whose memory lives in the hearts of 
all who revere the faith of an apostle, and the devo- 
tion of a martyr, — Henry Martyn, late fellow of 
St. John's College, Cambridge. He who can peruse 
the biography of his glorious mind — as exhibited 
amid fearful toils and Christian labours, in a far and 
deathful clime — without emotion, must be "more or 
less than man. " 

' ' By him, and by his means, part of the Liturgy 
of the Church of England, the Parables, and the 
whole of the New Testament, were translated into 
Hindoostanee ! By him, and by his means, also, the 
Psalms of David and the New Testament were ren- 
dered into Persian ! By him also the prophet of 
Mecca was daringly exposed, and the truths of 
Christianity openly vindicated, in the very heart and 
centre of a Mahometan empire ! — Surely, as long as 
England shall be celebrated for that pure and apos- 
tolical church, of which he was so great an ornament, 
the name of the subject of this memoir will not 
wholly be forgotten ; and whilst some shall delight 
to gaze on the splendid sepulchre of Xavier, and 
others choose rather to ponder over the granite stone 
which covers all that is mortal of Schwartz ; there 
will not be wanting those who will think of the 
humble and unfrequented grave of Henry Martyn." 
— Memoir by Sargext. 

Note 34, Page 411, Column 2. 

To atone for the jealousies which too often disgrace 
the annals of mind, a delightful train of literary 
friendships may be adduced. Those familiar with 
intellectual biography will recall the names of Scipio 
and Lselius, Erasmus and Sir Thomas More, Mon- 
taigne and Charrou, Petrarch and Boccaccio, Beaumont 
and Fletcher, Addison and Steele, West and Gray. 
Cowley has a beautiful allusion to a literary friend- 
ship : — 

" Say, for ye saw us, ye immortal lights ! 
How oft unwearied have we spent the nights, 
Till the Ledean stars, so famed for love, 
Wonder'd at us from above. — 

" "We spent them not in toys, in lust, or wine, 
But search of deep philosophy, 
Wit, eloquence, and poetry ; 
Arts which I loved, for they, my friend, were 
thine." 

This passage is matched by one in Persius : 

" Tecum etenim longos memini consumere soles, 
Et tecum primas epulis decerpere noctes. 
Unum opus, et requiem pariter disponimus ambo, 
Atque verecunda laxamus seria mensa. " 

Sat. v. 40—44. 

Note 35, Page 415, Column 1. 

" At the dissolution, the great bell at Christ's 

Church, commonly called 'Tom,' was taken from 

the tower of the monastery of Osney; it was then 

placed in the campanile of the tower of Christ Church 

i Cathedral, whence it was removed to its present 



BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 



439 



situation, after the completion of the tower by 
Sir Christopher Wren. Prior to its being recast, it 
bore the following inscription : ' In Thomse laude 
resona Bim Bom sine fraude ; ' its present inscription 
is, 'Magnus Thomas Oxoniensis.'" — Vide Skelton's 
Oxonia Antigua Restaurata. 

Note 36, Tage 416, Column 1. 
Chatterton, 

"The marvellous boy, 

The sleepless soul that perish'd in its pride." 

Midnight studies and midnight agonies were not 
unknown to him. Poor, proud, and persecuted, 
alone in the wilderness of London, with a genius 
restless as it was extraordinary, — how often did the 
daylight shine upon his sunken brow and shattered 
frame ! Kirke White was equally a victim to the 
fascinations of midnight study. Several pathetic 
allusions to this fatal luxury are sprinkled over 
his productions. In a poem entitled " Time," he 
exclaims — 

' ' The night's my own ; they cannot steal my night ! 
When ev'ning lights her folding star on high 
I live and breathe : and in the sacred hours 
Of quiet and repose, my spirit flies, 
Free as the morning, o'er the realms of space. " 

While on the subject of Chatterton and Kirke White, 
may we venture to add, that the mind of the former 
was of far more original grasp than that of the latter ; 
yet how different have been their poetical destinies ! 
The beauty of White's moral has reflected a bright- 
ness over his intellectual character ; and it is well for 
mankind that it has done so ; for virtue is worth a 
thousand talents. 

Lord Orford has thus appreciated the genius of 
Chatterton : 

" His life should be compared with the powers of 
his mind, the perfection of his poetry, his knowledge 
of the world, which, though in some respects erro- 
neous, spoke quick intuition ; his humour, his vein 
of satire, and, above all, the amazing number of 



books he must have looked into, though chained 
down to a laborious and almost incessant service, 
and confined to Bristol, except at most for the last 
five months* of his life ; the rapidity with which he 
seized all the topics of conversation then in vogue, 
whether of politics, literature, or fashion ; and when, 
added to all this mass of reflection, it is remembered 
that his youthful passions were indulged to excess, 
faith in such a prodigy may be well suspended ; and 
we should look for some secret agent behind the 
curtain, if it were not as difficult to believe that any 
man who possessed such a vein of genuine poetry 
would have submitted to he concealed, while he 
actuated a puppet ; or would have stooped to pro- 
stitute his muse to so many unworthy functions. But 
nothing in Chatterton can be separated from Chat- 
terton. His ablest flight, his sweetest strains, his 
grossest ribaldry, and his most commonplace imita- 
tions of the productions of magazines, were all the 
effervescences of the same ungovernable impulse, 
which, chameleon-like, imbibed the colours of all it 
looked on. It was Ossian, or a Saxon monk, or Gray, 
or Smollett, or Junius ; and if it failed most in 
what it most affected to be, a poet of the fifteenth 
century, it was because it could not imitate what had 
not existed." 



Note 37, Page 416, Column 1. 

" Solitude and society may be illustrated by a lake 
and a river. In the one, indeed, we can view the 
heavens more calmly and distinctly ; but we can also 
see our image more clearly, and are in danger of the 
sin of Narcissus ; while in the river, the view both 
of the heavens and ourselves is more broken and 
disturbed ; but health and fertility is scattered 
round." — From Wolfe's Juvenile Papers. "Kemoved 
from the soft intercourse of domestic life, our feelings 
are not mellowed into that tendency which is so 
congenial to the spirit of Christian love. Living in 
solitude, the undisputed lords of our dwelling, and 
with no inclinations to consult but our own, the 
harshness of our tempers is not worn down by colli- 
sion, nor the selfishness of our dispositions subdued 
by the habit of our yielding to the wishes of others." 
— Benson's Hulsean Lectures. — 20th. 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY OF EMINENT CHARACTERS CONNECTED 
WITH THE UNIVERSITY. 



In compiling the following summary, which it is 
presumed will not be found useless as a literary 
reference, the author was greatly indebted to Chalmers' 
list, extracted from the "Athense," and other colle- 
giate records. His acknowledgments are also due 
to Mr. Skelton, whose magnificent work, "Pietas 
Oxoniensis," is alike honourable to his genius and his 
country. 

MERTON COLLEGE.* 

FOUNDED iN 1264. 

Duns Scotus ; John Wickliffe ; Sir Thomas Bodley ; 
Sir Henry Savile; the pious John Hales; William 



* Wood, in his "Athense," mentions the following 



Harvey (discoverer of the circulation of the blood) ; 
Bradwardine and Islip, Archbishops of Canterbury ; 

curious customs as existing at this college in his 
time : — 

"There are various fires of charcole made in the 
common Hall, on All Saints' Eve, &c. &c. At all 
these fires every night, which began to be made a 
little after five of the clock, the senior under-gra- 
duates would bring into the Hall the juniors, or 
freshmen, and make them sit down on a forme in 
the middle of the Hall, joining to the declaimer's 
desk ; which done, every one in order was to speak 
some pretty apothegme, or make a jest, or bull, 
or speak some eloquent nonsense, to make the 



440 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



Hooper, the martyred Bishop of Gloucester ; Dr. 
Jewell, of Salisbury ; Dr. Carletou, of Chichester ; 
and Grimoald, poet ; Heywood, ditto ; Dr. Goulston ; 
Sir Isaac Wake ; Dr. Bainbridge ; Devereux, Earl of 
Essex ; Farnaby ; Francis Cheynell ; Samuel Clarke, 
the orientalist; Hugh Cressy, the Roman-catholic 
historian ; Anthony Wood, the Oxford historian ; Sir 
Richard Steele, at one time postmaster here ; Beres- 
ford, the author of that amusing work, "The Miseries 
of Human Life ; " and Dr. Edward Nares, the Burghley 
historian, &c. 



UNIVERSITY COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1280. 

Prelates.— Walter Skirlaw, Bishop of Durham, ob. 
1405; Richard Flemming, Bishop of Lincoln, and 
founder of Lincoln College ; John Sherwood, Bishop 
of Durham ; Ridley, the martyr, sometime fellow 
here, afterwards of Cambridge ; Dr. Tobie Matthew, 
Archbishop of York ; Bancroft, Bishop of Oxford ; 
Potter, Archbishop of Canterbury, and author of 
"Grecian Antiquities," &c. &c. ; Dr. C. Littleton, 
Bishop of Carlisle, and President of the Society of 
Antiquaries ; Bishop Jeremy Taylor. 

Richard Stanny hurst, poet and critic ; the learned 
family of the Digges ; Leonard and Thomas, mathe- 
maticians ; Sir George Croke, chief-justice of England ; 
Lord Herbert of Cherbury ; General Langbaine, the 
first biographer of dramatic writers ; Dr. Dudley 
Loftus, the oriental scholar; Dr. John Hudson, 
keeper of the Bodleian library ; Flavel, the noncon- 
formist ; Dr. Radcliffe, afterwards of Lincoln ; Rev. 
Joseph Bingham, author of " Origines Ecclesiasticae ; " 
William Elstob ; Carte, the historian, took his first 
degree here, previously to his removing to Cambridge ; 
Jago, the poet, and friend of Shenstone ; Sir Robert 
Chambers, Vinerian Professor in 1777; Sir William 
Jones, whose monument by Flaxman was presented 
to his college by Lady Flaxman ; Sir Roger Newdigate, 
the founder of the " Newdigate Prize ; " Lord Eldon, 
the late Lord High Chancellor of England ; Lord 
Stowell ; and Shelley. 



company laugh ; but if any of the freshmen came off 
dull, or not cleverly, some of the forward or prag- 
matical seniors would tuck them — that is, set the 
nail of their thumb to then chin, just under their 
lip, and, by the help of their other fingers under the 
chin, would give them a mark, which would some- 
times produce blood ! " — On Shrove Tuesday, Feb. 15, 
(1647), we are told that "brass pots full of caudle, at 
the freshmen's charge, after the Hall was free from 
the fellowes, was brought up and set before the fire. 
Afterwards, every freshman, according to seniority, 
was to pluck off his gowne and band, and, if possible, 
to make himself look like a scoundrell. This done, 
they were conducted, each after the other, to the high 
table, and there made to stand on a form placed 
thereon ; from whence they were to speak their 
speech with an audible voice, to the company ; which, 
if well done, the person that spoke it was to have a 
cup of caudle, and no salted drinke ; but if dull, 
nothing was given him but salted drinke, or salt put 
in college beer, with tucks to boot. Afterward, when 
they were to be admitted into the fraternity, the 
senior fellow was to administer to them an oath, over 
an old shoe, part of which runs thus : — Item tu juratis 
quod Penniless," &c. &c. 



(1830.) 

[Note. — Moore says that Shelley's life was "a bright 
but erroneous dream." Bright, indeed, as to what it 
hoped, but dark and dismal in all that it experienced ! 
The writer of this has obtained some biographical 
recollections relative to Shelley's character and 
conduct at Oxford ; and to the conclusion of this note 
is appended a sketch by his accomplished friend and 
relative, Medwin, and also a record from the pen of 
one thoroughly acquainted with Shelley's life while at 
college. Those who admire genius, but lament its 
desecration, will be gratified by a fact alluded to in 
Medwin's remarks — viz., that Shelley never intended 
the publication of "Queen Mab," and that his 
maturer years regretted the deadly spirit of scepticism 
which polluted the notes of the first edition. A late 
biographer (vide the memoir attached to the ' ' Beauties 
of Shelley ") talks of his attacking "the commonly 
received notions of the being of a God." This may 
be charity, but is by no means truth. The pamphlet 
here alluded to was entitled, " The Necessity of 
Atheism," and, in harmony with some of the 
doctrines in the notes to " Queen Mab," was imbued 
with odious and horrible sentiments. The university 
has been unwisely and unjustly censured by certain 
writers, for its expulsion of Shelley on the appearance 
of his pamphlet. They have talked about liberality, 
but have shown none. Strange and unnatural as it 
may appear to their views, there are many in Oxford 
who think that a university, based on the immortal 
truths of the Gospel, ought not to license and en- 
courage blasphemy, however gilded by genius. Had 
Shelley privately consulted with his seniors, he might 
not have escaped censure, yet he certainly would have 
received advice and warning ; but when he openly 
dared the university, and violated the whole spirit of 
her discipline, by the publication of an atheistic 
pamphlet, there remained but one course to be 
promptly and peremptorily pursued. 

With regard, however, to the reviews which after- 
wards appeared on Shelley's poems, there can be but 
one opinion with an honest mind. 

Periodicals were then in their mid-noon glory ; they 
held a kind of papal dominion over the taste and 
poetical creed of their readers ; they could shout 
nonsense into fame, or hiss genius into obscurity, 
when and where they pleased. Shelley was a fine 
subject for their abuse. Under the mask of saintly 
enthusiasm, they could attack the man, and, by a 
mean and merciless style of criticism, they could 
contrive to dissect his poems into trash and absurdity. 
Shelley's poetry has no flesh and blood in it ; it is all 
ethereality and disembodied mind : his utterances 
are those of a lone, lofty, and melancholy spirit, too 
sublime for the many, and too obscure for the 
worshippers of homely truth and external realities. 
It was easy, therefore, to distort his language, to 
cloud his meaning, and to present the author of " The 
Cenci" to the public eye as a mass of poetical 
deformity, only to be seen in order to be shunned. 

This was not the way to reclaim a great but erring 
soul — the malice and envy of these writers were too 
palpable— yet the effect on the public was prodigious. 
Shelley was exiled, and his after works fell dead from 
the press. 

But the time of re-action has come, and the venal 
tyranny of reviews is over, It is no longer deemed 
requisite that in order to be read, an author must be 
a member of a clique which directs a review ; in short, 
it has been discovered that critics, like the popes, are 



BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 



441 



not infallible ; and the proscribed Shelley has been 
brought back to the admiration of his country, in 
glory and triumph. Lamenting, as all do, who think 
that one ray of genuine Christianity will do more to 
enlighten the hopes and destiny of man than all the 
blaze of genius apart from this, they will peruse the 
pages of Shelley with mixed and mournful thought ; 
yet a benevolent spirit will delight to gaze on the 
brightness rather than the darkness of a genius, 
whose works are too far removed from the toil and 
turbulence of daily life ever to be popular, or hold 
a Shaksperian sway over the feelings of the general 
mind. 

"Like hues and harmonies of evening, 
Like clouds in starlight widely spread, 
Like memory of music fled, 
Like aught that for its grace may be 
Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery." 

These lines, from his "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty," 
might be said to describe the evanescent magic of 
Shelley's poetry. His soul dwelt apart from the 
coarseness and sternness of actual life, amid the bright 
and exquisite conceptions of an imagined world. 
Never was there a mind more enamoured of the 
beautiful, or a heart more attuned to sympathy with 
all that is sublime in nature, or profound in man. 
His odes rouse the dead feelings into a glorious life, 
and many of his dramatic passages reveal to us the 
gloom, the glory, and the agony of human destiny, 
with a startling apocalypse, and with an awful truth. 
Milton himself scarcely surpassed him in the full and 
faultless harmony of his numbers, and the magical 
richness of his language. But " Adonais" is 



Like some frail exhalation, which the dawn 
Robes in its golden beams ! " — 

and it were vain to speculate to what an exaltation 
and holy change of sentiment a spirit like his might 
have arrived ; many of his doubts might have been 
dispelled ; many of the harsh thoughts which occa- 
sionally jangled the melodious chords of his mind 
might have vanished, and Shelley might have stood 
forth in the unclouded majesty of genius, had it 
pleased Him, to whom the fiat of life and death, 
belongs, to have spared him. As it is, we can 
only say, peace to the young, the gifted, and the 
dead ! ] 

The following is Medwin's brief recollection of 
Shelley :— 

"Shelley was sent to University College because 
bis father, Sir Timothy, had been at that college, and 
Sir Philip Sidney a benefactor of it. He was only 
seventeen when he went there, and kept very few 
terms — not more than three, I think. His studies 
were anything but academical — German, chemistry, 
electricity. He used to charge the lock of the door, 
to give the scout a shock, laughing immoderately 
thereat. Though a tolerably good Latin scholar, he 
knew at that time little Greek, reading Plato (after- 
wards his constant companion) through a French 
translation. Although there were many Etonians 
of his standing at Oxford, he sought the acquaintance 
of none. The only one of his fellow collegiates with 
whom he was intimate was Hogg, who entertained 
congenial opinions with him on metaphysical subjects, 
and was expelled with him, for having been partly 
the author of a treatise called the "Necessity of 
Atheism." This silly work was enclosed by Shelley to 



the heads of colleges, the examining masters, and, I 
believe, the bench of bishops ; the letter containing a 
challenge to argue the non-existence of a God in the 
schools. The consequence of such a step was 
obvious ; he was called before his tutor, and, refusing 
to retract, was expelled. 

"At Oxford he pi-inted (I think at Parker's) a 
volume of poems, called the ' ' Posthumous Works of 
my Aunt Peg Nicholson, "* and wrote a Romance, 
entitled, ' St. Irvyn, or the Rosicrucian, ' of which no 
copy, I imagine, exists. There are several short 
poems interspersed in the volume ; I send you one as 
a specimen. The first lines are imitated from 
Byron's lines, beginning 'Shades of the dead,' &c, 
in the ' Hours of Idleness. ' 

" Shelley also began ' Queen Mab ' at Oxford. 

"He never sanctioned the publication of this 
extraordinary poem. It was, in fact, printed from 
the manuscript that fell accidentally into the hands 
of the publisher ; and there exists a copy of the first 
edition, corrected by the hand of Shelley himself, 
containing most important alterations and corrections, 
and additions, which would show how materially he 
had modified his opinions. This revision was made at 
Marlow. 

" Shelley's character has been much misunderstood. 
His whole life was one aspiration for the good of his 
species. Whether his writings have such a tendency 
is another question ; but they are too sublimated and 
noble to make many proselytes — they escape common 
understandings — however the glittering veil of his 
poetry may render attraction to a few of his ab- 
stractions. 

" I remember, as though I saw him yesterday, even 
at this time, the fearlessness of his nature contrasted 
strangely with his slight, boyish, almost feminine 
appearance. Shelley more resembled Rousseau than 
any other writer. But Rousseau's object was to 
excite wonder by paradox. Not so Shelley. How- 
ever mistaken might be his philosophy, he was 
sincere in it ! 

" I copy the lines, as promised : — 

' Ghosts of the dead ! have I not heard your yelling 
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast 
When o'er the dark ether the tempest is swelling, 
And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal past ? 

' For oft have I stood on the dark height of Jura, 
Which frowns on the valley that opens beneath ; 
Oft have I braved the chill night tempest's fury, 
Whilst around me, I thought, echo'd murmurs of 
death. 

' And now, whilst the winds of the mountain are 
* howling, 

O father ! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear ; 
In air, whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling, 
It breaks on the pause of the element's jar. 

' On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o'er 
the mountain, 
Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead ; 
On the mist of the tempest which hangs o'er the 
fountain, 
Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head ! 
"T. Medwin." 



* "Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson. 
Printed and published by Munday & Slatter. 



442 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



"Oxford, Dec. 18, 1833. 

"Dear Sir, — I at last sit down to give my long 
promised sketch of Shelley at Oxford. The present 
is perhaps the most fitting time, as it may serve to 
illustrate your third edition of ' Oxford.' 

"Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley was brought to Oxford 
by his father, now Sir Timothy Shelley, at a very 
tender age, 'tis true, but with a highly cultivated 
understanding. He placed him at his own college 
(University), and Sir Timothy himself, not liking the 
accommodations of an inn, went to his old quarters, 
and remained a few days at the house he had formerly 
lodged at, when himself at the university, and near 
the Angel inn. It was a house rendered remarkable 
from its having a leaden horse,* and two large leaden 
ornaments, or flower-pots, on the balcony, emblema- 
tical of the trade of a plumber, and the last remnants 
of the sort in Oxford. While lodging there with the 
son of his former host, he made anxious inquiries 
respecting the family of his departed old friend, as 
he was pleased to style him, and learned that one of 
the sons was about embarking as partner with a 
bookseller and printer. Thither Sir Timothy repaired 
with his son, and gave him a particular injunction to 
buy whatever he required in books and stationery of 
the aforesaid parties. Sir Timothy, moreover, said, 
' My son here,' pointing to him, 'has a literary turn ; 
he is already an author, and do pray indulge him in 
his printing freaks.' One of the works alluded to 
was his Romance of 'St. Irvyn; or, the Rosicrucian.' 
He soon put the parties to the test, by writing some 
fugitive poetry, entitled, ' Posthumous Fragments of 
Margaret Xicholson,' a work almost still-born, and 
directing the profits to be applied to Peter Finnerty. 
The ease with which he composed many of the 
stanzas therein contained, is truly astomshing, 
When surprised with a proof from the printers in the 
morning, he would frequently start off his sofa, 
exclaiming, that that had been his only bed, and on 
being informed that the men were waiting for more 
copy, he would sit down and write off a few stanzas, 
and send them to the press, without even revising or 
reading them. This I have myself witnessed, f 
***** * 

"About this same period he wrote a novel (in con- 
junction, I have since learned, with Mr. Hogg, of the 
same college), entitled, ' Leonora, ' which was com- 
menced at the same press, but the printers refused 
to proceed with it, in consequence of discovering that 
he had interwoven his free notions throughout the 
work, and at the same time strongly endeavoured to 
dissuade him from its publication altogether ; but this 
was disregarded, and he afterwards took the copy to 
Mr. King, the printer at Abingdon, who had nearly 
completed the work, but was stopped in its further 
progress, by the circumstance of Mr. Shelley's 
expulsion from Oxford, with his friend and associate, 
Mr. Hogg. 

"Mr. Shelley's various publications caused him 
frequently to call on his printers, with whom he 
entered freely into conversation ; they therefore felt a 

* This said horse has been the subject of frequent 
hoaxes to unwary freshmen, many of whom have 
applied, booted and spurred, anxious to ride a horse 
that has been so much extolled for its beauty and 
gentleness. 

t The asterisks here are intended to denote certain 
remarks, which, as they related to pecuniary matters, 
may be wisely omitted. 



most anxious solicitude for his welfare, and used more 
than ordinary endeavours to reclaim the waywardness 
of his imagination ; and, on one occasion in particular, 
they applied to a literary friend,* then residing in 
Oxford, to meet him, in order to canvass and combat 
his extraordinary opinions. They appeared to make 
a strong impression at the time ; but, as a well known 
writer expresses, — 

' He that's convinced against his will, 
Is of the same opinion still. ' 

The same gentleman also undertook to analyse his 
arguments, and endeavour to refute them philosophi- 
cally, which he afterwards did at considerable length ; 
but Mr. Shelley said, ' that he would rather meet any 
or all the dignitaries of the church, than one 
philosopher,' and ultimately refused to reply in 
writing to the philosophical arguments adduced by 
this writer. 

" The pamphlet for which Mr. Shelley was expelled 
his college was entitled, ' The Necessity of Atheism, 'f 
and he himself strewed the shop windows and 
counters of his bookseller in Oxford, unknown to 
them, but gave instructions to their shopman to sell 
them as fast as he could, and at the charge of sixpence 
each. Shortly afterwards, a judicious friend of the 
booksellers, a fellow of a college, J dropped in, and was 
attracted, by the novelty of the title, to examine the 
contents of the pamphlet. He immediately desired 
to see one or both the principals, and at once 
inveighed against the dangerous tendency of such a 
pamphlet, and advised the destruction of them forth- 
with. This was immediately complied with, and 
they proceeded into a back kitchen and burned them, 
in this gentleman's presence. At the same time, 
these booksellers sent a request to Mr. Shelley, to be 
allowed a few minutes' conversation with him at their 
house ; he came instanter, and it so happened that 
Councillor Clifford, of O.P. notoriety, was in the 
house, and being made acquainted with the subject, 
and at the earnest request of the booksellers, under- 
took, in conjunction with the parties above named, to 
use his best endeavours by entreaties, till entreaty 
seemed of no avail, and next by threats, to dissuade 
him from the error of his ways, for the sake of him- 
self, his friends, and connections. All seemed of no 
avail; he appeared to glory in the course he had 
adopted, and said that he had sent a copy of his 
pamphlet to every bishop in the kingdom, to the vice- 
chancellor, and the other heads of houses in Oxford, 
and other dignitaries, addressing them under the 
fictitious signature of 'Jeremiah Stukeley.' 
" I am, Sir, your obedient servant, 

" Hexky Slatteb." 



* Mr. Hobbes, author of " The Widower," a poem. 

t Printed at Worthing, by C. & W. Phillips, to whom 
a friendly hint was sent by Munday &, Slatter, warning 
them of the dangerous tendency of disseminating 
such vile principles, and the liability they ran of a 
prosecution by the attorney-general, at the same 
time advising the destruction of every remaining 
copy, together with the MS. copy, types, &c. 

t The Rev. John Walker, B.C.L., Fellow of Xew 
College, and afterwards Vicar of Hornchurch, Essex, 
editor of the "Oxoniana,"4 vols.; "A Selection of 
curious Articles from the Gentleman's Magazine ; " 
4 vols. ; and some other valuable works, also, the 
author of a pamphlet, entitled, " Curia Oxoniensis." 



BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 



443 



BALIOL COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1282. 

Prelates— Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
second perpetual chancellor of the university; 
Dr. John Douglas, Bishop of Salisbury, who detected 
the impostures of Lauder and Bower, and ably 
advocated the miracles of the Christian faith. 

Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, founder of the 
Bodleian; John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester, who 
presented some valuable MSS. to the university; the 
celebrated lawyers, Sir John Popham, Lord Coventry, 
Sir Humphrey Davenport, and Sir Kobert Atkyns ; 
Dr. Thomas Holland ; Tobias Crisp, founder of the 
Antinomian sect ; John Evelyn ; Dr. Charles 
Davenant, son of the poet ; Dr. David Gregory ; Keil 
and Bradley, the Astronomers; Dr. William King; 
Hutchins, the historian of Dorsetshire ; James West, 
President of the Royal Society; Robert Southey, 
Poet Laureate, &c. &c. ; Lockhart, editor of the 
Quarterly, &c. &c. ; C. Girdlestone ; C. T. Collins ; 
J. Campbell, &c. 

EXETER COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1314. 

Pi-elates. — Dr. Bayley, Bishop of Bangor, author of 
"The Practice of Piety;" Dr. Prideaux, Bishop of 
Worcester ; Dr. Bull, Bishop of St. David's, one of 
the ablest champions of our church ; and Archbishop 
Seeker. 

John de Trevisa, translator of Higden's "Polychro- 
nicon ; " Sir John Fortescue, the eminent lawyer ; 
Sir George More ; Browne, the poet, author of 
"Britannia's Pastorals;" Robert Hayman, a poet of 
less renown ; Lord Falkland ; Sir John Doddridge ; 
Su- William Noy, attorney-general; Sir Anthony, 
Nicholas, and Thomas Fitzherbert ; Diggory Wheare, 
first Camden Professor ; James, Duke of Hamilton, 
beheaded for his attachment to Charles I. ; Dr. 
Arthur Duck ; Lord Chief Justice Rolle ; Sir Simon 
Baskerville ; Joseph Caryll, the commentator on the 
book of Job ; John Poulett, Marquis of Winchester, 
whose epitaph Diyden writ, as Milton did that of the 
Marchioness ; Thomas Brancker, mathematician ; 
Lord Shaftesbury ; Quick, the ecclesiastical historian ; 
Dr. Gideon Harvey ; Anstis, the heraldist ; Dr. 
Walker, historian of the loyal clergy ; Maundrell, the 
traveller ; Samuel Wesley, father of the founder of 
Methodism ; Dr. Borlase ; Sir Michael Foster ; Mr. 
Lewis, of Margate, the biographer; Norris, the 
Platonist ; Upton, the editor of Epictetus ; Toup, of 
classic fame ; Tindal, the continuator of Rapin ; Hoole, 
the poet ; and Dr. Kennicot. 



ORIEL COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1326. 

Prelates. — Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury; 
Dr. Butler, Bishop of Durham, author of the cele- 
brated "Analogy;" Bishop Mant ; Dr. Whately, 
Archbishop of Dublin ; and Dr. Edward Copleston, 
Bishop of Llandaff. 

Robert Langlande, supposed author of "Pierce 
Plowman ; " Alexander Barclay, translator of the 
' ' Ship of Fools " — Warton thinks his five eclogues 
the first which appeared in the English language ; 
Dr. Edgeworth, a Popish writer ; Morgan Philips, the 
sophister ; Peter White, ejected Dean of Waterford ; 



Sir Walter Raleigh ; Prynne, the republicanist and 
antiquary ; Richard Brathwaite, a poet and wit ; 
Sir William Scroggs, and Sir John Holt, Lord Chief- 
Justices of the King's Bench ; Dr. William Berriman ; 
Dr. Edward Bentham, originally of Corpus ; Joseph 
Warton ; Keble, author of a beautiful collection of 
poems, deservedly popular, entitled the ' ' Christian 
Year ; " Drs. Hawkins, Arnold, and Hampden ; 
Baden Powell, Davison, Heberden, Berens, and 
Newman. 

QUEEN'S COLLEGE.* 

FOUNDED IN 1340. 

Prelates. — Cardinal Beaufort, brother to Hemy IV. ; 
Bishops Bainbridge, Robinson, Potter, and Barlow ; 
Dr. Guy Carleton, Bishop of Bristol, afterwards of 
Cirencester ; Dr. Compton, Bishop of London ; Dr. 
William Nicholson, author of the "Historical 
Library ; " Dr. Gibson, Bishop of London, founder 
of the preacherships at Whitehall ; Dr. Tanner, 
Bishop of St. Asaph, author of ' ' Notitia " and 
" Bibliotheca ; " Dr. Van Mildert, Bishop of Llandaff", 
and of Durham in 1826. 

Henry V., whose character was over the great gate 
of the old college, opposite to Edmund Hall ; Bernard 
Gilpin ; Sir Thomas Overbury ; Wingate, an eminent 
lawyer and arithmetician ; Burton, the commentator 
on Antoninus ; Dr. Holyoake, lexicographer ; Sir 
John Davies, poet ; Sir John Banks ; Sir Edward 
Turnour, chief baron ; Dr. Samuel Annesley, an 
eminent nonconformist ; Dr. Lancelot Addison, dean 



* There is a custom at Queen's College to serve 
up every year a boar's head, provided by the mani- 
ciple, against Christmas-day. This boar's head, 
being boiled or roasted, is laid in a great charger, 
covered with a garland of bays or laurel, as broad at 
bottom as the brims of the charger. When the first 
course is served up in the refectory on Christmas-day, 
in the said College, the manciple brings the said 
boar's head from the kitchen up to the high table, 
accompanied with one of the tabarders, who lays Ms 
head on the charger. The tabarder sings a song, 
and when he comes to the chorus, all the scholars 
that are in the refectory join together and sing it : ' — 

The boar's head in hand bear I, 
Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary, 
And, I pray you, masters, merry be. 
[Chorus. — Quotquot estis in convivio, 
Caput Apri defero, 
Reddens laudes Domino. 

The boar's head, as I understand, 

Is the bravest dish in the land, 

Being thus bedeck'd with a gay garland. 

Let us Servire convivio, 

Caput Apri, &c. 

Our steward has provided this, 
In honour of the King of bliss, 
Which on this day to be served is. 

In Reginensi Atrio 

Caput Apri, &C. 1 



1 From a MS. in the Bodleian. Tradition refers 
this ceremony to a deliverance of a scholar of Queen's 
from the attack of a wild boar, which had rushed out 
of Shotover forest, and which he stifled by thrusting 
a volume of Aristotle down his throat ! 



444 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



of Lichfield ; Dr. Thomas Hyde ; Wycherley, the 
poet ; Dr. John Mill, editor of the Greek Testament ; 
Sir John Floyer ; Dr. Edmund Halley, an eminent 
philosopher, and Savilian professor ; Addison, and his 
friend Tickell ; Dr. Hugh Todd, antiquary ; Dr. 
Thomas Smith, biographer ; Dr. John Hudson ; 
Christopher Rawlinson and Edward Thwaitcs, Saxon 
scholars ; Rev. Jeremiah Seed ; Dr. Shaw, the tra- 
veller; Collins, the poet; Dr. John Dalton, the 
reviver of Milton's ' Comus ; ' Edward Row Mores, 
antiquary ; Thomas Tyrwhitt, Editor of Chaucer, 
afterwards fellow of Merton ; Dr. Richard Burn, 
author of the ' Justice of Peace ; ' Dr. George 
Fothergill ; Mitford, the historian ; Jeremy Bentham ; 
Ireland, dean of Westminster ; Dr. Meyrick, author 
of works on "Arms and Armour ; " Lancaster, author 
of the "Harmony of the Law and Gospel." 



NEW COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1386. 

Prelates. — Cranley, Archbishop of Dublin; Chi- 
chele, of Canterbury ; Thomas Beckington, Bishop of 
Bath and Wells ; John Russel, Bishop of Rochester 
and Lincoln, chancellor of England ; William Warham, 
archbishop of Canterbury, patron of Erasmus ; Sher- 
borne, Bishop of Chichester ; Bilson, of Winchester ; 
Lake, of Bath and Wells ; Gunning of Ely ; Turner, of 
Ely ; Kenn, of Bath and Wells ; Bisse, of Hereford ; 
Lavington, of Exeter ; and the illustrious Dr. Robert 
Lowth,* of St. David's, Oxford, and London; George 
Isaac Huntingford, Bishop of Hereford ; Hon. Henry 
Bathurst, of Norwich ; and William Howley, Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury. 

Grocyn, one of the revivers of learning ; Stanbridge, 
the grammarian ; Philpot, civilian and linguist ; 



* At one period of his life, this eloquent divine and 
exquisite scholar came under the critical fangs of the 
controversial Warburton ; but the author of the 
"Divine Legation, "in Lowth, met with an antagonist 
who was not to be silenced by sarcasm, or appalled 
by a sneer. In a pamphlet, entitled "A Letter to the 
Right Rev. Author of the ' Divine Legation, ' demon- 
strated by a late Professor in the University of Oxford, 
2nd Edition, London, 1766," Lowth thus defends 
himself and his University against the attack of 
Warburton : — "But the abuse is not merely personal : 
it goes farther ; it extends even to the place of my 
education, — ' But the learned professor, who has been 
hardly brought up in the keen atmosphere of whole- 
some severities, and early taught to distinguish 
between de facto and de jure,'— Pray, my lord, what 
is it to the purpose where I have been brought up ? 
You charge me with principles of intolerance, adding 
a gentle insinuation also of disaffection to the present 
royal family and government ; you infer these prin- 
ciples, it seems, from the place of my education. Is 
this a necessary consequence ? Is it even a fair con- 
clusion? Had I not your lordship's example to 
justify me, I should think it a piece of extreme im- 
pertinence to inquire, where you were bred ; though 
we might justly plead, in excuse for it, a natural 
curiosity to know where and how such a phenomenon 
was produced. It is commonly said that your lord- 
ship's education was of that particular kind, concern- 
ing which, it is a remark of that great judge of men 
andmanners, Lord Clarendon, (on whom you have con- 
ferred the unrivalled title of ' Chancellor of Human 
Nature '), that it peculiarly disposes men to be proud, 



Talbot, antiquarian ; Pullaine, poet and translator ; 
Harding, opposer of Bishop Jewell; Fowler, the 
learned printer ; Nicholas Saunders ; Sir Henry 
Sydney, father of Sir Philip ; Thomas Neale ; Dr. 
Baley ; Turberville, the poet ; Christopher Johnson, 
Latin poet ; Thomas Stapleton Lloyd, master of Win- 
chester school ; Pits, one of our early biographers ; 
Bastard and Owen, the epigrammatists ; John Bond, 
the commentator ; Dr. Thomas James, first librarian 
at the Bodleian ; Herbert, the poet ; Sir Henry 
Wotton; Sir Henry Martin; Dr. Zouch; Thomas 
Lydiat ; Sir Thomas Ryves ; Dr. Bruno Ryves, dean 
of Windsor, and writer of the first newspapers pub- 
lished in England ; Dr. Edward Young, father of the 
poet; Sir Edward Herbert; Wood, author of the 
' ' Institutes of the Laws of England ; " Dr. William 
Musgrave ; Somerville and Pitt, poets ; Rev. Joseph 
Spence ; Dr. Gloster Ridley, the biographer of his 
great ancestor, the martyr; Dr. William Smith, 
translator of Thucydides and Longinus ; Dr. Robert 
Holmes, the learned collator of the Septuagint ; Rev. 
Sydney Smith; Rev. Philip Smyth, collector and 
translator of the " French Anas ; " Rev. John Walker, 
editor of " Oxoniana," "Selection of curious Articles 
from the Gentleman's Magazine," author of " Curia 
Oxoniensis, " &c. ; Dr. Crotch, the celebrated composer 
of "Palestine," &c. &c. ; Dr. Bandinel, editor of Dug- 
dale's "Monasticon," &c. &c. ; Dr. Shuttleworth, the 
learned head of this society, &c. ; John Shute Duncan, 
and Philip Bury Duncan. 

LINCOLN COLLEGE.* 

FOUNDED IN 1427. 

Prelates. — Dr. Edward Wetenhall, Bishop of Cork 
and Ross, of Kilmore and Kildare ; Dr. Clavering, 



insolent, and pragmatical. Now, my lord, as you 
have, in your whole behaviour, remarkably dis- 
tinguished yourself by your humility, meekness, 
&c. &c, this unpromising circumstance of your 
education is so far from being a disgrace to you, 
that it highly redounds to your praise. But I am 
wholly precluded from all such merit : for, my lord, I 
was educated in the University of Oxford, I enjoyed 
all the advantages, both public and private, which 
that famous seat of learning so largely affords ; I 
spent many happy years in that illustrious society, 
in a well-regulated course of useful discipline and 
studies, and in the agreeable and improving commerce 
of gentlemen and scholars ; in a society where emula- 
tion without envy, ambition without jealousy, con- 
tention without animosity, incited industry, and 
awakened genius. I breathed the same atmosphere 
that the Hookers, the Chillingworths, and the Lockes 
had breathed before me, who did not amuse their 
readers with empty declamations and fine-spun 
theories of toleration, while they were themselves 
agitated with a furious and inquisitorial spirit, 
seizing every one they could lay hold on, for pre- 
suming to dissenfr from them in matters the most 
indifferent, and dragging them through the fiery 
ordeal of abusive controversy," &c. &c. 

The last paragraph of this rejoinder contains a 
painful truth ; and yet, amid all the harshness, petu- 
lance, and dogmatic severity of Warburton, there was 
much that was often tender, noble, and magnanimous ; 
and even now, his paradoxes seem more fascinating 
than other men's truths ! 

* '"He looks as the Devil over Lincoln.' — Some 



BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY 



445 



Bishop of Llandaff and Peterborough, many years 
Hebrew professor ; Dr. Robert Sanderson, Bishop of 
Lincoln, the famous casuist. Archbishop Potter was 
also a fellow of this college. 

Robert Flemyng, nephew of the founder, author of 
an elegant poem, entitled " Lucubrationes Tiburtinae. " 
On his return from the Continent, he deposited in 
the College library some finely illuminated MSS., and 
a Greek and Latin dictionary of his own writing, 
extant in Leland's time, by whom it is mentioned ; 
Sir Edmund Anderson, chief-justice of the king's 
bench; Bolton, the puritan divine, afterwards of 
Brazen-Nose; Dr. Kelbye, one of the translators of 
the Bible ; Edward Weston, champion of the Roman 
Catholic cause ; Richard Brett, one of the translators 
of the Bible ; Dr. John Davies, an eminent linguist 
and antiquary ; Thomas Heyne, the grammarian ; 
Dr. Christopher Bennet, physician and medical 
writer ; Arthur Hopton ; Sir Wilham Davenant, 
poet ; Cornelius Bulges, a distinguished parliamen- 
tary divine ; Henry Foulis, ecclesiastical historian ; 
John Kettlewell and Dr. George Hickes, nonjurors ; 
Sir George Wheeler, traveller and botanist ; Tindal, 
the Deist, afterwards of Exeter and All Souls' ; Dr. 
Richard Grey, and the pious James Hervey ; John 
Wesley, founder of Methodism ; Dr. John Sibthorp, 
author of the "Flora Oxoniensis," and the "Flora 
Gra?ca." The two greatest modern benefactors to 
this university were fellows of this college, Lord Crewe 
and Dr. Radcliffe; Dr. Tatham, rector, author of 
Bampton Lectures entitled "A Chart and Scale of 
Truth," "Oxonia Purgata," and many political 
pamphlets of celebrity. 

ALL SOULS' COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1437. 

Prelates. — Among the most celebrated are, Goldwell, 
Bishop of Norwich, and Bullingham, Bishop of 
Lincoln and Worcester. Duppa, of Winchester, and 
Archbishop Sheldon, were elected fellows here, but 
educated, the first at Chi-ist Church, the second at 
Trinity: Jeremy Taylor, the illustrious divine, 
Bishop of Down and Connor, became a fellow here 
in 1636, by the nomination of Archbishop Laud. 

Linacre, the first person who taught Greek at 
Oxford ; he was one of the founders of the College of 
Physicians ; Leland ; Recorde ; Andrew Kingsmill, 
linguist and divine, formerly of Corpus ; Dr. Key or 
Cay, one of the earliest Oxford historians; Sir 
Anthony Sherley ; Sir John Mason, privy councillor ; 
Sir Wilham Petre; Robert Herrick, poet ; Marchmont 
Needham, one of the earliest newspaper hacks, who 
supported the Oliverian cause ; Joseph Keble, first of 

fetch tbe original of this proverb from a stone picture 
of the devil, which doth (or lately did) overlook 
Lincoln Coledge. Surely, the architect intended no 
farther than an ordinary antick, though beholders 
have since applied those ugly looks to envious per- 
sons repining at the prosperity of their neighbours, 
and jealous to be over-topt by "their vicinity. The 
devil is the map of malice, and his envy (as God's 
mercy) is over all his works ; on which account he is 
supposed to have overlooked this church (viz., the 
cathedral at Lincoln), when first finished, with a 
savage countenance, as maligning men's costly devo- 
tion, and that they should be so expensive in God's 
service ; but it is suspicious, that some who account 
themselves saints, behold such fabrics with little 
better looks ! " — Fuller's Worthies. 



Jesus, a law writer of incredible industry, so diseased 
with fondness for reporting, that he reported all the 
cases in the King's Bench from 1661 to 1710, and all 
the sermons preached in Gray's Inn Chapel, amount- 
ing to above 4000. Dr. Matthew Tindal, equally 
famous for gluttony and deism ; John Norris, rector 
of Bemerton ; Dr. Sydenham, improver of medical 
science ; Sir Wilham Trumbull, the friend of Pope ; 
Lord Chancellor Talbot, first of Oriel ; Sir Christopher 
Wren ; and Dr. Young, author of "Night Thoughts." 
In the departments of Law and Politics — Sir Robert 
Weston, Lord Chancellor of Ireland, in Elizabeth's 
time ; Sir Clement Edmonds ; Sir Daniel Dunn ; 
Henry Coventry, Secretary of State to Charles II. ; 
Sir William Blackstone, formerly of Pembroke. 

MAGDALEN COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1456. 

Prelates. — Fuller remarks that there is scarcely a 
bishopric in England to which this college has not 
afforded a prelate. Cardinals Wolsey and Pole were 
both educated here ; Pole entered as a nobleman, and 
resided in the president's lodgings ; Lee and Frewin, 
Archbishops of York; Boulter, Archbishop of Armagh; 
Longland, Bishop of Lincoln ; Cooper, of Winchester ; 
Warner, of Rochester; Nicholson, of Gloucester; 
Hopkins, of Raphoe and Derry ; Hough, of Worcester ; 
Smalbroke, of Lichfield and Coventry ; Home, of 
Norwich ; Pbilpotts, of Exeter. 

Many of the scholars who studied here during the 
first half century from the foundation, contributed 
greatly to the revival of literature, which aided the 
advancement of the Reformation. Of these, Dean 
Colet, and Lily, the grammarian, Linacre, and 
Latimer, may be mentioned. It could afterwards 
boast of Dr. John Roper, the famous theologist ; 
Dr. Wotton, physician to Henry VIII. ; Robertson, 
one of the compilers of the Liturgy, 1549 ; Fox, the 
celebrated author of "Acts and Monuments of the 
Church ; " Sir Francis Knollis, statesman ; Lily, dra- 
matic poet ; Dr. Field ; Dr. Thomas Godwyn, Hebrew 
antiquary ; Sir Thomas Roe, the ambassador ; 
Hampden, the patriot ; John Digby. Earl of Bristol ; 
Chilmead, critic and philologist; Theophilus Gale, 
nonconformist ; the pious Dr. Hammond ; Dr. Peter 
Heylin, ecclesiastical historian; George Withers, poet ; 
Harman, the Greek professor; Elisha Coles, Latin 
lexicographer ; Sir Robert Howard, dramatic poet ; 
Dr. Thomas Smith, the traveller; the illustrious 
Addison ; Dr. Sacheverell, the associate of Addison ; 
Colins, Yalden, and Holdsworth, poets ; Horbery 
and Waldgrave, divines; Gibbon, the historian 
Dr. Townson and Dr. Chandler; John Wilson,* the 



* To say nothing of the beauty of Wilson's poetry, 
he has exerted more influence over the periodical 
literature of the day than any living writer. But, 
like all original minds, he has been mimicked by 
small reviewers, who contrive to ape the eccentricities 
of his style, but are utterly destitute of the merit and 
fervour of his thoughts. Similar was the fate of 
Lord Byron. His lordship felt, or fancied himself, 
an unhappy being, and vented his feelings accord- 
ingly. Forthwith a sentimental paleness overspread 
the land, and poetical "Werterism" became the 
fashion of the hour ! Such vulgar mimicry recals to 
our mind a saying of Allan Cunningham, in reference 
to a certain writer's Napoleon, when compared to 
Sir Walter Scott's — "The braying of an ass after the 
sound of a trumpet." 



446 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



distinguished poet, and Professor of Moral Philosophy 
in the University of Edinburgh; Dr. Hurdis, the 



The following note, relative to Wilson's career at the 
University, is from the pen of the celebrated "Opium 
Eater," — De Quincey, himself an Oxford man. At a 
time when the surly ignorance of mistaken writers is 
wont to sneer at our Universities, it is gratifying to 
see an author of acknowledged genius likeDe Quincey, 
looking back on the scenes of Alma Mater with re- 
spectful love, and speaking of her greatness as becomes 
his theme. 

" Vos, dulcissima mundi 



Nomina, vos musa}, libertas, laetitia, libri, 
Hortique sylvseque, anima remanente relinquam ? 

" From the latter end of 1803 to the spring of 1808, 
Mr. Wilson had studied at the University of Oxford. 
He had previously studied as a mere boy, according 
to the Scotch fashion, at the University of Glasgow, 
chiefly under the tuition of the late Mr. Jardine (the 
professor, I believe, of logic, and Dr. or Mr. Young, 
the professor of Greek). At both universities he had 
greatly distinguished himself ; but at Oxford, where 
the distribution of prizes and honours of every kind 
is to the last degree parsimonious and select, naturally 
it follows, that such academical distinctions are really 
significant distinctions, and proclaim an unequivocal 
merit in him who has carried them off from a crowd 
of 1 600 to 2000 co-rivals, to whom the contest was 
open; whereas, in the Scotch Universities, as I am 
told by Scotchmen, the multiplication of prizes and 
medals, and the almost indiscriminate profusion with 
which they are showered abroad, neutralises their 
whole effect and value. At least, this was the case in 
Mr. Wilson's time; but lately, some conspicuous 
changes have been introduced by a royal commission 
(not yet, I believe, dissolved) into one, at least, of the 
Scotch Universities, which have greatly improved it 
in this respect, by bringing it much nearer to the 
English model. When Mr. Wilson gained a prize of 
fifty guineas for fifty lines of English verse, without 
farther inquiry it becomes evident, from the mere 
rarity of the distinction, which, for a University of now 
nearly five thousand members, occurs but once a year, 
and from the great over-proportion of that peculiar 
class (the under-graduates) to whom the contest is 
open, that such a victory was an indisputable criterion 
of very conspicuous merit. In fact, never in any place 
did Mr. Wilson play off his Proteus variety of cha- 
racter and talent with so much brilhant effect as at 
Oxford. In this great University, the most ancient, 
and, by many degrees, the most magnificent in the 
world, he found a stage for display perfectly congenial 
with the native elevation of his own character. Per- 
haps you are not fully aware of the characteristic dif- 
ferences which separate our two English Universities 
of Oxford and Cambridge from those of Scotland and 
the Continent ; for I have always observed that the 
best-informed foreigners, even after a week's personal 
acquaintance with the Oxford system, still adhere to 
the inveterate preconceptions which they had brought 
with them from the Continent. For instance, they 
continue obstinately to speak of the professors as the 
persons to whom the students are indebted for tuition ; 
whereas, the majority of these hold their offices as the 
most absolute sinecures ; and the task of tuition de- 
volves upon the tutors appointed in each particular 
college. These tutors are called public tutors ; mean- 
ing that they do not confine their instructions to any 



poet; Dr. Routh, president, author of "RehquL-e 
Sacra;" Dr. Faussett; Dr. Daubeny ; Richard 



one individual, but distribute them amongst all the 
under-graduates of the college to which they belong ; 
and, in addition to these, private tutors are allowed 
to any student who chooses to increase his expendi- 
ture in that particular. But the main distinction, 
which applies to our immediate subject, is the more 
than regal provision for the lodging and accommo- 
dation of the students, by the system of colleges. Of 
these there are in Oxford, neglecting the technical 
subdivision of halls, five and twenty ; and the main use 
of all, both colleges and halls, is not, as in Scotland and 
on the Continent, to lodge the head of the University 
with suitable dignity, and to provide rooms for the 
library and public business of the University. These 
purposes are met by a separate provision, distinct 
from the colleges : and the colleges are applied as 
follows — 1st, and mainly, to the reception of the 
fellows, and of the undergraduate students ; 2ndly, 
to the accommodation of the head (known in different 
colleges by the several designations of provost, prin- 
cipal, dean, rector, warden, &c.) ; 3rdly, to the ac- 
commodation of the private library attached to that 
college, and to the chapeL which is used at least 
twice every day for public prayers ; 4thly, to the 
hall, and the whole establishment of kitchen, wine- 
vaults, buttery, &c. &c, which may be supposed 
necessary for the liberal accommodation at the public 
meals of dinner (and in some colleges supper) of gen- 
tlemen and visitors from the country, or from the 
Continent ; varying (we will suppose) from twenty- 
five to five hundred heads. Everywhere else the great 
mass of the students are lodged in obscure nooks and 
corners, which may or may not be respectable, but 
are at all events withdrawn from the surveillance of 
the University. I shall state both the ground and 
the effect (or tendency rather) of this difference. Out 
of England, universities are not meant exclusively for 
professional men : the sons of great landholders, and 
a large proportion of the sons of noblemen, either go 
through the same academic course as others, or a 
shorter course, adapted to their particular circum- 
stances. In England, again, the church is supplied 
from the rank of gentry — not exclusively, it is true, 
but in a much larger proportion than anywhere else, 
except in Ireland. The corresponding ranks in Scot- 
land, from their old connection with France, have 
adopted (I believe) much more of the continental 
plans for disposing of their sons at this period. At 
any rate, it will not be contended by any man, that 
Scotland throws anything like the same proportion 
with England of her gentry and her peerage into her 
universities. Hence a higher standard of manners 
and of habits presides at Oxford and Cambridge ; 
and, consequently, a demand for much higher accom- 
modations would even otherwise have arisen, had not 
such a demand already been supplied by the munifi- 
cence of our English princes and peers, both male 
and female ; and, in one instance at least, of a Scottish 
prince (Baliol). The extent of these vast caravanseras 
enables the governors of the various colleges to furnish 
every student with a set of two rooms at the least, 
often with a suite of three— {I, who lived at Oxford 
on no more than my school allowance, had that 
number] — or in many cases with far more. In the 
superior colleges, indeed (superior, I mean as to their 
purse and landed endowments), all these accommoda- 
tions keep pace with the refinements of the age ; and 



BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 



447 



Walker, author of "Flora Oxouiensis," &c. ; and Sir 
Charles Wetherell, the Chancery barrister. 

BRAZEN-NOSE COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1509. 

r relates.— Hugh Curwen, or Coren, Archbishop of 
Dublin : "Barnes, Bishop of Durham ; Wolton of 
Exeter; Miles Smith, of Gloucester, one of the greatest 
scholars of his day, and principal translator of the 
Bible ; Beginald Heber, Bishop of Calcutta. 

Robert Nowell, attorney-general, and Lawrence 
Nowell, Dean of Lichfield, an eminent antiquary, who 
revived the study of the Saxon language ; Caldwell, 
president of the College of Physicians ; William 



thus a connection is maintained between the Univer- 
sity and the landed noblesse — upper and lower — of 
England which must be reciprocally beneficial, and 
which, under other circumstances, could scarcely 
have taken place. 

"Of these advantages you may be sure that Mr. 
Wilson availed himself to the utmost extent. Instead 
of going to Baliol College, he entered himself at 
Magdalen, in the class of what are called ' Gentlemen 
Commoners.' All of us (you know) in Oxford and 
Cambridge wear an academic dress, which tells at 
once our academic rank, with all its modifications. 
And the term, ' Gentleman Commoner ' implies that 
he has more splendid costumes, and more in number; 
that he is expected to spend a good deal more money ; 
that he enjoys a few trifling immunities; and that 
he has, in particular instances, something like a king's 
right of pre-emption, as in the choice of rooms, &c. 

"Once launched in this orbit, Mr. Wilson continued 
to blaze away for the four successive years, 1804-5-6-7, 
I believe, without any intermission. Possibly I my- 
self was the one sole gownsman who had not then 
found my attention fixed by his most heterogeneous 
reputation. In a similar case, Cicero tells a man that 
ignorance, so unaccountable, of another man's pre- 
tensions, argued himself to be a ' homo ignorabilis ; ' 
or, in the language of the Miltonic Satan, 

' Not to know me argues thyself unknown.' 

And that is true ; a homo ignorabilis most certainly I 
was. And even with that admission it is still diffi- 
cult to account for the extent and duration of my 
ignorance. The fact is, that the case well expresses 
both our positions : that he should be so conspicuous 
as to challenge knowledge from the most sequestered 
of anchorites, expresses his life ; that I should have 
right to absolute ignorance of him who was familiar 
as daylight to all the rest of Oxford, expresses mine. 
Never, indeed, before, to judge from what I have 
since heard upon inquiry, did a man, by variety of 
talents and variety of humours, contrive to place him- 
self as the connecting link between orders of men so 
essentially repulsive of each other — as Mr. Wilson in 
this instance. 

'Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et status, et res.' 

"From the learned president of his college, Dr. 
Routh, the editor of parts of Plato, and of some 
Theological Selections, with whom Wilson enjoyed an 
unlimited favour — from this learned academic doctor, 
and many others of the same class, Wilson had an 
infinite gamut of friends and associates, running 
through every key." 



Whittingham, poetical coadjutor of Sternhold and 
Hopkins in the translation of the Psalms ; Fox, the 
martyrologist ; Sir John Savile, and his younger 
brother, provost of Eton, where he printed his edition 
of St. Chrysostom ; Barnaby Barnes, dramatic poet ; 
Ferdinand Pulton, law-writer ; Jeremiah Stephens, 
coadjutor of Sir Henry Spelman in the publication of 
the Councils ; Sir John Spelman, author of the "Life 
of Alfred the Great ;" Brerewood, mathematician ; 
Ralph Radcliffe; Humphery Lluyd, or Lloyd, the 
Welsh historian ; Sir John Stradling, poet ; Sampson 
Erdeswick, the Staffordshire antiquary ; Sir Peter 
Leycester, the Cheshire antiquary ; Lord Chancellor 
Egerton, Baron Ellesmere, and Viscount Brackley ; 
Burton, author of the " Anatomy of Melancholy ;" 
Sir William Petty ; Elias Ashmole, founder of the 
museum; John Prince, author of the "Worthies of 
Devon ; " Dr. W. Assheton ; Thomas Beconsall, de- 
fender of revealed religion; Thomas Church, D.D., 
whose degree was presented to him by diploma, Feb. 
23, 1749, for answering Bolingbroke ; the Rev. John 
Watson, author of the "History of Halifax, &c. &c. ; 
Whitaker, the Manchester historian, afterwards 
elected a scholar of Corpus ; Milman, the late pro- 
fessor of poetry ; Dr. Cardwell, since Principal of St. 
Alban Hall; and Lord Nugent, author of "Memo- 
rials of John Hampden, &c. 

CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1516. 

Prelates. — Cardinal Pole, first of Magdalen ; Jewell, 
Bishop of Salisbury ; Webb, Bishop of Limerick, some 
time of University College ; Dr. Fowler, of Gloucester ; 
and Dr. Richard Pococke, Bishop of Meath, the cele- 
brated orientalist ; Burgess, Bishop of Salisbury. 

John Shepreve ; Redman, or Redmayne, afterwards 
first master of Trinity College, Cambridge, one of the 
compilers of the Liturgy ; Morwen ; Nicholas Udal 
and Richard Edwards, poets, the latter one of our 
earliest dramatists, whose "Palsemon and Arcite" 
was acted before Queen Elizabeth, in Christ Church 
Hall, on her visit here in 1566 ; Miles Windsor, the 
first Oxford historian ; Hooker ; Sir Edward Sandys, 
statesman; Dr. Sebastian Benefield; Gill, master of 
St. Paul's School ; Dr. Daniel Featly ; the illustrious 
Hales ; Sir John Menis, traveller, seaman, and poet ; 
Edmund Chishul, divine and antiquary ; Dr. Richard 
Fiddes, the biographer of Cardinal Wolsey ; John 
Anstis, the herald ; Henry Hare ; Lord Coleraine ; 
Dr. Nathaniel Forster ; Dr. John Rogers ; Dr. John 
Burton ; Dr. Jeremiah Milles, Dean of Exeter ; Sir 
Ashton Lever, the collector of an immense museum 
of natural history, dispersed by auction a few years 
ago; Thomas Day, an eccentric fellow, who never 
obtained a degree : Lord Chief Justice Tenterden ; 
Coleridge, the poet ; Professor Buckland, since Canon 
of Christ Church, author of ' ' Geological Evidences 
of the Deluge," one of the Bridgwater Treatises, &c. ; 
Vaughan Thomas, the distinguished divine ; and 
Edward Greswell, author of " Harmonia Evangelica." 

CHRIST CHURCH. 

FOUNDED IN 1532. 

Prelates. — The archbishops and bishops educated 
here are too numerous to be noticed. Among the 
most eminent we find Bancroft, Prideaux, Sanderson, 
Blanford, Dolben, Compton, Gastrell, Synge, Potter, 
Tanner, Benson, Robinson, and Shipley. Among the 



448 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



names eminent in ecclesiastical history, we find the 
Reformer, Peter Martyr ; M. Heton, Bishop of Ely ; 
Richard Edes, Dean of Worcester ; Leonard Hutten; 
John Wall, Prebendaiy of Salisbury ; Thomas Lockey, 
public librarian ; Dr. Edward Pocock ; Dr. Robert 
South ; Dr. Richard Allestree ; Dr. Roger Altham ; 
Archbishop Wake ; Dr. Robert Friend ; Dr. Newton, 
founder of Hertford College ; Van Mildert, Bishop of 
Durham ; Dr. Richard Laurence, Archbishop of 
Cashel. 

' ' The scholars, " observes Chalmers, ' ' of other ranks, 
who have added to the reputation of this college, 
are so numerous, that a few only can be noticed. The 
literary history of Christ Church might be extended 
to many volumes." 

In the list of statesmen and lawyers occur the 
names of Sir Dudley Carleton ; Sir William Godolphin ; 
Sir W. Ellis ; Edward Sackville, Earl of Dorset ; Sir 
Gilbert Dolben : Henry Mordaunt ; Heneage Finch 
and Daniel Finch, Earls of Nottingham ; Henry 
Bennet, Earl of Arlington : Sir J. Vaughan ; Thomas 
Lutwyche ; Trevor ; Viscount Chetwynd ; Wainwright ; 
Skinner ; Trelawny ; Henry Villiers ; Sir William 
Wyndham; Earl Granville; Sir Thomas Hanmer; 
Andrew Stone ; Lord Littleton ; Earl Mansfield ; 
Lord Holland ; John Mostyn ; Sir Francis Bernard ; 
Baron Mendip ; Amyand ; Devisme ; Sir John Skinner ; 
Sir Gould Morgan ; Richard Leveson Gower, &c. &c. 

Poets and Orators. — Dr. James Calf hill ; Sir Philip 
Sidney ; Stephen Gosson ; George Peele ; Thomas 
Storer ; William Gager ; Thomas Goffe ; Ben Jonson ; 
Gomersal ; Strode ; Warmstrey ; Hemmings ; Holy- 
day ; Cartwright ; Randolph ; Waring Maplet ; Rhodes ; 
Owen ; Allestree ; Nicolas Brady ; Otway ; Villiers ; 
King ; Harrington ; Alsop ; Samuel Wesley ; Phillips ; 
Edmund Smith ; Gilbert West ; Bramston ; Thornton ; 
George Colman ; Dr. Butt. 

During the sixteenth century, among the scholars 
of this house were Hackluyt, the traveller; Mulcaster, 
master of Merchant Taylors' School ; Carew, the 
historian of Cornwall ; Camden ; Torporley ; Caleb 
Willis ; Sir Humphrey Lynd ; Sir Thomas Aylesbury ; 
Edmund Gunter ; Dr. John Owen, dean and eminent 
divine, in the time of the Commonwealth. 

Of the seventeenth century are, Nicholas Grey : John 
Gregory, astronomer ; the learned Meric Casaubon ; 
James Heath, the historian ; Dr. Willis ; Penn, the 
founder of Pennsylvania ; Stubbe, second keeper of 
the Bodleian ; Lower ; Locke ; * Francis Vernon, 



* The following is Dr. Gell's letter to the Earl of 
Sunderland, respecting Locke's expulsion : — 

November 8th, 1684. 
"Right Honourable, — I received the honour of 
your lordship's letter, wherein you are pleased to 
inquire concerning Mr. Locke's being a student of this 
house, of which I have this account to render : — 
That he being, as your lordship is truly informed, a 
person who was much trusted by the late Earl of 
Shaftesbury, and who is suspected to be ill affected 
to the government, I have for divers years had an 
eye upon him; but so close has his guard been on 
himself, that after several strict inquiries, I may 
confidently affirm, that there is not a man in the 
college, however familiar with him, who has heard 
him speak either a word against, or so much as 
concerning the government. And although very 
frequently, both in public and private, discourses 
have been purposely introduced to the disparagement 
of his master, the Earl of Shaftesbury, his pai-ty, and 



traveller and poet ; Sparke, Frebendary of Lichfield, 
editor of " Lactantius" and "Zosimua;" Dr. Hooke, 
architect ; Sir Edward Hannes, professor of che- 
mistry ; Daniel Man ; Dr. Freind ; Sir Andrew Fon- 
taine, Anglo-Saxon scholar ; Temple Stanyan ; Ivie, 
translator of " Epictetus ;" Frewen, professor of che- 
mistry. 

In the eighteenth century, Richard Ince, a writer 
in the "Spectator;" Eustace Budgell, a more consi- 
derable contributor to that work ; George Wigan ; 
Robert Leybourne, Principal of Alban Hall ; Lord 
Bolingbroke ; Desaguliers ; Charles Boyle, Bentley's 
antagonist; John Wigan, editor of "Aristaeus;" 
Charles Wesley ; Browne Willis, antiquary ; Dr. Wil- 
liam Drake, the historian, of York : Dr. W. Sharpe, 
Greek professor ; the Rev. Clayton Mordaunt Crache- 
rode, who left his valuable library to the British 
Museum, books estimated at 30, 0001. ; Dr. W. Burton, 
historian of Yorkshire; the late Sir Robert Peel, 
Bart. ; Conybeare, professor of poetry ; the illustrious 
Canning ; William Wyndham, Lord Grenville, the late 
Chancellor of the University ; Dr. Cyril Jackson ; 
Dr. Gaisford, Greek professor, and dean ; Dr. Henry 
Cotton; Lord Henley; Lord Dover; Fynes Clinton, 
author of " Fasti Helleuici ;" Thomas Vowler Short; 
Sir D. K. Sandford, Greek Professor at Glasgow ; Dr. 
John Anthony Cramer, since Principal of New Inn 
Hall, author of works on Asia Minor, Ancient Italy, 



his designs, he could never be provoked to take any 
notice, or discover, in word or look, the least con- 
cern ; so that I believe there is not in the world such 
a masterpiece of taciturnity and passion. He has a 
physician's place, which frees him from the exercises 
of the college, and the obligations which others have 
to residence in it ; and he is now abroad in want of 
health. But notwithstanding that, I have sum- 
moned him to return home, which is done with this 
prospect, that if he comes not back, he will be liable 
to expulsion for contumacy ; and if he do, he will be 
answerable to the law for that which he shall be 
found to have done amiss, &c. &c. But if this 
method seems not effectual or speedy enough, and 
his Majesty, our founder and visitor, shall please to 
command his immediate remove, upon the receipt 
thereof, directed to the dean and chapter, it shall 
accordingly be executed by, my lord, yours, &c. 

"Joh. Oxon." 

The revolting meanness and servility of character 
which the above letter exhibits need no remark ! 
It seems that it had the desired effect, for, in a few 
days afterwards, the following letter from his dicta- 
torial Majesty was received : — 

"To The Right Reverend, &c. &c— Right Reve- 
rend Father in God, and trusty and well-beloved, we 
greet you well. Whereas we have received informa- 
tion of the factious and disloyal behaviour of Locke, 
one of the students of that our college, we have 
sought thereby to signify our will and pleasure to 
you, that you forthwith remove him from the stu- 
dent's place, and deprive him of all rights and advan- 
tages thereunto belonging, for which this shall be 
your warrant, and so we bid you heartily farewell. 

"Given at our Court, at Whitehall, the 11th of 
November, 1684, by his Majesty's command, 

"Sunderland." 

We need not state the result ; it stands on record, 
as a specimen of royal baseness and episcopal ser- 
vility. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 



449 



and Ancient Greece ; James Shergold Boone, formerly 
one of the masters of the Charter House, &c. ; Professor 
Burton ; Dr. Buckland ; Professor Pusey ; Dr. Kidd ; 
Rev. John Jones (Tegid), M.A., precentor, translator 
of the book of Isaiah from the Hebrew text of 
Vander Hooght, also author of Prize Poems and 
Essays in "Welsh, &c. 

TRINITY COLLEGE.* 

FOUNDED IN 1554. 

Prelates.— Warton gives the following list of bishops 
and other eminent men, either educated at Trinity 
College, or living in it, while Dr. Bathurat was fellow 
or President : — Ironside, Bishop of Bristol ; Lucy, 
Bishop of St. David's ; Skinner, of Worcester ; Glem- 
ham, of St. Asaph ; Stafford, of Chester ; Parker, of 
Oxford ; Archbishop Sheldon ; Selden ; ChilUngworth ; 
Gellibrand, mathematician ; Aubrey, antiquary ; Ar- 
thur "Wilson, author of the " Life of James I. " Sir 
John Denham, poet ; Sir Henry Blount ; Sir James 
Harrington, author of the "Oceana;" Dr. Derham, 
author of " Physico-theology ;" Dr. D. "Whitby; John 
Evelyn ; Sir Edward Bysche, the heraldist ; Potter, 
mathematician ; Dr. "Warton, physician; Anthony 
Farringdon, author of some learned sermons. To 
these may be added the first Lord Baltimore ; Charles 
Montague, Earl of Halifax ; Lord Somers ; Earl of 
Chatham ; and the second Earl of Guildford, Lord 
North ; the poets Lodge, Settle, Glanville, Manning, 
Merrick, and Headley ; Allen, mathematician ; Gill, 
master of St. Paul's School ; Ludlow, the republican 
chief ; Sir John Ford, hydraulist ; Henry Birkenhead, 
founder of the lecture on poetry in the University ; 
Chamberlaine ; Dr. Cobden ; Coxeter, the miscella- 
nist ; Lethieullier, antiquary ; P. Wise, ditto ; Thomas 
Warton ; Lisle Bowles, poet ; Ingram, the president ; 
Kinsey, author of "Portugal," &c. &c. ; Medwin, the 
biographer of Byron, translator of " iEschylus, " &c. 
(In the opinion of some of our first classical scholars, 
Medwin's translation is the finest which the English 
language contains.) "Walter Savage Landor, author 
of "Gebir," a poem, "Imaginary Conversations," 
&c. ; Henry Kett, author of ' ' Elements of General 
Knowledge ;." Richard Duppa, author of " Life of 
Michael Angelo," and numerous botanical works; 
James Ford. 

ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1557. 

Prelates. — Tobie Matthew, Archbishop of York ; 
Archbishop Laud, elected the ninth president of this 



* In the "Computus" of the bursars of Trinity 
College for the year 1631, the following article occurs : 
— "Solut pro fumigandis chirothecis." Gloves make 
a constant and considerable article of expense in the 
earlier accompt books of the college here mentioned, 
and, without doubt, in those of many other societies. 
They were annually given (a custom still subsisting) 
to the college tenants, and often presented to guests 
of distinction. But it appears (at least from accompts 
of the college in preceding years) that the practice 
of perfuming gloves for this purpose was fallen into 
disuse soon after the reign of Charles I. — T. Warton. 

These perfumed gloves are mentioned by Shakspeare. 
Autolycus, in the "Winter's Tale," has among his 
wares, 

" Gloves as sweet as damask roses." 



college; in 1G03 he was one of the proctors ; Dr. 
William Juxon, Bishop of London ; Peter Mews, 
Bishop of Winchester; Sir William Dawes, Archbishop 
of York. 

Among the scholars are Campion, the celebrated 
Jesuit; Dr. Case, the Aristotle commentator; Bla- 
grave, mathematician; Sir James Whitelock, chief- 
justice ; How, the botanist ; Shu-ley, the dramatic 
poet; Gayton, poet; Whitelocke, the annalist, one 
of Cromwell's lords ; Marsham, the chronologist ; 
Bernard, Savilian Professor; William Lowth, the 
learned divine ; Sherard or Sherwood, botanist ; 
Dillenius, ditto ; Bevil Higgons, poet and historian ; 
Bonwicke, master of Merchant Taylors' School; Sir 
William Trumbull, the correspondent of Pope ; Dr. 
Robert James, discoverer of the febrifuge powder ; 
Ducarel, antiquary ; Dr. Munro, one of Radcliffe's 
travelling fellows ; "Whalley, commentator on Shaks- 
peare and Jonson ; Samuel Bishop, poet ; Dean 
Tucker, author of sundry tracts on politics and com- 
merce; Dr. Bliss, editor of "Wood's Athense ;" Dr. 
Dibdin, author of "Bibliomania," " Bibliotheca Spen- 
ceriana," "Bibliographical Decameron," " Bibliogra- 
phical Tour in France and Germany," "The Library 
Companion," "Introduction to the Classics," &c. &c. 

JESUS COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1571. 

Prelates. — Rider, Bishop of Killaloe ; Lloyd, of St. 
Asaph ; Wynne, of ditto, father of Sir William Wynne. 
Archbishop Usher was on the books, and resided 
here. 

David Powel, the celebrated antiquary ; John 
Davies, lexicographer ; Rees Prichard, a popular 
Welch poet ; James Howell, the leading miscellanist 
of his time ; Sir Thomas Herbert, an eminent tra- 
veller, and benefactor to the University ; Sir William 
Williams, lawyer ; Sir Leoline Jenkyns ; Dr. Jonathan 
Edwards, Principal, an eminent controversial divine ; 
the pious Dr. Richard Lucas ; Edward Lloyd, anti- 
quary and botanist, afterwards keeper of the Ashmo- 
lean Museum ; and the learned divines and theological 
writers, Dr. William Worthington, Dr. Henry Owen, 
and Dr. James Bandinel, the first Bampton Lecturer. 

WADHAM COLLEGE. 
Founded in 1613. 

Prelat es.— Among the principal are the names of 
Gauden, Bishop of Worcester ; Seth Ward, of Salisbury ; 
Thomas Sprat> of Rochester; and Samuel Parker, 
of Oxford. 

Creech, editor and translator of " Lucretius ;" 
Walsh, the poet ; Dr. J. Trapp, Professor of Poetry ; 
Thomas Baker, mathematician; Sir C. Sedley; Earl 
of Rochester ; Admiral Blake ; Mayow, physician ; 
Dr. Hody ; Sir Christopher Wren ;* Arthur Onslow, 



* "In his fourteenth year, Christopher was admitted 
as a gentleman-commoner at Wadham College, Oxford. 
These were tender years for acquiring any sort of 
notice in a learned university, and still more so for 
gaining the friendship of such men as John Wilkins, 
Warden of Wadham, and Seth Ward, Savilian Professor 
of Astronomy, two of the most distinguished mathe- 
maticians of their day ; yet nothing is more certain 
than that he obtained both. His talents, if then- 
fame had not gone before him, were soon discovered 
at Oxford. He loved, what was fashionable in those 



450 



OXFORD : OR, ALMA MATER. 



for many parliaments Speaker of the House of Com- 
mons ; Chief-Justice Pratt ; Costard, linguist ; Harris, 
the philosopher, of Salisbury ; Floyer Sydenham, the 
ti-anslator of "Plato;" Kennicott, collator of the 
Hebrew MSS. ; Richardson, author of the "Persian 
Dictionary;" Anderson, who translated the "Arena- 
nius" of Archimedes ; Dr. Austen. The famous 
Bentley, of Cambridge, became a member of Wadham 
College in 1689. 

PEMBROKE COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1624. 

Prelates. — Repingdon, Bishop of Lincoln in 1405, 
and cardinal, 1408 ; Bonner, of London, surnamed 
the Bloody; Dr. William Newcome, Archbishop of 
Armagh, the Biblical critic ; Dr. John Moore, Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury. 

Camden, the illustrious historian and antiquary ; 
Sir Thomas Browne ; Carew, Earl of Totness ; Sir 
James Dyer ; David Baker, ecclesiastical historian ; 
Pym, the noted patriot. In more recent times we find 
the celebrated names of Judge Blackstone, who was 
first educated here ; Philip Morant, historian of Essex ; 
Whitfield ; Dr. Durell, principal of Hertford College ; 
the eccentric Henderson; the poets Southern,* Shen- 
stone, Graves, and Hawkins, the Professor of Poetry ; 



days, to write Latin descriptions of his studies and 
designs, in verse as well as prose." 

A proud memory is connected with Wren's fame, 
from his share in the original plan of the Royal 
Society. ' ' A young gentleman, " says Allan Cunning- 
ham, "thus remarkable for talents and diligence, 
was a welcome addition to that little band of scientific 
scholars, who, says Sprat, resorted, 'soon after the 
civil wars, to the chamber of Dr. Wilkins, and laid the 
foundation of the Royal Society for improving natural 
knowledge.' Amid the unsettled days of the Com- 
monwealth, these scholars pursued their inquiries 
with all the zeal which genius brings to the aid of 
speculation ; drew up descriptions, and made models 
and drawings of their inventions and discoveries ; 
formed connexions with learned societies and indivi- 
duals abroad ; and looking forward to more settled or 
foitunate times, prepared a draught of the present 
charter of the Royal Society. " 

None who have seen that majestic pile, the Theatre 
at Oxford, will think the following reference devoid 
of interest : — "This, at all events, was the first of 
his designs, which he saw realised ; for it was opened 
on the 9th of July, 1669, with great solemnity, and 
followed," says the author of " Parentalia, " "by a 
most splendid act, such as had not been equalled in 
the memory of man. The munificent founder (Gilbert 
Sheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury) honoured the 
architect, on this first essay of his skill, with the 
present of a golden cup, and by his statutes appointed 
him, jointly with the vice-chancellor, perpetual 
curator of the fabric." The finished work, splendid 
as it is, cannot, however, be compared to the original 
design. Wren planned a structure bearing no small 
resemblance to the theatre of Marcellus, yet exceed- 
ingly bold and original. Nevertheless, the building 
is famous for a roof constructed out of small pieces of 
timber on the truest geometrical principles. 

"* Johnson delighted to mention the names of 
poets educated at his own college ; adding, (says that 
agreeable twaddler, Boswell), with a smile of sportive 
triumph, " Sir, we are a nest of singing birds." 



Dr. Samuel Johnson, who was entered a commoner, 
Oct. 81, 1728. His apartment was the second-floor 
over the gateway. 

WORCESTER COLLEGE. 

FOUNDED IN 1714. 

Gloucester Hall, afterwards St. John Baptist's Hall, 
and now Worcester College, was one of the most 
ancient houses belonging to the Benedictines at the 
time of the dissolution. 

Prelates. — Before the Reformation, occur the names 
of three bishops, educated in Gloucester Hall ; John 
Langdon, Bishop of Rochester, 1422; Mylling, of 
Hereford ; Dunstan, of Llandaff, 1545, who had been 
prior, but lived to the reign of Elizabeth, and acknow- 
ledged her supremacy. 

In the same hall were educated, and some time 
resided, the celebrated traveller, Thomas Coryate; 
Dr. Budden ; Thomas Allen, the mathematician ; 
Richard Lovelace, poet and linguist ; the learned 
Sir Kenelm Digby ; De Quincey, the " Opium Eater." 

HERTFORD COLLEGE.* 

FOUNDED IN 1725. 

Prelates. — James Cranlegh, Archbishop of Dublin ; 
and Morgan Owen, Bishop of Llandaff; Dickson, 
Bishop of Down and Connor ; and Archbishop New- 
come, already noticed as belonging to Pembroke, are 
claimed by Hertford College. 

Nicholas Brigham, and Lord Buckhurst, poets ; 
the illustrious Selden ; Sir John Glynn, an eminent 
lawyer; Dr. Donne, afterwards of Cambridge; Nicholas 
Fuller, the greatest Hebrew critic of his time ; Sir 
William Waller, the parliamentary general ; Sir 
Richard Baker, author of the popular "Chronicler;" 
Edward Lye, the Saxon lexicographer ; Thomas Hut- 
chinson, the editor of "Xenophon;" Dr. Hunt, 
Arabic Professor; Dr. Benjamin Blayney; and the 
illustrious Charles James Fox, educated here under 
the tuition of Dr. Newcome. 



THE HALLS. 

Before the foundation of colleges, all education in 
the University was carried on in certain houses, and 
sets of buildings, called halls, inns, or hostels, which 
were the property of the citizens of Oxford, who let 
them, partially to individuals, or generally to societies, 
connected under one roof, in which case they were 
denominated halls. 

ST. ALBAN'S HALL. 

FOUNDED IN THE BEIGN OF JOHN. 

Prelates. — Hooper, Bishop of Gloucester, and martyr ; 
Lamplugh, Archbishop of York ; and Narcissus 
Marsh, Primate of Ireland, were of this hall ; which 
also enumerates among its scholars, Massinger, the 
dramatic poet ; William Lenthall, Speaker of the 
House of Commons during the Long Parliament ; and 
Sir Thomas Higgons, an English writer of some note, 
and ambassador at Vienna ; the distinguished scholar 



* Dissolved in 1816, and its site now occupied by 
Magdelen Hall. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 



451 



and critic, Elmsley; Dr. Richard "Whately, Arch- 
bishop of Dublin; and Dr. Cardwell, the present 
learned Principal. 

EDMUND HALL. 

FOUNDED IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 

Carleton, Bishop of Chichester ; Kennet, of Peter- 
borough ; and Dr. Daniel Wilson, the fourth Bishop 
of Calcutta ; occur among the prelates who were 
educated or resided some time in Edmund Hall. 
Among its eminent scholars are Sir W. Jones, the 
law writer ; Judge Jenkins ; Dr. Bate ; Dr. Newton, 
mathematician ; John Oldham, the poet ; Kettlewell, 
the nonjuror, afterwards of Lincoln; Blackmore, the 
poet; Chamberlaine, author of "Anglia Notitia ;" 
Humphrey Wanley, librarian ; Hearne, the antiquary ; 
Dr. Kennet ; Felton, author of a " Dissertation on 
the Classics," &c. ; Mill, editor of the Greek Testa- 
ment ; and Dr. Grabe. 

ST. MARY HALL. 

FOUNDED IN 1325. 

The illustrious Sir Thomas More ; Sir Christopher 
Hatton, George Sandys, and Fulwell, poets ; Hariot, 
an eminent mathematician ; Marchmont Needham, 
the political writer ; Dr. Phineas Pett, the tutor of 
Canning, principal, &c, afterwards canon of Christ 
Church ; and Dr. Renn Dickson Hampden, Bampton 
Lecturer, &c. 

NEW INN HALL. 

FOUNDED IN 1391. 

Twyne, the antiquary, and the Rev. Dr. Scott, 
author of the "Christian Life," &c, were members 
of this hall. Dr. John Antony Cramer is the present 
Principal, and the author of works on Asia Minor, 
Ancient Italy, and Ancient Greece, together with 
accurate maps of those countries. 

ST. MARY MAGDELEN HALL. 

FOUNDED IN 1480. 

Among its Prelates, Magdelen Hall enumerates John 
Longland, Bishop of Lincoln ; Stokesley, Bishop of 



London ; and Wilkins, of Chester. Among its scholars 
are, Warner and Daniel, poets ; Sir Harry Vane, the 
republican ; Sir Julius Caasar, a learned civilian ; 
Leigh, theologian ; Lord Clarendon, the historian, 
who entered here in 1622 ; Tombes, whom Wood calls 
the Coryphaeus of the Anabaptists ; Sir Matthew Hale ; 
Dr. Godwin ; Theophilus Gale, author of the " Court 
of the Gentiles ;" Dr. Sydenham ; Pococke, after- 
wards of Corpus ; Dr. Hickes, afterwards of Lincoln ; 
Dr. Charleton ; Edward Phillips, Milton's nephew ; 
Dr. Plot, naturalist ; Dr. Tyson ; Sir George Wheeler ; 
Dr. William Nichols, commentator on the Liturgy ; 
Thomas Hobbes, the philosopher of Malmesbury. 



As an appendix to this Biographical Summary, 
may be added, "An exact account of the whole 
number of scholars and students in the University 
of Oxford, taken anno 1612, in the long vacation."* 





Totals. 




Total?. 


JEdes Christi 


. 240 


Trinitatis Coll. . 


. 116 


Magdal. Coll. 


. . 246 


Jesu Coll. 


. 91 


Novum Coll. 


. 130 


Corpus Christi Coll. 


. 94 


vEnenasense Coll 


. . 227 


Auld S. Maria . 


. 48 


Universit. Coll. . 


. 72 


Auld Magdal. 


. 161 


Merton Coll. . ' 


. . 93 


Auld Edmundi . 


. 47 


Reginense Coll. . 


. 267 


Auld Laturum Port 


141 


Omnium Anim. 


CoU. 93 


Auld Glocteri . 


. 62 


Eton Coll. . 


. 206 


Auld Albani . 


52 


S. Joannis Coll. 


. . 128 


Auld Cervini 


. 71 


Lincoln Coll. 


. 109 


Novum Hospitium 


. 30 


Balliolense Coll. 


. . 127 




. 


Oriel CoU. . 


. 79 


Sum. Totalis 


2920 



The author is fully aware that omissions may 
be discovered in the preceding summary, and that 
additions might be conferred on it by many orna- 
ments of later times. Should a future occasion offer 
itself, together with the adequate records, those 
additions will not be neglected. 



* From Tanner's MSS., in the Bodleian, quoted in 
1 Oxoniana." 



gg2 



THE MESSIAH, 

(1832.) 

TENTH EDITION. 



If I have done well, it is that which I desired ; but, if slenderly and meanly, 
it is that which I could attain unto." — 2 Maccabees xv. 38. 



QUEEN ADELAIDE, 

(by gracious permission,) 

THE FOLLOWING POEM 

Ks most respectftillg mscrtfco, 

BV 

HER MAJESTY'S 

VERY DUTIFUL AND OBLIGED SERVANT, 

THE AUTHOR. 



THE MESSIAH. 



PEEFACE. 

(1832.) 



The following Poem is submitted to the public 
with, great deference. The religious grandeur of 
his theme increases the responsibility of an 
Author, and renders him anything but sanguine 
as to the result. 

To those who may accuse him of arrogance, he 
can only reply, that he approached his subject 
with no irreverent thought, or careless speed ; nor 
is he aware of any instructive source, whereby 
light could be thrown on doctrine, scene, or 
character, which has been left unconsulted. 
What the delay of years might have effected, to 
render this attempt more worthy the reader's 
attention, he will not venture to suggest. The 
Horatian advice, though often the critic's precept, 
has rarely been the poet's example : time and 
circumstance are to be duly estimated; and, 
in the present instance, it is hoped, allow- 
ance will be made for the vivid impression pro- 
duced on the mind from our earliest years, by 
the awful scenery of the Redeemer's human life, 
which 

" might demand a seraph's tongue, 



it not equal to its own support, 
And therefore no incompetence of mine 
Can do it wrong." 

n To inbreed and cherish in a people the seeds 
of virtue and public civility, to allay the per- 
turbations of the mind, and set the affections in 
right tune; to celebrate in glorious and lofty 
hymns the throne and equipage of Grod's almighti- 
ness, to sing victorious agonies of saints and 
martyrs, the deeds and triumphs of just and 
pious nations, doing valiantly against the enemies 
of Christ ; lastly, whatsoever in religion is holy 
and sublime, in virtue amiable or grave ; what- 
ever hath passion or admiration in all the changes 
of that which is called fortune from without ; or 
the wily subtleties or refluxes of man's thoughts 
from within, — all these things with a solid and 
tractable smoothness to point out and describe," 
— is the true aim of poetry, as described and 
realised by the loftiest of epic poets. To aspire 
after this, even at the remotest distance, can 
form no man's disgrace : he may not secure fame, 
but assuredly he partakes a higher reward than 
mere reputation can bestow, while he endeavours 



to promote that spiritual elevation of character 
which constitutes the true enjoyment of a Being 
whose destiny survives the world. 

Lincoln College, Oxon, 1S32. 



BOOK I. 

"Floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant, 
Sic nos scriptural depascimur aurea dicta, 
Aurea, perpetua semper dignissima vita ! " 

Lucret. lib. hi. 
Prophecy is of prodigious extent. — It commenced 
from the fall of man, and reaches to the consum- 
mation of all things. — The declared purpose for 
which the Messiah, prefigured by so long a train 
of prophecy, came into the world, corresponds 
with all the rest of the representation, — it was to 
deliver a world from ruin, to abolish sin and 
death, to purify and immortalise human nature. 
We have no words to denote greater ideas than 
these ; the mind of man cannot elevate itself to 
nobler conceptions." — Hujrd. 



ANALYSIS OF BOOK I. 

Apostrophe to the Divine Spirit— Creation, the Off- 
spring of Almighty Love — Sketch of Man's primal 
state and fall— The fathomless Mystery of Evil— 
The Curse, and its attendant awfulness — Necessity 
of Atonement. — The Majesty of Christ's Redemption 
■ — He is the Soul and Centre of all Revelation and 
Rites — "Was present at the delivery of the Law from 
Sinai — Picture of the Camp of Israel in the Wilder- 
ness — The Gloom of Death as it must have appeai-ed 
to our first Parents — Their Retrospections — Birth of 
Eve's first Child, and her triumphant Exclamation 
— Abraham — Isaac — The offering of the latter, a 
type of that Heavenly Sacrifice hereafter to be 
offered up for the whole World — Beauty and Sim- 
plicity of the Patriarchal State— Balak — Prophecy — 
Grandeur of the Prophetical Character— The An- 
nouncement of Messiah, a leading Characteristic of 
the Sacred Predictions — Job, the Doctrine derived 
from his Sufferings — His sublime expression of 
Faith in a Redeemer — David, his magnificentc ha- 
racter as a Poet and Prophet — Prophecies relative to 
Christ — Isaiah, his Style, and Predictions — Ezekiel, 
Daniel, and Malachi — Each considered as Propheti- 
cal Announcers of Christ and His Kingdom — Re- 
flections on the Saviour, as they may arise to a 
contemplative Mind in Solitude — The Glory and 
Felicity of Spirits who worship, love, and obey 
Him. 



456 



THE MESSIAH. 



Of Man's redemption by almighty Blood, 
"When God incarnate on the earth became 
Apparent, and in bleeding glory died, 
I sing : Thou ! for Whom the worlds were 

made, 
Instruct me in this high attempt, and theme 
August of all-surpassing Love divine ; 
That with no daring eye or step profane 
The Muse may wander where the Saviour 

trod : 
If e'er at morning, noon, or solemn night, 
Thy shadow on my soul hath been, or prayer 
Or praise before Thy hymned Throne prevail'd, 
Priest of the Universe ! my song inspire. 

Ere Matter out of nothingness arose, 
Or, Time his destined march of years began, 
Himself was All ! the unapparent God : l 
But, Life the symbol of His Love appeared ; 
He will'd a universe, and lo, it was ! 

With Nature in her young excess of bloom 
Array 'd, and with a living sense of joy 
Abroad upon the verdant face of things, 
How exquisite must earth's primeval state 
Have been, how tinted with the hues of heaven ! 
And when amid it, from unbreathing dust 
A living Shape of godlike beauty rose, 
Alas ! that e'er on such transcendent scene 
A shade of guilt could fall ! that clouds 

advanced 
In wrath and darkness o'er offending Earth, 
No longer bright with angel-steps, but sad 
And stricken, trembling at her God ! 

When Man as monarch of the globe was 

placed 
Where lavish Eden waved and smiled, erect 
He stood ; but to bis Maker homage due 
By test of one supreme command was tried. 
" Of every tree which in the garden grows 
All freely eat, save that, wherein of Good 
And Evil the forbidden knowledge lies ; 
Whereof the day thou eatest, — thou shalt 

die!" 2 
A Tempter came, the interdicted Fruit 
Man dared to eat, and from his high estate 
Of sinless glory into darkness fell ! 

In this black hour when evil Doom prevails, 
Shall finite teach the Infinite his ways 
Or shape the path Omnipotence shall tread ] 
Shall man, in dreams of wild presumption, dare 
His Maker criticise, or blindly call 
Our fate unjust ? Shall fancy, in her flight 
Insane, beyond the Empyrean soar, 
The God unthrone, His attributes affect, 
And fashion worlds to prove his wisdom 
wrong 1 



Let Nature hope; and while her blessings 

thrive, 
To secret Heaven resign the dark unknown ! 3 

A deathless soul, as imaging its God, 
In preciousness the jewell'd earth transcends ; 
And when 'twas darken'd, vast Creation felt 
Its value, since the righteous Curse which 

came 
On ruin'd manhood, thrill'd all nature through, 
And round the world its dread vibration ran ! 
Cited for judgment, then the Creature saw 
The Face Almighty robed in frowning ire 
Bent o'er him ; and with sinking brow and 

frame 
While rcel'd the ground whereon the trembler 

trod, 
Heard the dread fiat, which all time confirms, — 
" Dust since thou wert, to dust return and die ! " 

Pale in the gloom of that departed Cloud, * 
Whose shadow, like a lightning-track had 

scathed 
The bowers of Paradise, when Adam stood 
With eyes aghast, and view'd the forfeit-world 
Wither around him, while his fancy heard 
The Curse still rolling on the awe-struck wind, 
The dimness and the agony of doubt 
How terribly his fallen soul endured ! 
For what forbade, but in the hour he sinn'd, 
By one annihilating word consumed 
That earth should perish in the pangs of hell ] 
Oh ! ye, who in the choir of Cherubim 
Divinely shaped, upon your sapphire-thrones 
Which in the palace of Jehovah blaze, 
One anthem of seraphic bliss prolong, 
My lyre attune, triumphantly to sing, 
Who sun-like dawn'd upon the gloom of death, 
Justice and mercy in His cross combined, 
And roll'd away God's thunders from the world ! 

But say, hath ever hymn by Angel sung, 
Hath thought divined, or human voice express'd 
This miracle of miracles profound, 
A world redeem' d, and Christ redemption's 

Lord ? 
I've seen the Sun, creation's paramount, 
Rise o'er the waves and lead the march of Day ; 
Alone have mused, when tempest roof 'd the 

heavens 
With blackness, and the quiring Ocean 

heard, 
When choral billows, as with conscious swell, 
Chanted loud anthems in the hush of night ; 
The dark sublimity of deepest storms 
Hath girdled, and the glories of the sky 



* The cloud of glory, -which betokened the Divine 
Presence. 



THE MESSIAH. 



45; 



O'erwhelm'd me : in humbleness and awe 
Before the majesty of human Worth 
I've bow'd, and felt how lovely Virtue is ; 
But poor and powerless, dim and undefined, 
The adoration born of scenes or hours 
Below, to that which o'er the spirit comes, 
When silent, Lord ! it thinks alone of Thee. 

In Christ all Revelation lives. His voice 
With man in Eden dread communion held, 4 
To teach him morning-vow, or evening-prayer, 
Or sacrifice divine : the shadowy Type, 
The mystic Law, and sacramental Powers, 
To Him relate : and when thy desert rang 
Sinai ! with the battle-hymns of old, 
While Judah's banners in victorious play 
Flouted the vassal wind, the Lord o'erhung 
The travell'd wilderness ; a signal-Cloud 
By day and night His awful guidance led : 
And Horeb heard Him ; when, in lightning 

veil'd, 
Her giant form beneath His thunder bow'd, 
As high o'er all the dreadful trumpet clang'd 
With heaven-toned music, till the Desert 

shook. 

That Wilderness ! oh, when hath mind con 

ceived 
Magnificence beyond a midnight there, 
When Israel paused, and o'er her tented host 
The moonlight lay 1 On yonder palmy mount, 
Lo, sleeping myriads in the dewy hush 
Of night repose : around, in squared array, 
The camps are set ; and in the midst, apart, 
That curtain'd Shrine where mystically dwells 
Jehovah's presence : through the soundless air 
A cloudy pillar, robed in burning light, 
Appears ; concentered as one mighty heart 
A million* lie, in mutest slumber bound, 
Or, panting like the Ocean when a dream 
Of storm awakes her. Heaven and Earth are 

still: 
In radiant loveliness the Stars pursue 
Their pilgrimage, while moonlight's wizard 

hand 
Throws beauty, like a spectre-light, on all. 
At Judah's tent the lion-banner stands 
Upfolded, and the pacing sentinels, — 
What awe pervades them, when the dusky 

groves, 
The rocks Titanian, by the moonshine made 
Unearthly, or yon mountains vast,f they view ! 
But soon as morning bids the sky exult, 
As earth from nothing, so that countless host 
From slumber and from silence will awake 



* Lamey's Account of the Hosts and Camps of 
Israel. t Horeb and Sinai. 



To mighty being : while the forest-birds 
Rush into song, the matin-breezes play, 
And streamlets flash where roving sunbeams 

fall. 
Like clouds in lustre, banners will unroll, 
The trumpet shout, the warlike tramp resound, 
And hymns of valour from the marching Tribes 
Ascend, to gratulate the risen Morn. 

Though Mercy, when a malediction fell 
On Life and Matter from the lips of God, 
That Woman's seed should bruise the Serpent's 

head 
Predicted, still, in ghastly vision came 
The shadows of thy then unenter'd world 
Death ! but time hath half thy gloom 

unveil'd. 
Though yet invisible, no more thy realm 
A desert seems where nothing human dwells : 
By ages peopled, 'tis the haunt of Dreams 
Forsaking earth, to roam and muse awhile 
With Shapes of being, who did once imbibe 
The vital breath. There, ancient Seers exist, 
Whose words were mightier than thunder-tones 
When Nature trembles ; there, the Good abide, 
The glorious, gifted, and immortal are. 
And who of death would all oblivious be 
When friends are tomb'd, and parents smile 

no more ] 
To loved eternity where they repose 
The orphan wanders in parental dreams 
How often, and the widow calls it, Home ! 

Yet 'twas not thus, when new-created Earth 
From chaos rose, with deepest verdure clad : 
Flower, fruit, and tree, in primal beauty waved ; 
No tint of death, no touch of sad decay 
Then marr'd the freshness of the lovely scene. 
Hence, the dread fiat, " Perish ! dust thou art, 
And unto dust shalt thou again return," 
To Adam sounded like Creation's knell ! 

Upon the wide and voiceless world, alone 
The guilty wanderers, whom fair Eden once 
Embower'd, in fond remembrance often 

mourn'd 
The bloom of Paradise, and pure estate 
For ever lost. The Morning rose, and light 
Around them in its warm luxuriance fell ; 
But ah ! it could not through the spirit beam 
As once, when Day and Heaven together rose, 
While harping angels on the breezes sang : 
And Evening, with her tenderness of shade 
O'ercame them, like a cloud of solemn grief; 
For then, of Paradise and dewy calm 
They thought, as there they watch'd the 

vesper-hues 
In beautiful consumption fade and die, 
All innocently blest. Thus pass'd the day 



458 



THE MESSIAH. 



In wo ; and dreams of sworded Cherubim 
Glared on their slumber ! still, their God 

was near ; 
And when the pangs which only mothers feel 
Dejected Eve endured, and lo ! a child 
Was born, th' unclouded spring of hope began. 
And who can fathom that deep hour of love 
When first an infant on its mother smiled, 
And in the bright enchantment of that bliss 
Her babe she clasp'd, and to Jehovah cried, 
" The promised Seed ! Almighty ! now 'tis 

born ! " 

Thus dimly on the world's primeval state 
Messiah dawn'd ; till God himself declared 
To sainted Abram, as the countless orbs 
Of midnight glitter'd over Hebron's plain, 
That like yon stars a glorious race should rise 
Unnumber'd, till the earth's Deliverer came, 
And crown'd all nations blest. Then, Isaac 

rose, 
The child of promise, the Redeemer's type 
On the stern altar by his parent laid ! 
The son, the only son, whom Abram loved 
Yet did not spare, when Heaven commanded, 

"Slay!" 

Ere the rich morning on the mountains 
flung 
A robe of beauty ; in that vestal hour 
When birds are darting from the dewy ground, 
And nature, soft as sleeping life, begins 
To waken, and the spell of day to wear, 
Unseen the patriarch and his cherish'd boy 
Uprose, the sacrificial wood prepared, 
And thus, companioned by his household- 
youths, 
They onward journey 'd with the laden ass. 
Through piny glens, and green acacia-vales 
The pilgrims wound their undulating way. 
Oft as he went, upon his child beloved 
The Sire of nations look'd, and inly pray'd ; 
And felt the father in his bosom rise, 
As bound and bloody, on the altar stretch'd 
He vision'd him ! — the long-hoped, destined son 
Who fond and dutiful had ever been, 
And guiltless of a parent's tear. But, faith 
Triumphant in the power of mercy proved. 
Twice had the Sun around the pilgrims drawn 
His evening-veil, when o'er a distant mount, 
Upon Moriah's steep and rocky clime 
A Vision of the Lord reposed, and shone, — 
A cloudy signal, shaped for Abram's eye 
Alone to see, and there his altar raise. 
The patriarch bow'd ; and o'er the mountain- 
path 
Both child and parent took their solemn way, 
But each was silent, for they thought of 
Heaven. 



Thus on they went, till at the mount ordain'd 
Arriving, with cnamour'd gaze they saw 
Green heights, and forest-crested hills afar, 
And willow'd plains ; and drank the balmy air, 
And cool'd their foreheads in the breeze, 

which play'd 
Like the soft tremor of an angel-wing ; 
So hush'd the hour, the spot so calm, that God 
Himself seem'd waiting there to welcome man ! 
Then Isaac, as the stony altar-pile 
Beneath the shadow of a mountain-tree 
Was reared, and sacramental fire prepared, 
In words of unsuspecting sweetness cried, 
" My father ! " — Abram answer'd, " Here, my 

son ! " 
" The wood and fire behold ! but where the 

lamb 
Of sacrifice, to crown yon flaming pyre 1 " 
Then heaved his bosom with the love of years 
Departed ; and a tear paternal rose 
As gazed he fondly on that only child, 
And far away a childless mother saw 
Whose heart had echoed every infant-cry ! 
But soon the strife, and soon the tear was o'er : 
To Heaven he look'd, and thus to Isaac spake : 
" My son ! in thee a sacrifice the Lord 
Hath found, and — thou to God art dedicate ! " 5 
He answer'd not ; but meekly knelt him down 
And on the altar lay, a willing Lamb. 
But God descended ; and the hand uplift 
In glorious faith to sacrifice a child, 
Was holden, while angelic tones proclaim' d 
" Abram ! spare thy son ! thine only spare, 
And let him live, for thou art faithful found." 
With thrilling wonder and ecstatic awe 
Up look'd the Patriarch, and behold ! a ram 
Beside him, in a woody thicket caught : 
And while it bled, again the Voice sublime 
Repeated, like the sound of golden waves, 
" In blessing I will bless thee ; and thy seed 
The sand of ocean shall outnumber far, 
And from it spring the Glory of the World ! " 

But next, on Jacob, in symbolic dream 
The Incarnation dawn'd, as lone and sad, 
His couch the earth, his canopy the skies, 
The exiled patriarch from wild Esau fled. 
When night had deepen'd, homeless, pale, and 

worn, 
The wanderer, pillow'd on a stone-built couch, 
For slumber stretch'd him on the dreary plain. 
Companionless he was, 'mid forests dark 
With midnight-umbrage, torn by wolfish winds, 
And echoed by the frequent lion-roar 
Howl'd from the hills ; but God he ever felt ; 
And round his heart parental blessings twined, 
Till sleep came o'er him, like a smile from 

Heaven. 
Rude was the couch, but oh ! his angel-dream 



THE MESSIAH. 



459 



To witness, Saints would now a ruder share ! 
He dreamt ; and lo ! a Ladder, based on earth, 
And buried in the sky, before him rose ; 
Adown it Shapes of awful beauty stole, 
While others clad with archangelic beams 
Did solemnly from step to step ascend : 
Above, a formless Apparition shone, 
Ineffable ! from Whom a voice divine 
In accent richer than the full-toned sea, 
Proclaim'd, " Thy father's God ! and thine, 

behold ! 
Wide o'er the world thy destined seed will 

spread, 
And, numberless, empeople lands and isles, 
Till Oxe arise, and make all kingdoms blest." 
" How dreadful ! 'tis the gate of heaven ! " he 

cried : 
'Mid solemn breathings of melodious air 
Aloft then moved the hierarchal Pomp ; 
And ere the lark to hymn the Day began 
The exile rose, a rocky pillar raised, 
Shed o'er its top the consecrating oil, 
And in the hush of morning hied away. 

" From Judah's hand the sceptre shall not 
fall, 
Till Shiloh come; to Him shall Empires bow !" 
So spake a patriarch from his couch of death ; 
And thus, through all the realm of holy Writ, 
Messiah is the Morning Star of Hope 
Who beams for ever on the soul of truth. 

But, ere deep Prophecy its organ-strain 
Its full magnificence of tone begin, 
A vision of that unforgotten prime 
The patriarchal age, when Earth was young, 
Awhile, oh ! let it linger. On the soul 
It breaketh, like a lovely burst of spring 
On gazing captives, when the open skies 
Again are floating over Freedom's head. 
Though sin had wither'd with a charnel-breath 
Creation's morning-bloom, there still remain'd 
Elysian hues of that angelic scene 
Yv r hen the Sun gloried o'er a sinless world, 
And with each rav produced a flower. From 

dells 
Untrodden, hark ! the breezy carol comes 
Upwafted, with the chant of radiant birds ; 
While meadows, bathed in greenest light, and 

woods 
Gigantic, towering from the skiey hills, 
And odorous trees in prodigal array, 
With all the elements divinely calm, 
Our fancy pictures on the infant globe. 
And ah, how godlike, with imperial brow 
Benignly grave, yon patriarchal Forms 
Tread the free earth, and eye the naked 

heavens ! 
In nature's stamp of unassisted grace 



Each limb is moulded ; simple as the mind 
The vest they wear ; and not a hand but works, 
Or, tills the ground with honourable toil. 
By youth revered, their sons around them grow 
And flourish ; monarch of his pastoral tribe, 
A Patriarch's throne is each devoted heart ; 
And when he slumbers on the tented plain 
Beneath the vigil-stars, a living wall 
Is round him, in the might of love's defence. 
And he is worthy : sacrifice and song 
By him are ruled ; and oft at shut of flowers 
When queenly virgins in the sunset go 
Water to carry from the crystal wells, 
In beautiful content, beneath a tree 
Whose shadows hung o'er many a hallow'd sire, 
He sits ; recording how Creation rose 
From nothing, of the Word almighty born ; 
How man had fallen, and where Eden-boughs 
Had waved their beauty on the breeze of morn ; 
Or, how the Angels still at twilight love 
To visit Earth with errands from the Sky. 

But like a river that its course renews, 
Again my song to its high Theme returns. 
When Balak, frighted by the banner'd hosts 
Of Israel, camping on unbounded plains, 
For Balaam sent, upon his tranced eye 
Prophetic visions from th' Almighty fell. 

There, when the monarch on the mountain 
stood, 
Seven altars, 6 oxen, and seven rams prepared, 
And sacrifice of mystic numbers paid, — 
The Seer his oracle of light unroll'd. 
He look'd, and lo ! along that river'd vale 
Where Arnon glitter' d, shone the myriad tents 
Of Judah, whitening in the lustrous air, 
Like clouds which congregate on summer-sky 
In ranks of infinite and fresh array : 
Then, all the chords of Heaven's predictive lyre 
Quiver' d, with more than melody intoned, 
And superhuman Poetry began ! 
His curse was buried in the bliss foretold ; 
While glory, blessing, and mysterious joy 
The tents of Jacob from the prophet drew : 
Till Ecstacy this higher strain attuned 
In — " I shall see Him, but not now ! a Star 
From Jacob, and from Israel shall arise 
A Sceptre, in whose shadow will depart 
Thy race and region, deserted king ! " 

Thus Prophecy to man from heaven was 
breathed 
A miracle beyond all utterance deep, 
Immeasurably vast ; outmarching Time, 
Subduing Space, and with colossal might 
Erecting Thrones ; or crushing city-walls 
With curses, like the winds when desert-born, 
Terrific, loud, with desolation wing'd ! ' 



460 



THE MESSIAH. 



And they, elected to be Mouths for God, 
Dread Oracles ! whose dooming words have 

blanch'd 
The cheek of Empires in their godless pride 
And palsied high-domed Capitals with fear, 
August and lonely, sad, yet all sublime 
They lived, in sackcloth robed, in deserts 

housed 
Or mountain cavern ; fated, and apart 
From blinding shadows of terrestrial sway, 
They dwelt, communing with almighty 

Thought. 
The gloom, the glory, and the Vision came, 
The Future rendered voiceless secrets up, 
And then, like phantoms, from eternity, 
Dim Ages rose, and answered to their Spell ! 

And he, whose sorrow was sublimely borne, 
Whose grief was glory, for it made the soul 
A witness how the Everlasting thinks, — 
Behold him ! on the ashy ground reclined. 
Seven days and nights have o'er his throbbing 

head 
Departed, still, in mutest wo he bows 
With three beside him. Oft when darkness 

rose, 
A groan sank dreary on the midnight-air ; 
But, soon his agony again retired 
Back to the gulph of unlamenting gloom ! 
Nor lip, nor limb his inward strife reveals ; 
Despair in stone was not more dumb than he ! 
Prometheus, chain'd on Scythia's burning rock, 
When lightning, tempest, and Tartarean ire 
With thund'ring earthquake round his mar- 

tyr'd frame 
The tragedy of Nature's wreck begun, 
In full sublimity of godlike wo 
Was less exalted than the silent Job. 

And, what a lesson of undying truth 
The torture of the Scene supplies ! Array'd 
In whirlwind, did the vocal God declare 
Secrets of glory, or mysterious depths 
Of Essence Infinite to man unshroud 1 
No ! sea and mountain, thunder-storm and 

cloud, 
The glorious miracles of life and form 
Which float the waters, or the earth command, 
These are but types of Trinitarian power, 
Yet, who the mystery of their being knows ? 
Lost in the march of God's material ways, 
If Eeason wander, how could thought abstract 
His moral Kingdom perfectly conceive ? 
To question deeply what we darkly know, 
Our boding fancies in their raven flight 
Cross and re-cross a universe of gloom, 
And yet, in this appall'd conviction ends, — 
That God is good, and infinite, and wise, 



But Man a daring antichrist, who dreams 
Himself the measure of Eternal Mind ! 

When Nature, in her awful doubt, creates 
Mystery and madness for the heart and brain, 
From all which life endures, let mortals feel 
That man, the infant of eternity, 
By wo is nursed, and strengthen'd for the 

skies ; 8 
And a brave soul, though Earth and Hell 

combine 
To scatter tempest round its blighted way, 
Beholds a God in all things but despair ! 
In hours of sadness, when Oppression rules, 
And each pale sunburst of unwonted joy 
Breaks o'er the spirit, like derisive beams 
Of summer playing round a wintry realm, 
Let Grief remember how the patriarch cried 
With voice that travell'd o'er the sea of Time, 
" Oh ! that the graven rock my words imprest, 
And iron stamp'd them with eternal truth ! 
For though in dust my body be dissolved, 
That my Redemer liveth, and shall stand 
When time is ended, on this mortal earth, 
I surely know : on Him mine eye shall gaze, 
And in my flesh shall I The Lord behold ! " 

God's Incarnation is the focal truth 9 
Where prophecy's converging beams unite. 
And Thou ! the shepherd-king, of Jesse born, 
Of Heaven beloved, similitude express 
Of Christ, the Lord of everlasting worlds, 
Whether on Zion hill thy holy strain 
Be harped, or by the brook of Kedron hymn'd ; 
Or nightly warbled, when unnumber'd orbs 
To thee their origin divine declared, — 
Thy words are breathings by the soul attuned ; 
For aye thou seem'st a Singer from above 
Who chants the glory of remember'd skies. 

Wouldst thou in meekest adoration bend, 
Or mount the heavens, and with bright 

myriads swell 
The chorus of eternity 1 Does Grief 
Around thee blacken in her stormy ire, 
Or sad dejection on thy eyelids weigh? 
The royal minstrel hath a mood for thee 
And in his heart deep echoes for thine own ! 
But when the frame of this majestic World 
The mind o'erawes, then ! who like him appeals 
To clouds and whirlwinds, with the Thunder 

talks, 
Partakes the tempest, and of Ocean learns 
Such mimicry sublime, that Fancy hears 
In God's own orchestra of waves and winds 
The billows, echoed by his heaven-strung lyre. 
But Nature in her gentleness, alike 
From David woos a sympathy divine. 
The lull of night, the language of the stars, 



THE MESSIAH. 



461 



And all that beautiful, serene, or blest 
Is deemed, his harp melodiously inspires. 

Bard of the Spirit ! thine heroic song, 
Whose hallelujahs in Engeddi's cave, 
Or forest glens, and palmy grove, prevail'd 
O'er every pang his exiled bosom felt, — 
Attunes Religion's universal voice. 
Canadian forests, or the parched wilds 
Of Afric, ocean-rocks, and cavern-gloom, 
Wherever Man to God in prayer ascends, 
Thy melodies the yearning heart relieve. 
And oh ! what blessings have thy hymns 

evoked 
From Heaven's vast treasury of light and love 
Since first they sounded on a shepherd's lyre ! 
For they are all Imagination dreams 
Angelic lips might warble : — on the Cross 
Of Calvary, ere the Son of Man dismiss'd 
His martyr'd spirit, thine was His farewell ! 

But chief o'er all in David's glorious strain, 
The homage wafted to that destined Throne 
Whereon would reign a universal King 
From him descended : — in his darksome wo 
The Martyr and the Maker of our world 
Was symbolised, beneath a veiling gloom. 
And when exalted, his far-reaching eye 
By heaven unsealed, in emblematic light 
Foreshadowed Him, the Triumpher o'er death, 
And Victor of the grave. Thus, vision-blest, 
The prophet-minstrel all divinely sung ; 
Thus rose from mortal to immortal themes, 
Above his nature tower' d, and hail'd on high 
Christ from eternity by God decreed 
The earth to ransom and mankind restore. 

And how he imageth the Lord of souls 
Before us, when he mounteth on the wings 
Of rapture, soaring through the heaven of 

heavens ! 
" From Zion shall He wither in His wrath 
Rebellious kings ! to me hath He declared, 
My Son thou art ! this day Jehovah hath 
Begotten Thee ; the heathen are Thine own, 
And vanquish'd worlds beneath Thy sceptre 

bow ! " 

But when the starry hush and pomp of night 
O'erawed him, and the moon her Maker's hand 
Confess' d, the spirit of prophetic Truth 
Again was vocal : thus the minstrel sang : 
" When I consider how the balanced heavens 
Almightiness in moving pomp reveal, 
Lord! what is man] yet Him hast thou 

encrown'd ; 
Upon the deep his vast dominion walks, 
And subject earth beneath his sceptre bows. 



" Ever before me lives the Lord of Hosts ! 
His hand o'ershades me, and my heart exults : 
And soaring hope, by inspiration plumed, 
Wings o'er the sepulchre its flight, — for there 
A Soul shall triumph ; and thy Holy One 
No dark corruption of the dead shall stain ! " 

"How beauteous Thou, above the sons of 
men ! 
Upon Thy lips what loveliness diffused ! 
Array Thee in thy glory ! gird Thy sword 
Upon thy thigh ; majestically ride ! 
Hark! Earth is quaking; her foundations rock, 
Thine arrows thicken ; terrible Thy sway ! 
For ever and for ever is Thy Throne, 
And righteously Thy boundless sceptre rules, 
And over all Thy God anoints Thee great. 

"Through dateless ages are Thy years 

unroll'd ; 
The earth was founded, and the heavens were 

arch'd 
By Thee ; Creation felt Thy forming hand ; 
But while they perish, Thou shalt aye endure : 
When, like a vesture, they are changed and 

gone 
Still, Thou art One, Eternal and the True ! " 

And thus did Zion's royal minstrel chant, 
And through the cloud of unaccomplish'd time 
His glance direct, to that transcendent reign 
Of Mercy, when the veil would be uproll'd 
And brightly dawn th' Incarnate Sun of Worlds. 

Next in the train of these immortal Seers 
Another of the heaven-directed hail ; 
Who, like the clarion that shall rouse the dead, 
Might quicken dust, — such life his song 

inspires ! 
Amid a temple, bright as Syrian noon, 
Upon a Throne unutterably high 
O'er which the six-wing'd Seraphim appear'd, 
The Lord was seated ; and the awful cry 
Of " Holy, Holy, Holy, is the Lord ! " 
Melodious came from each seraphic lip : 
And in that Yision, as a centre stood 
Appall'd Isaiah, seeing, hearing all. 

Terrific Bard, and mighty ! in thy strain 
The passion and the poetry of truth 
And deep-toned storms of inspiration roll, 
Whether for cities by th' Almighty cursed 
Thy wail arose ; or, on enormous crimes 
Which darken'd heaven with supernatural 

gloom, 
Thy flash of indignation fell, alike 
The feelings quiver when thy Yoice awakes ! 
Borne in the whirlwind of a dreadful song 
Our spirit travels round the destined globe, 



462 



THE MESSIAH. 



While shadows, cast from solemn years to come, 
Fall round us, and we feel a God is nigh ! 

But when a gladness from thy music flows, 
Creation brightens ; glory decks the sky, 
The Sun is mantled with millennial smiles 
And green earth temper'd for immortal spring : 
The lion smoothes his ruffled mane, the lamb ! — 
And wolf together feed, and by the den 
Of serpents, see the rosy infant play ! 

There is a Day, the darkness of whose scene 
In visitings of dread might well subdue 
The world's false brightness, foreordained to 

come, 
When the huge fabric of this stately Globe 
Shall bow with terror in the storm of doom. 
Then, in that hour of chaos, while the earth 
And heaven shall fade like elemental dreams, 
High on some rocky eminence enthroned 
Methinks Isaiah might his voice awake 
In bursts of wo magnificently wild, — 
The last that lingers round a dying World ! 

But, Prince of Prophets ! in thy page eterne, 
How visibly the Son of God appears ! 
" Behold, a Virgin shall conceive, and bear 
A son ; Immanuel shall his name be call'd." 
Again ; — " For unto us a Child is born, 
To us a Son is given ; and his name 
Is, Wonderful, the Everlasting Prince 
Of Peace ! the Counsellor, and mighty God ! 

"A Yoice comes wafted through the 
Wilderness ! 
Prepare the way, and be the Desert smooth : 
Arise, ye valleys ! and ye mountains, sink 
Before Him ! for the Lord Jehovah comes ! 

" Despised, rejected, and a Man with grief 
Acquainted, surely He our woes hath borne, 
And in His bosom all our sorrows ta'en ! 
Our chastisement is on Him : we are heal'd, 
But He is wounded ! and on Him alone 
The Lord hath laid th' iniquity of all ! " 

Nor, when captivity by Chebar mourn'd, 
And Israel wore the Babylonian chain 
Beside the willow-shaded streams, was dumb 
The Yoice prophetic : but where Belus rose 
In her stupendous prodigy of towers, 
Ezekiel pour'd his passionate lament ; 
Or shaped for time the Destinies he saw 
From heaven prefigured : — what colossal shades 
As though reflected from the scenes immense 
Around him, crowd upon his fated world ! 
But high o'er all the visionary Pomp 
To us the Cedar of the Gospel rears 



Its allegoric boughs, beneath whose shade 
Birds of all clime, and wing, and beauty dwell. 

So Daniel, when his midnight-trance began 
On the dim bosom of that mystic Sea 
Whose waters quiver'd in the tempest-grasp, 
Beheld him, coming with the clouds of heaven, — 
The Son of Man ; then, throned in flaming 

pomp 
With myriads of Angelic Forms begirt, 
Perpetual empire to the Son was given 
O'er land and language, kingdom, sea, and isle. 

And thus, wherever bright prediction 
beams, 
The glories of the Incarnation dawn. 
At last, with healing on his wings, arose 
The Sun of Righteousness, to him * who cried, 
" Before the splendour of that dreadful day 
A Herald of the Lord, Elijah comes, 
To turn thy heart, guilty world ! to me, 
Or thou shalt wither in My blast of ire ! " 

So Prophecy, with time begun, with time 
Shall end ; and when in some empyreal Sphere 
The mind expands with far sublimer reach 
Than prescient faith, or fancy can extend, 
In proud fulfilment Prophecy will reign. 
For, having grasp'd the glory of the world 
Redeem'd, and taught us how Millennium 

smiles, 
Beyond the Universe of sense it wings 
An awful flight, and in mysterious depths 
Of Being unexplored, for man foredooms, 
A state unspeakably divine and pure, — 
Eternity, God ! and shared with Thee. 

Almighty Priest! Thou angel-worshipp'd 
Lord 
In secrecies of uncreated Light 
Though now enthron'd, Thy sympathies retain 
Their human oneness with Thy People still ; 
And, for the Church, thy Mystic Body call'd, 
Plead and prevail with eloquence divine. 
As oft in chamber dim, or lonesome walk 
By leafy twilight arch'd, the Mind foreviews 
Its own eternity, and dreams Thy Form 
To life again, — how wonderful, apart, 
By time unsoil'd, by accident, or sin 
Immaculate as Love and Law required 
Thy Being riseth in irradiant truth, 
Before us, purer than the light of light, 
Of all Transcendencies the sum and soul ! in 
And when did Earth Thine attribute display, — 
One vast Benevolence, which girt a world 
Of hearts by catholic embrace of love ? 
All time and truth, all empires and all powers 



Malachi. 



THE MESSIAH. 



463 



That were, or would be, in the march of fate, 
By Thee were compass'd for Redemption's plan ! 

When o'er the grandeur of unclouded heaven 
Our vision travels with a free delight, 
As though the boundless and the pure were 

made 
For speculation, so the towering mind 
By inward oracle inspired and taught, 
The Lofty and the Excellent in mind reveres ; 
And thus, the Incarnation of divinest love, 
God's perfect Image, humanised for Man, 
As Finite loved, as Infinite adored, 
Messiah is ; and hence to faith presents 
A Model for the Universe. — Though God 
Be round us, by the shadow of His might 
For aye reflected; and with plastic Hand 
Prints on the earth the character of Things ; 
Yet He Himself, — how awfully retired 
Depth within depth, unutterably deep ! 
His Glory brighter than the brightest thought 
Can image, holier than our holiest awe 
Can worship — utter'd only in, I AM ! n 

But Thou ! apparell'd in a robe of true 
Mortality ; meek Sharer of our low 
Estate, in all except compliant sin, 
To Thee can sacrificial Awe devote 
A living holocaust of sense and soul 
By love enkindled. Thou hast lived and 

breathed ; 
Our wants and woes partaken ; all that charms 
Regenerate hearts to Thine unspotted truth 
May plead for sanction ; 12 Virtue but reflects 
Thine image ; Wisdom is a voice attuned 
To consonance with Thine ; and all which yields 
To Thought a pureness, or to Life a peace, 
From Thee descends ; whose spirit-ruling sway, 
Invisible as thought, around us brings 
A balm almighty for Affliction's hour. 
Once felt, in all the fulness of Thy grace 
The mystic essence of our moral life 
To form, — and heaven by holiness begins ! 
Which purifies the base, the dark illumes, 
And binds our being with that holy spell 
Whereby each function, faculty, and thought 
Surrenders meekly to the central Guide 
Of hope and action, by a God empower'd. 13 

Until the eyelids of the Dead unclose 
Though Christ has vanish'd into viewless light, 
High o'er the world, beyond heroic state, 
To reach or rival, is Man's inner-life 
Securely founded on the Rock of faith ! 
All the wide glories which the eye commands, 
Or air and ocean, earth and heaven supply, 
Of Him report, whose potency begat 
Them all. The ground is hallow'd, for 'twas trod 
By Him ; all Earth is radiant with a sense 



Ethereal, born of His remember'd sway : 
Nor pang, nor trial, torture, grief, nor care 
Communion high and mystic interchange 
With Him destroys ; in solitude alike, 
As in the roaring capital, a Saint 
Embodies into human Form again 
That living Saviour, Whom the Past perceived 
And worshipp'd, angels gloried to announce, 
And Whose perfections so harmonious are 
That o'er them God's eternal sabbath smiles.* 



BOOK II. 

' The intellectual Power, through words and things, 
"Went sounding on, a dim and perilous way. " 

"Wordsworth. 

'■ Melior origo nos expectat, alius rerurn status. Dies 
iste, quern tanquam extremum reformidas, seterni 
natalis est." — Seneca, Ejpist. 102. 



ANALYSIS OF BOOK II. 

Having shown that the gradual announcement of an 
Incarnate Redeemer was the primary object of the 
Prophetic Scheme, the Second Book is principally 
devoted to a consideration of the necessity and pro- 
bability of a Revelation from God, by an argument 
drawn from the nature of the human mind and the 
destinies of man. 

Natural and Revealed Religion — The total inadequacy 
of the former is endeavoured to be shown by ex- 
hibiting a mind most exquisitely attuned to the 
glories and harmonies of the Universe, yet averse 
to the truth and character of Christ's atonement ; 
till, finally convinced, by the utter helplessness of 
human philosophy, it reposes in the Faith which is 
from Heaven — The probability of a Revelation from 
God, induced from the weakness, obscurity, and 
impotence of ancient systems, and the frequent 
longing of their founders for some certain Lawgiver 
from above — The Doctrine of Pagan and Christian 
Philosophy — Sublime superiority of the latter — Its 
triumphant effects — This Revelation was gradually 
made, in analogy with the progressive tendencies 
of the human mind, and the Divine arrangements 
from the commencement of the "World — Belief by 
compulsion would violate the freedom of the will, 
and reduce the character of man to an irresponsible 
nature — Christ — Revelation extends through all 
ages — Apostrophe to England as a country gloriously 
distinguished by the ameliorating influence of 
Christianity — Her Sabbaths — Prayers for the dif- 
fusion of the Gospel — And our Country's efforts in 
this holy toil — Concluding thoughts, sentiments, 
and descriptive associations. 

There is a God, the Universe exclaims : 
There is a God, Man's echoing heart replies, 
And round the world that heaven-born answer 

rolls ! 
And thus Creation, while the spirit throbs 



* "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well 
pleased. " 



464 



THE MESSIAH. 



In full response to her sublime appeal, 
Hath canonised Imagination's creed, 
Till all her splendours to the soul become 
The faint reflections of a Vast Unseen ! 14 

Yet, vainly beautiful this god of earth 
Whom Nature's worship for the soul creates : 
Our homage is material ; and the mind, 
While in the light of elemental pomp 
It lives and moves, may still its darkness keep ; 
Unvisited by that perpetual ray 
Of Truth divine, from revelation born, 
Where God a Person, not Abstraction is, 
And His high Attributes to faith become 
That inward Decalogue the will obeys. 

There is a haunt whose quietude of scene 
Accordeth well with hours of solemn hue, — 
A church-yard, bosomed in a beauteous vale 
Besprinkled o'er with green and countless 

graves, 
And mossy tombs of unambitious pomp 
Decaying into dust again. No step 
Of mirth, no laughter of unfeeling life 
Amid the calm of death that spot profanes. 
The skies o'er-arch it with serenest love ; 
The winds, when visiting the dark-bough'd elms, 
An airy anthem sing ; and birds and bees 
That in their innocence of summer joy 
Exult, and carol with commingling glee, 
But add to solitude the lull of sound. 
By sea environ'd, yet the choral waves 
By noon entranced, in dreaming slumber lie ; 
And when roused Ocean at the roaring blast 
Foams in loud fury, still, the deep-toned storm 
Mellow'd by distance, into music dies 
Like that which echoes from the world afar, 
Or lingers round the path of perish'd Years. 

And here, companion'd by his soul alone, 
A Being, whose unfathom'd spirit fought 
With Loneliness, did wander oft and muse 
His hours away; while dream-wove spells 

entwined 
Their mystery round him : — if the Tomb its dead 
Surrender'd, well might he arise and prove 
How frail the creed which erring Nature moulds 
When darkness rushes on the doom of Man ! 

In vain the witchery of words would tell 
How fondly, by impassion'd dreams inspired, 
His fancy wed the Universe with love. 
The hues and harmonies of blended Things 
Were beauty to the magic of his mind ; 
And all the thousand wheels of moving life 
The intellectual melodies, which played 
For ever on the mystic harp of Thought. 
Such warm imaginings, where'er he came, 
A glittering falseness on the true and stern 



Suffused ; and through the light of feeling 

shone 
The scene of earth, and countenance of heaven. 
The young enchantment of angelic Spring 
Flow'd in his veins, voluptuously deep ; 
The budding infancy of flowers was dear 
To him, nor would he tread their life away ; 
Nor wander in the soundless gloom of dell 
Or grove, without a sympathetic hush. 
And oh ! to view him when the balmy night 
Breathed o'er this quiet world, and from her 

throne 
The lustrous Moon on tree and temple pour'd 
The pallid radiance of her peaceful smile, — 
In second paradise he seem'd to muse, 
Priested by Sentiment, to worship there ! 

So lived, so felt he ; making all without 
Enchantment for responsive thought within ; 
But that Eternity which girdles time, 
Majestic Faith, and everlasting Hope, 
Commoved not him : Hereafter drown'd his 

soul 
In seas of darkness, billowing with doubt 
And fear ! — That this divine, all-beauteous Orb 
Whose faintest impulse, sent from breeze 

or star, 
So thrillingly his heart confess'd, was framed, 
Upheld, and circled through the void profound 
By Power apart, invisibly enthroned, 
His innate majesty of mind declared. 
But such a god, of dreams and shadows born, 
No bended knee, no voice nor vow adored : 
He was — a Spirit, or pervading Sense, 
A sightless Agent, an almighty Self 
Articulated by the tones of Earth 
And gloriously by nature's pomp reveal'd, — 
So fancy dreamt ; and Feeling taught no more. 
And hence did Pride and Passion, which imbue 
Mortality with taints of sin and wo 
And colour all the atmosphere -of life 
With clouds of awful gloom, work unrestrain'd, 
And rule or sanction the decrees of Thought. 

At length Affliction, in whose teaching gloom 
The keen-eyed jealousy of Guilt beholds 
Truths which our mental Cains deny, or dread, 
Blighted his home with desolating blast ! 
And One, the beatings of whose heart were his 
Ee-echo'd, she who walk'd with angel-step, 
Her looks the living sunshine of his soul, 
Her tones the music of his memory, 
Whose printless foot made consecrated ground, 
The hope and heaven of all, — lay still in death ! 
Then came that worldless, dread, eclipse of 

mind, 
The agony which curdles soul and sense , 

As though annihilation had begun, 
Or man were mouldering into dust again ! 



THE MESSIAH. 



465 



One beam of heaven had brought salvation now ; 
But Darkness girt him with its deepest shroud, 
"Wherein he stood, nor wept, nor spoke, nor 

sigh'd, 
But, mute and stone-like, turn'd to cold despair ! 

With tender rudeness to his couch they bore 
The widow'd martyr ; day by day, and hour 
By hour, Affection with her heavenly eye 
Attended, faintly smooth'd his pallid brow, 
Then touch'd his hand, and with a yearning 

gaze 
Woo'd his dumb anguish into speaking life, 
Which came at last ; and then, alone he nursed 
His sorrow ; — in the breathless noon of night, 
All unperceived, the lovely dead he found ; 
There stood, and gazed, enamour'd of the grief 
That, now unfrozen, from his spirit pour'd 
Tears fast and free, in all the storm of wo ! 
On that cold form, so spiritually pale, 
Where the lone night-watch flung a spectral 

gleam, 
He look'd, as though a life were in that look 
Absorb'd, and felt that never more would flash 
From pulseless clay revealings of the soul ! 
The mystery of Being was fulfill' d, 
The seal of Nature set, the vision gone, 
Or vanish'd in some universe of gloom ! 
And yet, from dreams a Light immortal soothed 
The mourner, when from out the grave he saw 
An Apparition, bright as golden air, 
Ascend, assume her own appealing smile 
And point with waving hand to better worlds ! 

But Life no longer seem'd the living sense 
Of mortal nature ; but a ghastly dream 
Wherein he moved, by Destiny compell'd. 
A dismal trance of dull satiety 
This lone world grew ; a dampness of despair, 
The sullen winter of a broken heart 
Was all he felt, — was all he wish'd to feel ! 
A demon-shadow, by his anguish bred, 
O'er all things brooded : in the light no light 
Appear'd ; e'en melody no music brought, 
And earth emaciate as an orb of death 
To him became ; his thoughts alone did live ; 
And these, like pulses from a tortured brain, 
Throbb'd in the spirit with eternal pang ! 

And now, the poison of dejection work'd ; 
His cheeks were blighted ; o'er his thin-worn 

hands 
The veins meander'd with a dying hue ; 
The mournful hair that arch'd his manly brow 
Droop'd like decaying locks; his bright eye 

lost 
The boldness of expressive fire, and grew 
Unearthly, from its depth of lifeless gaze : 
And oft did mothers heave maternal sighs, 



And children cease their revel, when he pass'd 
Unheedful by them, like a Shape from tombs. 

At length, the unbeliever sought the Night 
To tell him secrets of eternity. 
And then, how terrible the spirit-throes 
Of doubting agony a Deist felt ! 
Above him, — the majestic sea of heaven 
Where island-orbs of beauty sail'd and shone ; 
Around him, dimness and the calm of death 
By nothing marr'd, but when some moving 

branch 
Of cypress, like a dying billow shed 
A faint sound on the feeble wind. — Intense 
And deep, and passionate the gaze he sent 
Far in the blue infinity of night ! 
Oh, let some Angel on his wings of love 
Be wafted, and the burning doubt which preys 
On sorrow with permitted voice subdue ! 
He listen'd ! — on the air a faded leaf 
Fell slowly, with a sad and ling'ring sound 
Whose tone seem'd not of earth ; but soon it 

still'd : 
And then, the midnight of despair return'd, 
And in the blackness of his heart he wish'd 
Eternal nothingness his tomb to be ! 

An hour there came from heaven at last, 

when Faith 
Look'd up, and view'd her God. — As evening 

smiled 
On ocean's western brim, where molten waves 
A restless glory of rich waters made, 
A pensive wanderer, on the pebbled beach 
He stood, communing with the conscious Scene. 
Where'er his feeling glance reposed, a charm 
There glow'd, which told Almightiness had 

touch'd 
The world; and when the folding clouds 

enwreath'd 
The Day-god on his sunset-throne, and cool 
And calm the unimpassion'd Twilight rose, 
That purity of second childhood came 
Whose tenderness is truth. — In such meek 

hour 
When darkness from the soul dissolves away, 
With gentle step and gentler mien approach'd 
A hoary Sage, by hallow'd wisdom blest. 
The balmy light, the beauty and romance 
Of scene, well harmonised with heavenly 

thought. 
And hence, the solemn Teacher on his soul 
The dews of immortality distill'd : — 
Not hiding Mercy in dogmatic gloom, 
Or, led by light presumingly inspired, 
Outvent'ring on the mystic waves which roll 
Between us, and the shore of worlds unseen ; 
But, meekly firm, of everlasting Love, 
Creative power, and providential Truth 



466 



THE MESSIAH. 



That Christian spake ; and leaf by leaf the 

Book 
Of Man's redemption from primeval wo 
Unroll'd, and challenged wide Creation's law 
To prove, how Nature visioneth the plan 15 
Which God himself descended to reveal. 

With soften'd eye, and brow intently sad, 
Such theme of glory did the sceptic hear, 
Yet answer'd not ; but look'd to heaven, and 

sigh'd. 
Now twilight into solemn gloom retired ; 
The pomp of clouds was o'er ; and ocean lay 
In floating darkness round the rock-hewn 

beach ; 
But here and there prevailing starlight gleam'd 
On some excited billow : deep the hour 
And holier the scene, as each, immersed 
In contemplation, track'd his homeward way ; 
Unvoiced their feelings, and their thoughts 

unknown : 
But Heaven had watch'd them; and ere 

shrouding night 
Mantled the earth, an unbeliever pray'd ! — 
When years had vanish'd, and converted mind 
Lived in the light of Deity, and knew 
The depths of God's redeeming love, how look'd 
The Infidel on what his heart had been ? 
Go ! ask some martyr of a dungeon-gloom, 
How fresh the light, how beautiful the airs 
Of heaven which visit his reviving frame, 
And he shall tell thee, what the mourner felt 
When broke the clouds from his benighted 

soul 
And Morn, eternal Morn, began to smile ! 

So weak is all unaided Nature lends 
To educate the restless soul of man, 
Or solace wo, or subjugate the will 
To Conscience, on whose throne dread Justice 

reigns. 
Became it not, then, that almighty Love 
From Whom did emanate this wondrous world, 
The silence of eternity to break, 
Become apparent, and His Name divulge 
That mortals might draw near Him, and adore? 
Could He, to whom the universe of life 
From wave and wind a hymn of worship sends, 
Let Man alone be ignorantly dumb, 
Or mock by Superstition's jarring creed 
The awful witness of the God within ? 
And, did not Man himself, of old, secure 
By feign'd communion with celestial Pow'rs, 
Profound dominion for the sacred rites 
That reach us from the past ? In wood, or 

grove, 
And cave orae'lar, Legislation knew 
From Heaven to find a sanction and a strength 
Reveal'd ; and long'd for Deity by truth 



Declared, and by celestial faith adored. 
Thus Plato, 16 in his pure ambition, nursed 
A glorious longing for supremer Mind, 
The soul to tune, and teach him perfect Law. 

The past survey, and what hath Reason 

done? 
Passion and Doubt her waning light withstood : 
And stubborn ages, as they swept along, 
But mock'd her impotence with blind misrule, 
Of creed, or crime begot. 17 Man look'd abroad, 
And on his spirit rush'd one vast belief ! 
From life and matter, from the sun and moon 
And the deep waters did a power appeal, 
Attesting God, and teaching His domain ; 
But how to worship, how His law obey, 
In vain would philosophic Reason find 
In pensive shade, or Academic bower. 
The World was deified ; terrestrial gods 
In all that pantheistic Sense believed, 
A mystic reign for adoration held : 
Thus, Neptune on his ocean-car appear'd, 
Apollo gloried in the realm of light, 
And Dian, with her starry nymphs begirt, 
The virgin Moon inspired. No wind there 

breathed, 
There waved no grove, no fountain-music play'd, 
No River roll'd in liquid joy along, 
But Superstition lent a listening ear 
To hail her fancied god ; each City claim'd 
Presiding deities, and built her fanes 
For monsters imaged out of monstrous 

thought, 
Where dark Pollution fed her secret fires. 
At length, Idolatry the mind subdued ; 
From tombs evoked the undeserving Dead, 
Or, round the statues of her living great 
In sycophantic homage knelt, and pray'd. 

Religion thus in clouds of error lost, 
Morality no saving charm possess'd 
To harmonise the wheels of social life. 
The world without, to that far mightier world 
Within, a secondary station held, 
And action was alone the source of law ; 
While thought and impulse, those creative 

springs 
On which the conduct of our being turns, 
In secret wildness kept unholy sway. 
Men learn'd to live, but were not taught to die ; 
Each hour proclaim'd its own peculiar heaven ; 
The heart might covet what the hand revered ; 
And in the soul, a thousand years of sin 
Lie floating, on a sea of fancy toss'd, 
And be unblamed ! No inward law prevail'd, 
Like that which ever to the Christian speaks ; 
Prejudging thought, ere yet by deed express'd, 
And throninar conscience in the heart of man. 



THE MESSIAH. 



467 



Thus, who can wonder that a darkness hung 
Round heathen ages, by no hand unveil'd 1 
Magnificent and mighty was the Past, 
In learning, prowess, and devoted arts : 
Yet ne'er was hero, in his sun-bright car, 
With all his panoply of gorgeous hues 
And lauding thunders from a nation's lip 
To tell his conquest, — so sublimely great 
As dying Stephen, when that martyr quench'd 
By glorious faith the agonies of death, 
The sky beheld, and for his murd'rers pray'd ! 

Bright as the morning of primeval day 
Burst on the waters of chaotic gloom, 
Came revelation on the darksome world.* 
Then error vanish'd in celestial truth ; 
Hush'd were false Oracles, and quench'd the 

fires 
Which savage bigotry for ages fed : 
New light, new order, new existence rose ! 
The pangs of Wo, the wrongs of patient Worth, 
Were now no more, as once their truth had 

been : 
Eternity the debt of Time would pay, 
The soul redeem, and justify its God. 

Yet was not this transcendent scheme of love 
To Earth unfolded, till maturing age 
Had nerved the spirit for its high display. 
But just as nature, by apparent means 
And fine gradations of effective power, 
The miracle of life and form achieves, 
So Mind, in her advance to heavenly things, 
Progressively to full redemption came. 
In the calm innocence of youthful Time 
When Earth undeluged lay, the vocal Word 
By deep communion did Himself impart 
To his frail creature, Man : and Spirits bright, 
And loving Angels by their Lord empower'd 
Brought inward messages from God on high. 
When darkly sunk in Amoritish guilt 
The patriarchal purity was o'er, 
Religion hallow'd with Mosaic law, 
And special covenant, and ritual pomp 
Of ark and fane and sacrificial blood, 
The chosen People ; 18 thus in types began 
Sublime Theocracy ; and when it sunk 
To kingly sway, prophetic Bards reveal'd 
The One Jehovah, and the promised Seed : 
Thus moved the destinies of Earth along 
In light and darkness, as career the waves 
Through sun and tempest, till Messiah rose. 

There are, who deem no revelation true 
Which doth not, by divine compulsion, awe 



* In Europe alone, at the early periods of Christian- 
ity, the number of idols known to be worshipped 
amounted to thirty thousand. 



The universal mind to one belief. 

But, where the freedom of inviolate will, 

If, dazzled into reasonless assent, 

Belief is passive, and conviction blind '] 

The lines of human character are lost, 

No principle can act, no feeling sway, 

No Passion on the altar of pure Faith 

Can nobly die, in sacrifice to Heaven : 

As heave the waters to a reinless wind, 

So, led by impulse, would the spirit yield 

To Fate's high will, without one virtue blest. 

For what is virtue, but a vice withstood, 

Or sanctity, but daring sin o'ercome ] 

Life is a warfare, which the soul confronts, 

While good and evil, truth and error clash, 

Or rally round it in confused array ; 

And he who conquers, wins the crown of Light 

Which Heaven has woven for her warrior-saint. 



A God incarnate, with His glory veil'd, 
Altar, and priest, and sacrifice combined 
In mystic oneness of almighty Love, 
Behold Him bleeding ! on His awful brow 
The mingled sorrows of a world repose : 
" 'Tis finish'd ! " — at those words Creation 

throbs ; 
Round Hell's dark universe the echo rolls ; 
All nature is unthroned ; the mountains quake 
Like human beings when their death-pang 

comes ; 
The sun has wither'd from the frighted air, 
And with a tomb-burst, hark ! the Dead arise, 
And gaze upon the living, as they glide 
With soundless motion through the darken'd 

streets 
Most awfully ! — the world's Redeemer dies ! 

That hour of Blood, that scene of Death, is 

past, 
And quench'd the savage eyes that mock'd and 

smiled , 
On Calv'ry, when the direful Cross upbore 
A martyr'd Saviour : but there comes a mood, 
When Fancy wanders to that fated hill, 
And from His pleading face, to heaven 

upturn'd 
In godlike pity for the murd'rous Jew, 
A look celestial for the soul derives 
When faints it oft in penitential gloom. 

And thou, my Country ! foremost in the van 
Of glory found, no Empire which bedecks 
The globe, exalted mercies can record 
Like those that crown, and still encircle Thee, 
Eden of isles ! whom ocean loves to guard. 
From the foul darkness of engulphing sin 
Celestial Mercy bade thy spirit rise 
Victorious, and in Christ regen'rate be. 



h h 2 



4G8 



THE MESSIAH. 



And, thus environ'd by elective grace, 
E'en like a fortress for the faith art thou : 
And though not spotless be thy past career, 
Religion from thy thousand Temples calls 
Aloud on Deity, and walks unseen 
The paths of goodness, musing holy joy. 

But ah ! that day of spiritual delight 
Of old revered, and by our fathers blest, 
Thy Sabbath, England ! is that halcyon morn 
Of holiness, when Heaven remembers thee 
With sanctifying love, and sheds abroad 
A balm that beautifies the face of things. 
Redemption won the boon ; and long may 

sounds 
From steeple-towers of venerable gloom 
Or Minsters brown which deck the hawthorn- 
vales, 
Of sabbbath-music on the breezy wings 
Of matin rise, and soft emotions crowd 
The soul that listens to their tender chime. 
And thus, while unpolluted Altars stand 
O'er time secure, and christian ardour keeps 
The virtues of our glorious Land alive, 
Jehovah ! still for us Thine arm will rule ; 
And Ocean, faithful to her island-born, 
Bulwark the clime whose sceptre bows to Thee. 

And may the glories of Thy gospel shine 
From zone to zone, till earth one Temple prove, 
And lauding angels, as they gird the Throne 
With choral raptures, hear from saints below 
Perpetual anthems which to Christ ascend. 
For Thou hast promised, and Thy word shall 

reign ! 
Let earth be riven, sun and system die, 
Or nature into nothing be recall'd, 
Ere this be doubted, — the decree of God ! 
Oft in the hush of meditative hours 
When fancy wanders on mysterious wing 
Far into chaos, greets the dawning world, 
And down the surging tides of ages floats 
E'en to the living hour, — I glow to trace 
Omniscient wisdom and perennial love. 
E'en now, as here in solitary mood 
My spirit warbles in a dream of song, 
What destinies are weaving for the race 
Of man ! what energies of heart and soul 
In mingled yet harmonious play, for time 
That doom complete Eternity has plann'd ? 

And, if our winged aspirations dare 
The hour outfly, and future glory meet, 
My brother Man ! wherever doom'd thou art, 
In dark isles bosom'd on the dusky main 
A savage found, magnificently free j 
Or, in some icy wilderness of waves, 
Soon on thy soul may Revelation dawn 
And bid lost nature recognise its God. 



That prayer is heard: for with it richly 
blend 
Approving echoes from Britannia's heart. 
E'en now, her Genius on some native cliff 
Let Fancy view, in speculation rapt. 
To rocky isles, and dreadful island-wastes 
That spot the billows, her dejected eye 
Is turn'd, and what a vision of despair 
The savage dwellers on the sea create, 
Who round their dying captive dance and howl ; 
Or, prostrate at some tow'ring idol's car, 
In bloody rapture limb and life destroy. 
To Heaven she looks, and lo ! a sudden burst 
Of morning-brightness o'er the midnight-scene ; 
For woods of horror, laughing corn-fields wave ; 
For cavern' d homes, and huts of wildest gloom 
What sylvan cots and glitt'ring mansions rise, 
While sun-clad spires in every woodland gleam ! 
And ships are riding in securest bays 
Of Commerce, where of old untravell'd sea 
Lay in grim slumber, or by whirlwinds lash'd. 
All things have glided into beauteous change, 19 
And Man, at whose creation God rejoiced, 
Not in the gloom and guilt of nature pines, 
But beaming with recover'd soul, appears, 
A true Schechinah* where the Spirit dwells. 
The Genius of my Country ! — on her brow 
What apostolic smiles of love and light 
Begin ; for her the vision hath unroll'd 
Its promise ; and to her hath God appeal'd . 
For Earth, and bade from His divinest source 
The spirit of immortal truth proceed 
In heavenly conquest, till the knell of Time 
Be sounded, and the church in heaven complete. 

And here awhile, on this majestic hope 
Of brighter ages let the Lyre repose. 
But pardon, ye who feel how Nature makes 
Her priesthood vocal, if in fond delay 
A poet gaze upon the gorgeous eve, 
And watch the shadows of a waning sky. 

A sunset ! what a host of beaming clouds 
In mingled lustre multiplied and flash'd, 
And flung their beauty in reflected tints 
On golden waters, lull'd in gleaming rest, 
And then, concenter'd in one pomp of light 
Like that which girds th' apocalyptic throne ! + 
But, ere the sun behind yon sea withdrew, 
A thunder-gloom in silent threat advanced ; 
And the loud hiss of unexpected rain 
Rang through the air with its rejoicing fall, 
The verdure sparkled, and the sun retired 
On waves of glory like an ocean god : 
From out the billows beam'd a rainbow-form 



God hath said, I will dwell in them." — 2 Cor. vi. 16. 
t Vide the Apocalypse. 



THE MESSIAH. 



469 



Which died in azure o'er the distant hills ; 
The sea-gull flutter'd on his foam-like wing, 
And, like a seraph in the air conceal'd, 
The wind-tone warbled with unearthly joy. 

An hour with nature is an hour with heav'n, 
When feeling hallows what the fancy views : 
And thus, Twilight ! may a soul discern 
In thy meek stillness what harsh day obscures. 
Now Mem'ry too with mournful love recalls 
Some heart-romance, till years of verdant joy 
Kevive, and bloom within affection's world. 
Bright Forms, by greeting childhood so 

beloved ! 
Maternal tones, and features, of whose smile 
In blissful rivalry our own was born, 
And voices, echoed in our dreams of heaven, 
Around us throng, until th' unliving past 
Our being enters, and seems life again. 

In no false weakness heaves the votive sigh 
Of fond remembrance o'er man's fleeting youth ; 
The poetry of pure regret is there ! 
To love the past but makes the present dear ; 
The mournful wisdom of our discontent 
Can then unteach what young Delusion taught 
Alone ; since who that lives, and living, thinks, 
But adds another to an endless train 
Of sad Confessors since the world began ? — 
A life of glory is a dream fulfill'd, 
That fades in acting, as the gorgeous cloud 
E'en as it dazzles is but dying air ! 20 

If I too, ere autumnal age my brow 
Has wrinkled, or the twilight of chill days 
Begun, the barrenness of earth perceive, 
And feel mortality's most aching wear 
Fever and fret the soul ; if all which bloom'd 
Like Eden once, hath grown a desert now 
Of dying hope, and faded joy ; if Life be lone, 
And sad, and bleak, while aspirations droop 
Unwatch'd within me, and delightless earth 
More tomb-like grows, as death's absorbing 

dream 
Haunts the worn spirit wheresoe'er it fly 
For refuge, may I not existence mourn ? 
No ! let me fall, and worship at the Fount 
Of promise ; life is Heaven's surpassing gift, 
And what his Maker wills, should man revere. 

To cover earth with shades of hell ; accuse 
The sun of darkness, and the world blaspheme ; 
All hope deny, coequal man disdain, 
And mar the heavenliness of human joy, 
Betrays a tempest of unholy thought 
Eaised by the Demon of our darker hours ! 
But, nobly true, inexplicably deep 
That mournfulness by solitude inspired, 



When mild dejection ends in musing bliss. 
Like a mute pilgrim, on some distant shore 
At twilight shaping in the skiey air 
The towers and temples of his native land, 
While on his ear the sounds of home renew 
The sweetness of their social melody, — 
Oft may some Dreamer in a spirit-trance 
Fancy existence to be exile noio ; 
See visions of departed heaven, and hear 
The muffled language of mysterious Worlds. 
And oh ! how oft beneath the bluest sky 
In summer arching over lake or wood, 
When round and round, with antic motion 

sport 
The insect-populace of beams and flowers ; 
When herb is bright, and breeze is gay, the 

Mind 
A mystic shadow of dejection feels, 
While voiceless omens and prophetic fears 
Haunt the deep heart with their undying spell. 
For ever on the solemn verge we seem 
Of gloom unknown, or glory unreveal'd ; 
And who shall say, that life does not preserve 
A faint reflection of some vanish'd State 
By man forgot, as oft the sea retains 
A dim resemblance of departed storm ? 

'Tis night ; the holiness and heaven of time ! 
And censure me, mild Elements, whose sway 
Of loveliness hath now serened the world, 
If by your charm my soul is unsubdued 
By prayer, while Nature in devotion seems. 
Mysterious hour ! when most self-knowledge 

reigns. 
And minutes are soft Teachers, whom the heart 
Obeys : and, art Thou not more deeply fill'd 
With inspiration from thy Maker sent, 
Earth ! than in the day's tyrannic roar 1 
And if there be, as saintly minds allow, 
Some god-like moment, when pure Spirits walk 
This lower world, 21 where man is doom'd to 

strive, 
Tranquillity enshrines their presence now. 
In pale omnipotence of light the moon 
Presides, too brilliantly for meeker stars 
To venture forth, save one bright watcher, seen 
O'er yon lone hill to let his beauty smile : 
The clouds are dead; and scarce a breeze 

profanes 
The blissful calm, save when some rebel dares 
On fitful wing to wander into life 
Awhile, and make unwilling branches wave, 
Or moonlight flutter through the boughs, and 

fall 
In broken radiance on the grass beneath. 
The earth grows soundless ; and yon giant elms 
Hush'd into leafy trance their shade project 
Before them : Night and Stillness are en- 
throned. 



470 



THE MESSIAH. 



Now may the spirit on religious wing 
Expatiate ; soaring where no science can, 
Yet haply, hover round some truth unknown. 
And be this earth all reverently trod, 
Since out of it did human Dust proceed ! 
Let all we look upon religion make 
For inmost thought, or meditative love. 22 
On choral winds aye let there float a voice 
Of God ; and Ocean with his organ-waves 
Eternal anthems to Jehovah peal. 
And oh ! may I, when pangful life is o'er, 
In some pure region of almighty bliss 
A harping strain from those bright Singers 

learn, 
Who in the orchestra of Glory waft 
Divine Emmanuel ! to Thy merit due, 
From golden lyres an everlasting praise. 



BOOK III. 

"Prepare the way! a God, a God appears! 
A God! a God! the echoing vales reply." 

Pope. 

A venerable and sacred tradition relates, that by 
the rising of a certain uncommon star was fore- 
told, not diseases or death, but the descent of an 
adorable God for the salvation of the human race, 
and the melioration of human affairs ; which star, 
they say, was observed by the Chaldeans, who 
came to present their offerings to the new-born 
God." — From Chalcidius, an ancient Commentator 
on the Tim&us of Plato. 



ANALYSIS OF BOOK III. 

.'he fulness of Time — Probable Sympathy of distant 
and unknown Worlds — Despair of the Evil One — 
State of the World — Gabriel commanded to Earth — 
The Annunciation — Mary's holy raptures — Her 
Visit to her Cousin at Hebron — Her Journey de- 
scribed — The subject naturally suggests an allusion 
to the hallowed associations which the beauty and 
scenery of Palestine awake — The Virgin's arrival — 
Congratulations — Caesar's Order for a General Census 
— Birth of the Messiah — Appearance of the Angels 
to the Shepherds in Bethlehem Vale — Their Hymn 
— Visit of the Shepherds to the Cradle of Jesus — 
Reflections on the humility of Christ's entrance 
into this World — How contrary to the martial ideas 
of the Jews — Their doubt, rejection of Christ, and 
consequent dispersion, when compared with their 
former high estate, kindle our deepest thoughts of 
fear and faith — Their future Restoration — Return 
to the order of the Gospel — Day of Circumcision — 
Presentation of the Divine Babe in the Temple — 
Simeon's Ecstacy — Return of the Holy Family to 
the Vale of Nazareth — Arrival of the Magi — The 
Craft and Cruelty of Herod — Massacre of the Inno- 
cents — Childhood of Jesus — His appearance among 
the Rabbis at twelve years of age in the Temple — 
Second Return to Nazareth — The Meditations of the 
Saviour as He contemplated the Redemption of 
Man, amid the seclusion and silence of his lowly 



lot — John the Baptist — His Dwelling in the Desert 
— Obeys the Holy Spirit — Announces the coming of 
Christ — Preaches Repentance, which is true wisdom. 
The Book ends with a view of the consolation of 
the Scriptures, and the beauty of the outward 
Universe, when enjoyed in connexion with the 
Divine Creator. 

Now was the fulness of predestined time 
Complete, when councils of the God Triune 
In Christ embodied, should at length evolve ; 
And not ungreeted did Redemption's hour 
Arrive : before the Throne new radiance 

burn'd ; 
And emanations of intenser bliss 
Than that which kindled o'er creation's birth, 
Angelic myriads felt, as peal'd their chants 
Of hymning wonder ! — yea, in spirit-worlds 
From whence no living Shape to earth has 

come, 
Round these, perchance, a sympathetic thrill 
Of worship ran, when first Salvation dawn'd. 23 

And thou ! the demon-King of darkness 

throned 
In thine eternity of tort'ring fires, 
Thou dread Apostate ! who didst shake the 

skies 
For vict'ry, vanquish'd, but rebellious still ; 
On thee the glories of Messiah's reign 
Beam'd terrible : within thy dark abyss 
When ruin'd angels to the summons throng' d, 
With dreadful beauty, like a dying sun 
Amid the tempest sinking, each adorn'd, 
No triumph on thy thunder-blasted brow, 
But deeper vengeance, more despairing wo 
Than yet the realms of agony endured, 
Was visible ; that hour, so long foredoom'd, 
Is coming, when a world shall be unbound 
From chains infernal, and the Powers of Hell 
Disarm'd for ever on their crumbling thrones ! 

Meanwhile, on earth mute Expectation sat 
And listen'd ; for a rumour, echoed down 
From dateless time, of two surpassing Kings 
Predestined on the globe to rule, prevail'd ; 
Whose powers, though blended in Virgilian 

song, 
Sublimely differ'd. 24 In Augustan peace 
The world reposed ; and grateful Rome beheld 
Her Janus shut, her crimson banners furl'd. 25 
No more Dodona, from the oaken shade, 
Or Delphi, from exhaling cavern, sent 
Vain oracles in mystic verse enweaved. 
The Temples mourn'd ; Idolatry was dumb, 
Or mutter'd faintly from her glimmering 

shrines ; 
While Art and Science, in their palmy state, 
Triumphantly advanced. Thus, all matured, 
And apt to question with profoundest thought 



THE MESSIAH. 



471 



Each creed or doctrine of diviner sway, 
The World awaited her Messiah's dawn : 
From realm to realm a vast tradition reign'd 
Of sibyl-words, which sang the coming God ; 
While many a heart, prophetically deep, 
Mused in the silence of majestic hope, 
Or, heaven-inspired, the Earth's Redeemer 
hail'd. 

Thus all below ; when Gabriel heard a voice 
Of thunder from the Throne proceed, which 

bade 
To Galilee a winged flight convey 
His presence, where in rocky Naz'reth dwelt 
A Maiden pure, to Joseph then betroth'd. 
And lo, an Angel brighten'd into view 
Before her, like a lovely burst of morn ! 
And while she trembled, dazzled into dread, 
A Salutation of entrancing sound 
Fell on her ear : — " Divinely favoured Thou ! 
Of women blest ! The Lord is with thee, hail ! 
A Son, behold, thy virgin womb shall bear ; 
Son of the Highest ! Jesus let His name 
Be called ; upon the throne of David fix'd, 
O'er Jacob's house for ever shall he reign, 
And endless his predestined kingdom prove." 
" But how ? " cried Mary, " Since I know not 

man." 
Again the Angel : " Overshadowing thee 
The Holy Spirit will in power descend, 
And That thou bearest, Son of God be call'd." 
Then answer'd she, "Behold thy handmaid, 

Lord ! 
And be thy word fulfill'd," as brightly fled 
The glowing Angel to his native skies. 

Let Silence think, for how can words reveal 
Her full devotion of ecstatic thought, 
When Mary ponder'd on that promised Child 1 
Let mothers tell ! to whose enchanted ears 
Earth brings no music like the helpless cry 
Of new-born life, from lips which know not 

guile. 
Oh! Maid elect! with more than gladness 

wing'd, 
In the young beauty of thy spousal bloom 
To Hebron didst thou o'er the mountains pass, 
And visit one, by Heav'n's bright herald warn'd. 

'Mid the faint crimson of a flushing dawn 
That Pilgrim started, when the breeze was up, 
And, like a wing, invisibly career'd 
O'er woods and waters : from the grey ravines 
The oak and olive sent a leafy sound, 
And with her multitude of orient fiow'rs 
The blooming Sharon glitter'd from afar ; 
Or, gazing from some terraced rock or hill, 
The herding goats from villages and vales, 



And wild onagras,* free as desert-wind, 
Her eye discern'd; while veil'd Arabians sought 
A distant well, like Midian girls of old ; 
And others to empurpled vineyards hied, 
'Mid the soft radiance of unshrouding morn. 

By Heaven secured, o'er lone and lofty 
heights 
She glided on ; and trod with eager foot 
Each verdant slope, each rocky change of 

scene, 
Where olive waved, or cypress-shadow fell. 
But oft she paused, and bless' d the vital breeze 
From lake upborne ; or, when some hill or plain 
Of green magnificence, or glorious view 
Of nature's wonders, to her eye appeal'd, — 
How beautiful ! to hear the Maiden chant 
Hymns to Jehovah, while her soul recall'd 
Those hallow'd memories which ever cling 
To ground immortal as great Palestine ! 

Oh, tell me not of trophied Greece, and groves 
Where Plato wander'd ; or poetic streams 
That wind through Homer's page, or Pindar's 

song ; 
For Palestine by God Himself was loved, 
Inhabited, and blest ! His Spirit there 
Hath walk'd, the shadow of His glory been, 
His miracles prevail'd, — the mountains blazed 
With His descending lustre ! all her vales, 
Her fountains, rivers, and delicious plains, 
Of patriarchs and prophets speak; beneath 

the shade 
Of her ancestral trees have Angels sat, 
And holy Abram smiled : her meanest spot 
Is mighty, and her dust a sacred charm, 
For in it sleep the World's primeval sires ! 

Unbounded Fancy ! on whose fairy wings 
The spirit voyageth o'er realms and isles, 
Oh, waft me now to Tabor's solemn height, 
Where Barak and his heaven-arm'd thousands 

hid, 
And there the Drama of the world renew ! 
Let Eden rise, her boughs and branches wave, 
And Shapes aerial from the clouds descend, 
To view her lovely bowers. The Flood react, — 
Earth, sea, and sky in billowy chaos lost ! 
Revive the Patriarchs; mark their rev'rent 

forms, 
Or hear the Prophets when the people rage. 
Or, wouldst thou from the sacred past retire 



* The wild ass, or pard. — "Hescometh the mul- 
titude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying 
of the driver. The range of the mountain is his 
pasture, and he searcheth after every green thing." — 
Job, xxxix. 7, 8. 



472 



THE MESSIAH. 



To scenes which live, — from haunted Tabor 

view 
The greenness of a hundred glorious plains ! 
Lo, vast Esdraelon, like a verdant sea, 
By dew-famed Hermon bound; there, Endor 

lies. 
Where dwelt the night-hag in unholy gloom 
And Saul seem'd wither'd as the spectre rose, 
Wrapp'd in a mantle, out of Hades call'd. 
But northward, lock'd in azure calm of noon, 
Thy lake, Tiberias ! on that blue extent 
Of shining waters oft the Saviour look'd ; 
And near yon mountain, iced with dazzling 

snow, 
The sacred hill whereon He sat, and taught 
The wisdom of eternity to man. 

But, see ! o'er Judah's aromatic clime 
The sun is west'ring : long ere twilight rose 
With dewy welcome to her second night 
Of mountain-pilgrimage, the Virgin stood 
Beneath the shelter of a rustic cot, 
In Hebron, and her holy cousin hail'd, 
Enraptured ! What sublime emotion clad 
Each feature, what a radiance fill'd her eyes, 
And touch'd her form, when that saluting voice 
Was heard, as thrilling with celestial truth 
Elizabeth on Mary gazed, and cried, 
" Of Women blest ! divinely blest, art thou !" 
While leapt the babe within her womb, for joy. 
And thus did Mary in her chant respond, 
" My soul the gracious Lord doth magnify ! 
The proud He scatters, but the meek regards ; 
For thus to Abram and our fathers spake 
The God of Israel ; glorious be His name ! 
Eor me, his lowly Handmaid, ever-blest 
Shall ages deem, and generations call." 

But now, from Caesar came a high command 
Eor Judah's offspring to enroll their birth. 
Then Joseph, by angelic dream forewarn'd 
How vestal Mary had from God conceived, 
To Bethlehem went; and there the infant 

Christ 
His Yirgin-Mother in a manger laid : 
All pure and holy, as the promise spake. — 
And say ! what hour so awefully instinct 
With Secrets from eternity ordain' d, 
As when th' Incarnate met the placid gaze 
Of His unspotted Mother ! what enshrined 
A scene, where Deity the mortal shape 
Of feeble infant took, 26 and, rudely wrapt, 
In new-born meekness smiling forth the God, 
Deliver'd earth and thrill'd the Heavens with 
joy! 

That night were shepherds at their watches 
due 
Around unfolded sheep, in that soft vale 



Whose fountain warbled to the dreaming ear 
Of David, when he sought Adullam's cave. 
A calm so deep, that silence seem'd a 3oul, 
Pervaded all things ; dew-light on the ground 
Was glist'ring, and the vigil-shepherds watch'd 
Contentedly their breathing charge recline 
On pastures, where the morning flock had fed.* 
No cloud the heaven defiled ; but, clear and 

large, 
The planets in their throbbing lustre shone. 
'Twas then, while Nature mute as dreaming air 
Reposed, a melody in wafted flow 
Advanced ; and when it reach'd the starry plain, 
An earthless Form, seraphically robed, 
Evolved, and glitter'd like a noontide-sea. 

Awe-smote, and blinded with excessive blaze 
Of archangelic lustre, on the ground 
Each shepherd sank, nor dared with lifted eye 
The Glory face, till words of music came : 
" Ye pious watchers ; tremble not ; behold 
The tidings of eternal joy I bring : 
This night the Saviour of the World is born ! 
Within a manger, lo ! the Babe is found ! " 
He said ; and as the lull of golden streams 
When soft-toned winds melodiously awake, 
The radiant quiver of angelic plumes 
The air attuned, which trembled into song, 
While, robed with brightness, thus the choir 
began : 

" Thou Lord of Lords, and Light of Light ! 
Who, with empyreal glory bright, 
Art seated on th' Eternal Throne 
Invisibly, the vast Alone, 
Ten thousand worlds around Thee blaze, 
Ten thousand harps repeat Thy praise, 
Yet hymn, nor harp, nor song divine, 
Nor myriad orbs created Thine, 
This measureless display of love 
To earth below and heaven above 
With blending eloquence can tell 
That ends the Curse, and conquers Hell ; 
For lo ! the manger where He lies/ 
A world-redeeming Sacrifice : 

Peace on earth, to Man good will, 
Let the skies our anthem fill ! 

" Hail, Yirgin-born ! transcendent Child 
In mortal semblance, undefiled, 
By ages vision' d, doom'd to be 
The Star of Immortality ; 
Hail ! Prince of Peace, and Lord of Light ! 
Around thy path the world is bright ; 
Where'er Thou tread'st an Eden blooms, 
And Earth forgets her myriad tombs : 



* Vide the Abbe" Fleury's account of the agriculture 
&c. &c. of the ancient Jews. 



THE MESSIAH. 



473 



Thy voice is heard — and Anguish dies, 
The dead awake and greet the skies ; 
Lo ! Blindness melts in healing rays, 
And mute Lips ope in hymns of praise ; 
The famish'd on Thy bounty feed, 
AVhile myriads at Thy summons speed 
Iledeem'd from woe, and sin, and pain 
To see the lost restored again : 

Peace on earth, to Man good will, 
Let the skies our anthem fill ! 

" Awake, awake, thou ransom'd Earth ! 
And, blooming with a second birth, 
In loveliness awake and shine, 
Thy King is come, Salvation thine ! 
The winds are rock'd in holy rest, 
The waves asleep on Ocean's breast, 
And beautiful the boundless calm 
O'er nature spread, like midnight balm ; 
For lo ! the manger where He lies, 
A world-redeeming Sacrifice ; 
The Promised, since the world began, 
To live and die for guilty Man. 

" Again, again, the anthem swell ! 
For Heaven shall burst the gates of Hell ! 
A vision of uncounted years 
Which travel on through toil and tears, 
Is all unroll' d in wild extent 
Like ocean's surging element : 
But soon that darken'd scene hath past 
And rules the Lord in light, at last ! 
The sunbeams of a sabbath-day 
Around adoring myriads play : 
From north to south, from east to west, 
All pangs are hush'd, all hearts at rest : 
Pacific homes, Atlantic isles, 
Far as the vast creation smiles, 
The rudest spot which man can own, 
Shall hail Messiah on His throne ; 
And lauding souls by land and sea, 
One Altar build, God ! to Thee ; 
While men and angels round it throng- 
To chant the sempiternal song, 

Peace on earth, to Man good will, 
Let the skies our anthem fill ! " 

Hush'd the deep chant, the choral Train 
ascends, 
And then commingles in one pomp of light, 
While all entranced th' adoring shepherds kneel : 
But when the bright ascent was o'er, up rose 
They all in ravishment ; to Bethlehem sped, 
And there Messiah wrapp'd in swaddling- 
clothes 
They found, and sang with reverential joy 
A hymn of worship to the Babe divine ; 
While Mary, meekly silent, heard the tale 
Of wonder, musing with prophetic soul. 



World ! and was it thus thy Saviour 

came 1 ? 
Rich as the chorus of Creation's morn 
From every region should thy lips have pour'd 
A loud hosannah to proclaim the Lord ! 
The skies have bent, the mountains clapp'd 

their hands, 
The cedars waved from every conscious hill, 
And Sun and Moon, and each melodious Star, 
And Ocean, with his jubilee of waves 
Have thrill'd the universe with natal joy ! 
But all was silent, unobserved and still ; 
No Empire sung, when man's Redeemer came ; 
The peasant-mother in her Alpine cot, 
At dreadful midnight, no desertion feels, 
Like that rude manger where the Virgin lay, 
And scarce a solitary taper shone ! 

Is this the Wonderful? the Prince of Light, 
The King of kings, o'er countless worlds 

enthroned. 
Oh ! Language cannot with its brightest words 
Adumbrate, or by epithets express 
The imagined splendors which proud Judah 

dreamt 
Would crown Messiah, when He came to give 
Her ransom'd myriads all Isaiah sung ! 

Empires have sunk, and waning kingdoms 

died, 
But still, apart, sublime in mis'ry stands 
The wreck of Israel ! Christ hath come, and 

bled, 
And miracles and ages round the Cross 
A holy splendour of undying truth 
Preserve ; yet still their pining spirit looks 
For that unrisen Sun which prophets hail'd ! 
Where once the Temple, bathed in golden hues, 
Immense as glorious, with her matchless spires 
On mount Moriah stood, a race exist 
In darkness, — still to Zion turn, and weep ! 27 
And when I view him in his garb of wo, 
A wand'ring outcast, by the world disown'd, 
The haggard, lost, and long-oppressed Jew, 
" His blood be on us," through remembrance 

rolls 
In fearful echo from a nation's lip ! 

Then widow'd Zion ! still for thee awaits 
A future, teeming with triumphal sounds 
And Shapes of glory ; still a remnant lives, 
Who once again thy banner shall unroll 
And plant it on thine everlasting walls. 
The Cities huge which overaw'd the world 
Rot in a gloom, irrevocably seal'd, 
Of desolation ; Time shall never rear 
The towers, nor crowd their weed-grown walks 

again. 
But Judah, like some Babylonian wreck 



474 



THE MESSIAH. 



Which age nor elemental wrath subdues, 
In mournful grandeur that outlives decay 
There as it lies on yon deserted plain, — 
Shall yet endure, till Restoration's voice 
Her orphan'd race to Salem's clime recall. 28 

Exult, Zion ! for thy God is king, 
And lift thy banner on the mountain-tops ; 
From Egypt, Pathros, and Assyria call'd, 
From Shinar, Hamath, and the sea-born isles, 
From the vast regions of the utmost orb 
Returning Israel for dominion comes ! 
A voice of Weeping, it is heard no more ; 
The timbrels sound, her glad-eyed maidens 

dance, 
Her young men shout, the aged meekly smile, 
Rememb'ring all the pleasant things of old ! 
The lea of Sharon, and the pastured glen 
Of Achre, beautiful in verdure shine ; 
While planted vineyards with a costly bloom 
Wave on her hills, and court the rip'ning sun. 
The lamb, the lion, and the infant play 
Together ; Righteousness thy gate adorns, 
And peace divine, by purity bestow'd 
From God incarnate, in thy sacred walls, 
Recover'd Palestine ! for ever dwells. 

As when a mother for an absent child 
Laments, till beauty on her cheek decays, 
Yet haply in declining loveliness 
More exquisite than in her glowing prime 
Appeareth, so doth thine afflicted Land 
Touch the deep spirit with diviner thought. 
Now in thy wo, than when a bridal pomp 
Bedeck'd thee. For the homeless race afar 
Thou y earnest with a soft maternal grief ; 
To hill and mountain the devouring Curse 
Hath clung • and rivers down unpeopled vales 
Like mournful pilgrims glide ; while fruit nor 

tree 
Bear to the tyrant what thy children took 
From thy fond bosom : yet, a latent power 
Of life and glory in thy wither'd soil 
Is buried, that shall rise when Judah comes ; 
Like music sleeping in a haughty lyre, 
Whose muteness only to the master-touch 
Breaks into sound which ravishes a world ! 

Now, o'er the infant God a day decreed 
For circumcision rose, in wonted light, 
And " Jesus " (let the heavens and earth revere 
That word almighty !) was the name he bore. 
And then, each light of due lustration done, 
The lowly Virgin to the Temple brings 
The young Redeemer; thus had God ordain'd.* 
No lamb had she ; but in her meekness brought 



* See Exod. xiii. 2 ; Lev. xii. 6. Also, Liglitfoot on 
the Temple Service. 



Two turtle-doves of pure and spotless wing, 
And solemnly within the outer-court 
Awaited, while a Priest the Lord approach'd : 
And haply, on the Temple's wondrous mass 
Of fmish'd beauty and effulgent pomp 
Oft gazed, and gloried in her ancient creed 
That there the God of Israel loved to dwell ! 
But when th' oblation of unspotted doves 
Was paid, an inner court's wide precincts ope, 
And Mary enters with her bosom'd child ; 
Then silently, with glance of tend'rest love, 
For presentation yields the Babe divine. 

But who is he, with beard of flowing white, 
Who onward moves amid the ritual pomp ? 
Led by the Spirit, lo ! a bending Form 
Approaches, kindles as with sudden youth, 
Her Babe enclasps, and to his Maker cries, 
" In peace, Lord ! now let Thy servant go ; 
These eyes have seen, these wither'd arms 

embrace 
Thy promised One, a Child of Glory, sent 
To lighten Israel, and the world restore ! " 
Yes, morning, noon, and night, in dream or 

prayer, 
In temple-worship, and mysterious hours, 
For this he long'd, to see Messiah born ! — 
The Saviour came, and Simeon died in joy. 

Each rite complete, the Holy Fam'ly sought 
In Bethlehem-vale their consecrated home ; 
There, scarce arrived, when lo ! as Magi bow'd 
In nightly worship to unnumber'd worlds 
Of starry name, an orbed Meteor shone 
With mystic beams oracularly bright ! 
But well they knew, those star-adoring Seers, 
That revelation high, and sped on wings 
Of holy speed to Zion's stately haunt ; 
There wond'ringly around old Salem's walls 
Exclaim'd, " The new-born great ! Judean 

King, 
His dwelling say, for Him would we adore ! " 

And souls there lived, which drank, as 

thirsty ground 
A summer-rain absorbs, refreshing hope, 
When orient Sages of a mighty birth 
For Israel spake : for Judah long had pined, 
And on the willows hung her captive harp : 
But he, whom Mariamne's murder'd form 
For ever haunted like a dream of hell, 
The guilty, pamper'd, pale Herodian king ! 
Heard this, and trembled : yet in bloody calm 
His purpose lay, and thus that king address'd 
Those eastern Magi: "Swift to Bethlehem, 

haste ! 
The infant find, around his cradle kneel, 
And tell, where I may come and worship, 

too]" 



THE MESSIAH. 



475 



They went; and lo ! yon beauteous Star, 
In loveliness beyond all radiant orbs 
Which decorate the night, a guidance lent, 
Till o'er that roof where lay the Lord of Worlds 
It paused, and quiver' d as with conscious 

beams ; 
There sped the Magi, earth's Redeemer found 
Encradled ; and with bending awe they kneel, 
His Form adore, and solemn worship pay 
With myrrh and frankincense ; while Mary 

stands 
In wonder ; with her eye to heaven upturn' d, 
Her bosom swelling with a silent hymn, 
And in her spirit more than mother's joy ! 

Their homage done, and earth's Messiah seen, 
By God forewarn' d, the orient pilgrims wend 
Afar from Herod, to their destined home. 
That night, in visionary trance, appear'd 
The Shape angelic Joseph once beheld : 
" Arise ! to Egypt with the Virgin speed, 
And holy Infant ; Him would Herod slay ! " 
To that high word obedient, ere the blush 
Of morning crimson'd Horeb's sainted brow 
Or Jordan's waters in the sunshine wound, 
By Heaven environ'd, as a viewless guard, 
To Egypt went he, till the monarch died : 
" For out of Egypt have I call'd my Son ! " 
So spake the Seer, whose word our God fulnU'd. 

Then passion, like a kindled hurricane 
Burst from the tyrant with terrific sway, 
And cruel havoc, dark as Hell desired ; 
Oh ! then were shrieks maternal, sounds which 

came 
From riven souls, and childless Rachel wept. 
In Rama was the voice of mourning heard, 
And red with blood the streams of Israel ran, 
'Twas Murder's banquet on a thousand babes ! — 
Sweet flowers of Life, whose fragile beauty made 
The living Eden of parental hearts ; 
Asleep in cradled stillness, with the light 
Of infant slumber on their lovely cheeks, 
Or prattling gaily at the cottage-door, 
Slaughter o'ertook them, and with murderous 

yell 
Mock'd the sad mothers, shrieking for their 

God! 
That cry was answer'd when the monster-king, 
By pain corrupted, turn'd a loathsome mass, 
And died ! Then, heralded by Gabriel's wings, 
The infant-Saviour into Nazareth came ; 
For Archelaus o'er Judah's empire ruled, 
And, Herod-like, had bathed his throne in 

blood. 

Mysterious Time ! o'er many realms and 
lands 
Thy shadow broods, which man cannot dispel, 



Or brighten ; but o'er that most hallow'd scene 
Where dwelt unknown, in human meekness 

veil'd, 
Incarnate Glory, lies thy thickest gloom. 
For ever hidden, by no voice reveal'd, 
The holy childhood of the Saviour-God. 
Yet, wafted back on no irrev'rent wing, 
Imagination oft her eye would fix 
On that green vale, where first The Morning- 
Star 
With mildest beauty rose. By earth unfelt, 
Celestial watchers ! did ye not descend 
And hover round, while grew that awful Child 
In the pure light of Mary's pensive gaze ? 
Maiden and mother ! whom all ages bless 
When lock'd in slumber the Redeemer lay, 
How on His features did thine homage dwell ! 

But years departed ; and Messiah grew 
Strong in the spirit, wisdom, grace and power ; 29 
Then oft at eve, when sultry day was o'er, 
The holy Infant, by parental knee, 
The Book of Life with tender awe perused, 
And question'd; while in love's delightful 

dream 
Each parent mused ; recalling oft the Shapes 
Angelic, or that vision Bethlehem saw ; 
Or, sounding all the dim and mighty depths 
Of prophecy, where solemn meanings lay. 
And ah, how beautiful ! in cradled sleep 
While slept her Child, to mark the wedded 

Maid 
On His pure brow a gentle kiss implant, 
And then to Joseph, with a speaking look 
This truth convey — "How wonderful is 

Heaven, 
If there the Hope of fallen Israel lies ! " 

When twelve years thus the Son of God had 

spent, 
To celebrate a high and solemn feast, 
Begun when over Egypt's first-born flew 
The direful Angel on his wings of death, 
All came ; and with excited myriads went 
Christ's holy parents up to Salem's walls, 
As true adorers. When the seventh day saw 
Each rite concluded, back to Nazareth vale 
They speed, but where is He, the sacred Boy ] 
With friends beloved, or in Jerusalem lost 1 
There hasten'd they, and sorrowingly roam'd 
The Virgin-mother, garden, grove, and field ; 
And as she hurried through becrowded paths 
Her eye's fond question moved each passing 

face 
With feeling : — such as thoughts untold betray 
When look is language, and that language read 
By hearts which sympathise with pangs 

unknown. 
And thus she sought Him with unwearied 

step, 



476 



THE MESSIAH. 



Till tears had gather'd, and her gaze was dim, 
Yet found Him not : when hark ! a burst of joy 
Maternal ; in the temple, lo, He stands ; 
With priest and sage, and vested rabbis mix'd, 
The lost One lingers : — on His brow the light 
Of Godhead ! from His lips a stream of words 
Is flowing, fraught with spirit-moving power 
That shook all hearts, the ear of Age entranced, 
And through dark conscience pour'd celestial 

rays 
Which had not shone before. Each look'd on 

each, 
Astounded ; wisdom seem'd a thing unwise 
By man announced ; Divinity was there ! 
But, garb'd in lowliness, that peasant-Child 
His temple left, a mother's smile renew'd, 
And gently her inquiring wonder check'd 
With words unfathom'd, yet, in Mary's heart 
Embalm'd for ever with revering love ! 
Then, homeward once again the pilgrims haste 
United ; musing on the festal pomp, 
And crowded worship, such as Salem loved. 
And long before the pallid star of Eve 
Had heralded the hush of twilight-hour, 
A cot was round them, in their quiet vale. 

By Nazareth are green and silent dells, 
Secluded groves, and rocky shades profound ; 
And here Messiah dwelt : — those eighteen years 
Of fameless calm, wherein the Lord of Light 
Eeposed, and suffer'd like a human Child, 
But sinless, all our burden, toil, and tears, 
With what a mystery of voiceless awe 
They sink upon the inmost heart of man ! 
Whether on thee, Virgin blest ! we muse, 
Thy soul by reverence and awe subdued 
To something holier than mother's love ; 
Or that all-glorious all-majestic Form 
In Whom was center'd man's eternal hope, 
Survey, amid the still and solemn vale, — 
Our thoughts are thrilling as the tears which 

rise 
When Angels warble round a soul forgiven : 
That wondrous Being ! in those mountain-dells 
As lone He wander'd, did He not forecast 
The awful drama of His life to come 1 
On this He ponder'd ; this the mind perceived ; 
From Cana's miracle to Calv'ry's mount, 
The crown and cross, the agony of death 
He view'd • nor dash'd the bitter Cup away 
The Curse had fill'd, and Man was doom'd to 

drink 
Had Christ not come, and drank the cup, and 
died! 

But now the hour decretive Heaven 
ordain'd 
For Jesus to unfold th' Almighty will, 
Approach'd. Tiberius o'er imperial Rome 



Was reigning, and in subject Judah ruled 
The savage Pilate ; when the Word of God 
To John amid the wilderness was sent ; 
For thus the Seer prophetically sang : 
" A voice comes wafted through the wilderness ! 
From Him who crieth, ' Let the mountains sink, 
The valleys rise, and be the deserts smooth ! 
A God approaches ! be His way prepared ! ' " 

That great Precursor, whose proclaiming 

voice, 
" Eepent ye ! " pierced the wilderness with 

dread, 
Was robed in hairy sackcloth ; round his loins 
A leathern girdle wound ; the mountain-spring, 
Which bubbled through the vale, his drink 

supplied ; 
His meat was honey and the locust wild. 
Alone, but angel-watch'd, that Orphan grew 
To manhood ; nursed amid the elements, 
A son of Nature, where the Desert waved 
Her wildest boughs, or flung the blackest gloom 
That cavern'd Eremite with God communed, 
In storm or stillness, when the thunder voiced 
His anger, or a sunshine wore His smile. 
One awful loneliness his life became, 
In thought and prayer mysteriously it pass'd ; 
And oft, sublime !— as when at sunset-hour, 
A fierce magnificence of crimson hues 
Eedden'd the mountains, while each rocky crest 
Of Judah with volcanic lustre blazed, 
And slept the sultry air, the prophet knelt; 
And the wild glory of his dreaming eye 
To heaven was turn'd, in meditative awe. 
The hush of woods, the hymn of waters faint, 
And azure prospect of yon midland-sea 
Beyond the desert, glimmering and vast, 
And dying cadence of some distant bird 
Whose song was fading like a silver cloud, — 
'Mid sights and sounds, commingled like to 

these, 
Earth had no grander scene, than when the 

hour 
Of Syrian twilight heard the Baptist pray ! 

Beside the waters of th 1 unliving Sea 
Where buried cities lift their ghastly wreck 
In tomb-like waste, 30 the Prophet chanced to 

muse, 
Dreaming of dark Gomorrah, and the loud 
Despair of millions, when the thunder knell'd 
And rapidly a burning deluge came. 
An airy stillness, solitude intense 
Was there : no bird upon enchanted wing ; 
No murmur, but the reedy moan of banks 
Of sickly herbage ; or the creeping sound 
Of Jordan, dragging its sepulchral way ; 
Sea, sky, and air in one unearthly calm 
Eeposed ! In such a scene of lifeless gloom 



THE MESSIAH. 



477 



While mused the Baptist on the guilt of Man, 
A mighty impulse, an inbreathing power 
Of Inspiration on his spirit came ! 
He felt the God ; and, fill'd with sacred fire, 
To Jordan hasten'd ; soon that region round 
" Repent ye ! " heard each hill and vale repeat. 
Where ran the holiest of holy Streams 
That wind and glitter through green Palestine, 
His cry awoke, from whence a warning rung 
With tones of terror, till before them fled 
The sinful passions of a sensual crowd, 
Like waves before the wind! From Judah's 

realm 
To Alexandria's clime, his solemn threat 
Was echoed ; till around the Baptist throng'd 
All sects and nations, to repent, and live 
By laving waters of Baptismal power. 
There stood the Sadducee ! with eye unsealed, 
To see the darkness of the grave illumed 
By Words immortal ; there the glozing tribe 
Of Pharisees, with frighted soul appeal'd 
For mercy, cowering as the prophet cried, 
" Ye vipers ! who hath warn'd you from the 

wrath 
To come ] Eepentance ! let thy fruits appear ; 
The axe is laid, and every fruitless tree 
Shall wither ! lo, the fire of vengeance falls ! " 

Divine Repentance ! in thy sacred tear 
Alone is wisdom for the erring heart. 
That infancy of soul, that stainless hour 
When the stem chaos of our spirit sleeps 
In passionless repose, how oft it woos 
Our feelings back to purity and heaven ! 
Alas ! that in our solitude we soar 
To perfect goodness, but in life descend 
To dust again ! — our aspirations quench' d, 
Till all which purer moments wisely taught, 
And conscience sanction' d, is a dream forgot ! 

Yet all we ponder, fancy, feel, or view, 
Hath something for the soul's mysterious chords 
Attuned, to thrill them with religious tones. 
But, far above each sight or sound of earth, 
Or mind of man, that heaven-revealing Book 
In whose dread tones of everlasting truth 
The inspirations of Jehovah dwell ! 
There find we visions of transcendent blaze, 
And heralds bright, embassadors divine, 
And voices from the Throne and Seat of bliss, 
And hallelujahs from angelic choirs, 
And God Eternal, with His Thunder girt, 
And Radiance, speaking bike the ocean vast ! 
And you, blest Oracles ! whose words relate 
The story of Redemption, all sublime, 
With what a simple rectitude severe 
Your page immortal moves from change to 

change ! 
isor turn'd, nor daunted, whatsoe'er the gloom 



Or brightness of the awful Scene, it paints : 
So rolls a river through a wide domain ; 
Whate'er the colour which the clouds reflect, 
Or bank, or verdure, on its beauty flings, 
It travels onward with the stately course 
Of sound and motion, to the fated sea. 

By these alone, can mortal Life unweave 
Her web of mystic lines, and many hues, 
And man's eternity before him rise 
In dreams of light, or shadows of despair. 
At evening once, beside a circling shore 
Of sandy wildness, where the billows loved 
Their foaming solitude, my fancy stray'd : 
Dark crags, and summits, fit for tempest- 
thrones, 
Hung near : but mid- way, on a lofty mount, 
By the green splendour of tumultuous grass 
Made beautiful, there mused a wither'd Shape 
By sorrow featured : on his wasted cheek 
Sat wan decline ; but still the quenchless eye 
Was glorious, — there, undying radiance 

gleam'd ! 
A Book, an ancient Book of faded leaves 
Was open'd, which, with bended brow, he read 
Intently : nearer still my footstep crept, 
And by the breeze from his pale lip was brought 
Soft under-tones of some almighty speech ; 
Till, quaking with excess of thought divine, 
Down on the herb adoringly he sank 
And fix'd his eyes upon the awful heavens, 
As though enthroned there God himself 

appear'd ! 
And then, while rolling tears ran bright and 

large, 
Exultingly his gasping spirit cried, 
" For ever and for ever is Thy Throne 
Transcendent, Lord, and everlasting King ! " 

True Adoration, what a voice is thine ! 
From earth it wanders through the heaven of 

heavens, 
There from the mercy-seat in light evokes 
An answer, thrilling the seraphic Host 
With new additions of adoring song ! * 
For prayer is man's omnipotence below, 
A soul's companionship with Christ and God, 
Communion with eternity begun. 

Oh, love celestial! earth can heaven-like 
grow, 
If man profane it not by savage tread 
And sordid gaze. E'en now, the sun appears 
A king of glory : and this breathing world, 
Like some vast instrument of varied sound 
The conscious melodies of life awakes : 



" There is joy in heaven," &c. — Matthew's Gospel. 



Yon sky is covered with soft isles of cloud, 
Which flash or float as sun and wind command; 
The air is balm, the breeze a living joy ; 
My heart is dumb with an exceeding bliss 
Of light and beauty, pouring in from Day's 
Enchantment ; while beneath yon vernal hill 
Whose sunny greenness mirrors all the clouds, 
Poetic murmurs from a distant sea 
In lulling falls come faintly on the mind. 

But now, the wearied Elements prepare 
For slumber ; modulated breezes swell ; 
The sky, with ocean-mimicry adorn'd, 
Grows pale and paler ; soon will stars advance 
And seem to palpitate, as there they shine, 
With throbbing beauty ! Thus will night 

begin 
And earth lie cradled in a dim repose, 
Till the pure heaven comes down upon the 

soul 
And all is hush'd beneath a holy spell. 
So ends a sabbath ; so may sabbaths end 
Devoutly sacred, till the wings of Time 
Be folded, and eternal sabbath reigns. 
For all Thy ministries begin and end 
In Love, that glorious synonyme of Thee, 
Both in the heavens, and in the heart 

enshrined ! 
From the first tear which roll'd down Adam's 

cheek 
To the last pang of living bosoms now, 
In light and darkness, still our God is Love ! 



BOOK IY. 

" Oh, Goodness Infinite ! Goodness immense ! 
That all this good of evil shall produce 
And evil turn to good ; more wonderful 
Than that which by creation first brought forth 
Light out of darkness ! " — Paradise Lost, book xii. 



ANALYSIS OF BOOK IV. 

The glorious manifestation of Truth in the Appeal of 
the Baptist — Approach of Christ to be Baptised— 
Jesus led by the Spirit into the "Wilderness — The 
Temptation described — Angels sent to console Him 
— Thus proved, He commences his Ministry as the 
Redeemer of the World — Purity and Majesty of His 
Life and Doctrines — First Miracle — The Marriage 
in Cana — Jesus goes to Jerusalem — The Modern 
State of Jerusalem, compared with her Ancient 
Glories — The Passover described, at the celebration 
of which Christ arrived — His entrance to the Temple 
— Miraculous expulsion of its Defilers — Nicodernus, 
his Character, and Visit to the Saviour by Night— 
Jesus, on the Death of the Baptist, hastens to 
Galilee to avoid the Jews — His Journey through 
Samaria — Scenery — Well of Sychem — Interview 
with the Woman of Samaria — He travels to 



Cana— The Nobleman's Son healed by a Word of 
Christ — His appearance in the Synagogue — Is ex- 
pelled from thence by his offended Countrymen — 
Led to the brow of a hill — Delivers Himself from 
instant destruction. — Capernaum — Lake of Tiberias, 
described— Miraculous Draught of Fishes — Confes- 
sion of Peter — Exultation of the Crowd who wit- 
nessed the miracle — To this was added an innu- 
merable number of Divine Deeds and Mercies- 
Doctrine adduced from Miracles — The Power they 
exhibit cannot be fathomed; but the Principle 
which they inculcate is to be imitated — for it teaches 
boundless Love to the whole family of Man. 

"Repent ye!" was the dreadless sermon 

preach'd 
In Judah's Desert, by the Baptist now ; 
And who can measure the exalted might 
Of truth, deliver'd by such daring Soul 
Till conscience quiver' d, like the world's great 

sire 
At that "Where art thou?" earth's Creator 



A brow irradiate with impassion'd zeal, 
An eye majestic, and a voice intoned 
With vocal energy from heaven inspired, 
Were his, who usher'd in th' expected God ! 
From cot to palace rose his high reproof; 
Wherever wander'd in the realm of vice 
The heart of man, "Repent ye ! " sounded there. 

What marvel, then, Messiah's self appear'd 
In John embodied, till the people cried, 
With loud impatience, " Art thou Christ, the 

True?" 
" With water I indeed baptise and bless ; 
But One shall come, transcendently sublime 
O'er me, the very latchet of Whose shoes 
I am not worthy to unbind ! with fire, 
And with the Holy Ghost shall He baptise ; 
Behold, the fan is in His fearful hands ! 
The wheat He gathers, but the wicked chaff 
IJngarner'd, burnetii with a quenchless 

flame ! " 
Thus answer'd he ; and shaded Israel's heart 
With wonder, dreaming on the dark unknown. 

While thus by Jordan's hallow'd wave, the 
Rite 
Of Waters, sanction'd by mysterious sway, 
The Baptist to repenting souls perform'd, 
The Lord of Life, in human weakness veil'd, 
Himself presented. Round His awful head 
!N"o glory play'd ; nor dread effulgence beam'd 
As on He came : yet, sacredly o'erpower'd 
By some deep impulse, vast and undefined, 
The Crowd stood parted ; and a solemn hush, 
Like stillness o'er a forest when the winds 
Lull'd into soundless trance their wings upfold, 
The murm'ring host subdued : but on thy 
face 



THE MESSIAH. 



479 



Great Harbinger ! a recognition glow'd, 

And spirit-bright thy gladden' d mien became ; 

For He, whom prescient heaven to earth 

foretold, 
Before Thee stood; Salvation's Prince 

appear'd ! 
And this, thy greeting : " Lo ! at length He 

comes ; 
Behold the Lamb of God ! Oh ! pure above 
All Beings pure, from me this rite forego ; 
For need I have of Thy baptising grace, 
And com est Thou to mine 1 " " Refuse me not ; 
Since thus all righteousness must be fulfiU'd : " 
So speaking, down the bank Messiah moved, 
Stood in the waters, there the Rite received, 
And thence arose, with voiceless prayer 

becalm'd. 
"When lo ! the heavens miraculously oped, 
The dazzling concave God himself reveal'd 
Descending, lustrous with ethereal light : 
"While dove-like hover'd o'er the Saviour's head 
Th' Eternal Spirit, and a Yoice declared 
Like sea and thunder when their music blends, 
" Adore Him ! This is My beloved Son ! " 

But now advanced temptation's demon-power 
To crush the Saviour ! By the Holy Ghost 
Compell'd, within a desert's trackless wild 
Alone He wander'd, unperceived by eyes 
Of mortal ; there to meditate and pray, 
And scan the secrets of almighty grace 
Himself embodied by redeeming love. 
A noontide o'er his contemplation sped 
Away, and still the awful Thinker roved 
With foot unwearied : sunset, fierce and red, 
Succeeded : never hung a savage glare 
U~pon the wilderness, like that which tinged 
This fated hour ! the trees and herbless rock 
Wore angry lustre, and the dying Sun 
Sank downward like a deity of wrath, 
Behind him leaving clouds of burning wreck. 
And then rose Twilight : not with tender hues, 
Or choral breezes, but with shade as dim 
And cold, as Death on youthful spirit throws : 
Sad grew the air; and soon th' affrighted leaves 
And branches from the crouching forest sent 
A wizard moaning, till the wild-bird shriek' d, 
Or flutter' d, and in dens of deepest gloom 
The lion shook, and dreadful monsters glared. 

Tremendous are ye, ever-potent Storms 
In wild magnificence of sound and scene ! 
Watch'd on the mountains in convulsive play, 
Or from the ocean-margin when the sea 
Foams in the fiercest of her billow'd ire. 
But when hath Tempest, since a deluge roar'd, 
The pale Earth shaken, like that frenzied 

storm 
Which tore the desert, while Messiah mused ? 



Then God to hands infernal seem'd to trust 

The helm of nature, while a chaos drove 

The Elements to combat, 'mid the rushing 

gloom 
Of rain and whirlwind, in commingled wrath 
Triumphant, while aloft unnat'ral clouds 
Hung o'er the sky the imagery of Hell ! 
Xot hence alone tempestuous horror sprung : 
To aid the Tempter, shapes of ghastly light, 
With Phantoms, grim beyond a maniac's 

dream, 
To thunder darkness and dread midnight gave 
A power unearthly : — round Thy sleepless 

head 
Adored Redeemer ! did their voices chant, 
Or wildly mutter some unhallow'd spell ; 
Yet all serene Thy godlike virtue stood, 
Unshaken, though the universe might fall. 

Thus, forty days of dire Temptation leagued 
Their might hell-born, with hunger, thirst, and 

pain. 
Meanwhile, in thankless calm the World 

reposed : 
Life went her rounds, and busy hearts 

maintain'd 
Their action : still uprose the parent Orb, 
And all the dewy ravishment of flowers 
Enkindled ; Day and Ocean mingled smiles ; 
And then, meek Xight with starr'd enchantment 

rose, 
While moonlight wander'd o'er the palmy hills 
Of terraced Palestine : and thus unmark'd 
By aught portentous, save demonian wiles, 
His fasting period in the desert-gloom 
Messiah braved. At length, by hunger rack'd, 
And drooping, deaden'd by the scorching thirst 
Of deep exhaustion, round Him nothing stood 
But rocky bleakness, mountains dusk and huge, 
Or riven crags which seem'd the wreck of 

worlds. 
And there, amid a vale's profoundest calm, 
Where hung no leaf, nor lived one cheering tone 
Of waters, with an unappalled soul 
The Saviour paused, while arid stillness reign'd, 
And the dead air, as if by magic quench'd 
Brooded and thicken'd o'er the lifeless dale. 
When lo ! from out the earth's unfathom'd deep 
The semblance of a mighty cloud arose ; 
From whence a Shape of awful stature moved, — 
A vast, a dim, a melancholy Form ; 
Upon his brow the gloom of thunder sat, 
And in the darkness of his dreadful eye 
Lay the sheath'd lightnings of immortal ire ! 
In ruin'd glory thus the Demon faced 
Messiah, cent'ring in that one still glance 
The hate of Heaven, the agony of Hell, 
Defiance and despair ! — and then, with voice 
Sepulchral, deep as when a tempest dies, 



480 



THE MESSIAH. 



Him thus address'd : " If Son of God Thou be, 
These stones, command them into living 

bread ! " 
" 'Tis written," answer'd the most holy Christ, 
" Not bread alone, but every word of God 
Is life !" Scarce utter 'd that sublime reply, 
When each ascended, and on noiseless wings 
Invisibly both God and Demon soar'd. 
Together, rapid as th' almighty glance 
Enspheres infinity, on Herod's towers 
From whose dread altitude the very sky 
Seems nearer 31 while below a hush'd abyss 
Extendeth, — dark with supernatural depth, — 
They soon alighted ; where with impious wile 
Again the Tempter Second Adam tried. 
" If Son of God Thou be, Thyself cast down ! 
'Tis written, ' Thee protecting Angels watch 
For ever, lest a stone Thy feet may dash.' " 
" The Lord thy God thou shalt not tempt ! " 

replied 
The Saviour : awed by such divine repulse, 
The baffled Demon for his last design 
Prepared ; and swiftly by an airy flight, 
To Quarantania's unascended top 
That crowns the wilderness with savage pomp, 82 
Messiah next he bore ; from thence, a world 
In visionary pomp lay all reveal'd, 
By airy portraiture of magic drawn 
With luring splendour : regions, thrones, and 

climes 
Of bloom and fragrance, meadows, lakes, and 

groves : 
And there seem'd Cities, capp'd with haughty 

towers, 
And Piles, and Palaces of marble sheen, 
And Domes colossal, with exulting flags 
Of royal conquest on their gilded spires : 
And there were Armies, thick as trooping clouds, 
On plains assembled, — chariot, smoke, and 

steed, 
The pomp of death, and thunder-gloom of war : 
Nor absent, fleets within the silver bay 
Eeposed, or riding o'er a gallant sea : 
All this, the world's Inspirer thus evoked, — ■ 
One vast Enchantment, one enormous Scene 
Of splendour, deluging the dazzled eye 
With mingled radiance till the fancy reel'd i 
And then, outstretching with imperial sway 
A shadowy hand, Hell's crafty monarch spake, 
" This pomp and glory, this surpassing World 
Is Thine ! if Thou wilt kneel, and worship Me ! " 
Then bright as Deity, with truth erect, 
"Victoriously Messiah thus rebuked 
That Prince of Hell : " Behind me, Satan, get ! 
'Tis written, thou shalt worship God alone ; " 
And thus responding, rays of awful truth 
His Eye emitted ; from Whose dreaded glance 
The Devil shrunk, and wither'd into air ! 
When, light as breezes, lovely as the morn 



Descended, blooming with celestial grace, 
Angelic Creatures, in whose hands upborne, 
By man unseen, the wafted Jesus sank 
To earth again ; and there, a squadron bright 
Of heaven-born Spirits round Him knelt, and 



His trial o'er, by men and angels proved 
Consummate Lord ; by John again confess'd 
Amid the Sanhedrim, as Christ foretold 
Since time began, by five disciples found 
And follow'd, Jesus on His glorious task 
Now enters ; fallen Earth shall be restored ! 

Will Kings array him ? Shall the Palace ope 
Its gorgeous portals to admit His train ] 
Alas ! the bird his nest, the beast his lair 
Inhabits, but the homeless Son of Man 
Forsaken, hath not where His head to lay ! 
And He, Whose fiat was the birth of Things, 
Whose frown had made the Universe no more, 
The pangs and woes of meanest want endured ; 
For others wept, and toil'd through tearful 

gloom, 
But stood Himself, unaided and alone, 
A God who suffer'd, while the World he saved. 

And who can paint him 1 Oh ! the sweetest 
tone 
That ever trembled on the harps of Heaven, 
Melt into muteness, or like discord seem 
Ere on the summits of celestial love 
Incarnate, they can reach the Lord of worlds ! 
Be mine, with solemn step and reverent gaze 
From miracle to miracle to roam, 
Through paths of glory, tracks of peaceful 

light; 
And on the way, devout accession cull 
Of thought or meaning, from the Book divine 
Translated : pleased beyond ambition's joy 
If thus, companion'd by consenting mind, 
My theme advances, till on Calv'ry's mount 
Arriving, Faith behold her Saviour die. 

In mercy, miracles from Christ began. 
To Cana, peering o'er a woody crest 
Of green ascent, beside Capernaum raised, 
Messiah with his Yirgin-mother went ; 
And there, by one expressive deed of Love 
Sanction'd for ever hymeneal Bliss. 
Unknown the bride, or whom the wedding 

throng 
A bridegroom hail'd ; but Nature has not seal'd 
That fountain up, from whence all feeling 

flows, — 
The Heart, whose current is by time unchanged. 
And thus, in garlanded array behold 
Two happy creatures, 'mid rejoicing friends 
In white apparel gemm'd by nuptial-flowers. 



THE MESSIAH. 



481 



What beautiful emotion, born of dreams 
Which make the future paradise, abounds ! 
Yet, in thy gaze a gleam of vanish'd years 
Is mirror'd, maiden ! round whose virgin brow 
A bridal wreath consenting parents wove. 
The home of love, the haunts where infant feet 
Have roam'd, with mingled and o'ermastering 

sense 
Of truth and tenderness the past awakes, 
And on thee like returning childhood come. 
A cloud melts o'er thy summer-noon of joy, 
Serenely dark, and exquisitely sad : 
For haply, on the old familiar walls 
And chamber where thy lisped vows began 
Thine eye hath look'd farewell : or down the 

paths 
Of garden-loveliness, where tiny hands 
So often labour'd with delightful toil, 
How mutely hast thou wander'd ! — blessing 

flowers 
Whose fairy magic woo'd thy frequent touch 
When dew and sunshine call'd thy fancy forth 
To drink their beauty with absorbing gaze ; 
And that green haunt by fragrant trellis hung, 
Yes ! there thy soul hath dream'd of days no 

more 
When twilight redden'd o'er thy girlish bowers. 

But now the banquet : such as lowly roof 
Demanded, and which simple manners claim'd. 
O'er milk and honey, rice and kneaded flour, 
And water, cool as mountain-well contain' d, 
When consecrating prayer arose for Heaven's 
High blessing, then the marriage-feast began. 
But soon to Jesus, Mary's asking eye 
Was turn'd, and meekly for the aidless want 
Of friends beloved, a miracle she hoped ; 
But thus was answer'd : " Woman ! unarrived 
My dawn of glory ; what have I to do 
With thee?" Oh! think not from That 

sinless mouth 
A mere denial in cold sternness came : 
The pity, not the anger, of rebuke 
Was there ! Six stony water-pots antique, 
For pure lavation, such as holy Rite 
Demanded, in the nuptial chamber stood; 
And each, obedient to Messiah's voice, 
With gushing water to the brim was fill'd ; 
When lo ! the Element, by power subdued, 
Blush'd into wine and glow'd beneath its God ! 
And when the ruler of the rustic feast 
Admiring drank this new-created wine, 
A miracle stood forth ! as shines a star 
Clear, round, and large, the only one in heaven : 
Each heart beat louder ; on the lifted brow 
Of mute-struck guests, o'erawed amazement 

sat; 
And from the eyes of new disciples flash'd 
That beaming eloquence all speech beyond, 



When ecstacy is dumb. And when at night 

By torch and timbrel home the vested train 

Return'd, amid the hymeneal songs 

Of sweetest rapture, while each bridal robe 

Like snow in moonlight glitteringly shone, 

The holy mildness of thy deep-toned voice 

Eedeemer ! still in hearts its echo rang. 

Though vaster miracles Thy Name enthrone, 

In this omnipotently-tender shine 

The rays of Love ; concenter'd, calm, and clear, 

They dazzle not, but still Thy power declare. 

With fame before Him, now for Judah's feast 
Of sacrifice, to Zipn's city-queen 
The Saviour went.— In moods of high romance 
'Tis pleasant down the depths of Ages past, 
To venture, re-erect huge Capitals, 
And hear the noise of Cities now no more ! 
But Egypt, with her pyramids august, 
Titanian Thebes, or Athens temple-famed, 
Or Rome, the once metropolis of earth, 
And whatsoe'er historic fancy dreams 
In visions of the vast and gone, dissolve 
To shadows, when Remembrance pictures thee, 
Jerusalem ! Alas, thy wailing harps 
Have truly mourn'd ; a throneless captive thou ! 
In dust thy robes of beautiful array 
Have wither'd ; tears are on thy faded cheek, 
And nothing, save a deathless past, is thine ! 
Those Mountains, branded by th' almighty 

curse, 
Ascend, and look down yon sepulchral vales, 
Where silence by the tramp of desert steeds 
Alone is echo'd : paths of lifeless length, 
Dim walls, and dusky fanes, barbaric homes 
And Arab-huts, — how eloquently sad 
Their ruin, how sublime the tale it tells ! 
Jerusalem ! the clank of heathen chains 
In iron wrath hath sounded o'er thy doom 
For ages : sword and savage on thy blood 
Have feasted ; fatal martyrdom was thine 
From Roman, Frank, and fiery Mameluke ; 
E'en now, thy wreck is made an impious prey, 
And minarets their flashing spires uplift 
Where once the palace of Jehovah blazed ! 

But round thy desolation lives a dream 
Of what thou wert, when Heaven o'ershadow'd 

thee. 
Religion, fame, and glory — all endow'd 
With mingled light thy once celestial home. 
There, 'tween thy Cherubim, Th' Eternal dwelt ! 
From out the Cloud His utter'd meanings 

came ; 
The hymns of David, and the voice of seers 
By vision raptured, through thy streets have 

roll'd ; 
And He, who spake as never mortal did, 
In temple, home, and synagogue proclaim'd 



482 



THE MESSIAH. 



His awful mission : — well might "Warriors 

pause, 
The Poet chant, and pure Apostles bend 
Before thee, casting down their sacred wreaths, 
Queen of the desert ! once by angels walk'd, 
And still where murmurs of Jehovah's lip 
In dreams of melody thy vales entrance ! 

To such high city came Salvation's Prince, 
When all was loud, on that religious eve 
That marks a feast, by whose unblemish'd lamb 
Was typified the Lamb of God eterne. 
But, hark ! the clang of trumpets on the wind ! 
Down hill and mountain, red with lustrous sky 
The banner'd Tribes of shouting Israel come : 
And how magnificently full and deep 
Their choral anthems ! reaching from the 

heart 
Through heaven's infinity, where angels list, 
And waft their echoes round the throne of God. 
Beneath them, beautiful, and bright, and vast, 
Jerusalem with all her dazzling towers 
Reposing ; Zion the beloved is there ! 
And midmost, pinnacled in golden pomp 
O'er all uplift, the gorgeous Temple stands, 
And glitters, like the sheen of Alpine snow.* 
While downward, jubilant with holy glee, 
Enamour'd thousands to the city rush : 
Each window, roof, and balcony, alive 
With gazers, scattering o'er the marching 

Tribes 
A spring of flowers, and wreaths of rosy 

bloom.f 

While thus, from every region which the 

heavens 
O'er-canopy, the host of Israel came 
In troop and tribe, as though the Archangel's 

trump 
Had sounded, Jesus to the Temple pass'd. 
Nine gates enormous, folding back like clouds 
Of splendour, when the prince of Morning 

comes, 
Kound Herod's temple blazed : without, were 

Courts ; 
And one, the Gentiles', circling with a range 
Of gleaming columns of colossal height 
The rest within ; and here alone, the Jew 
To proselytes an entrance gave ; nor deem'd 
That where a Gentile vow'd, Jehovah was ! 
And thus, with unconcern, and loud contempt 
Of holiness, convened a merchant-throng 
Of money-changers, in that outer-court, 
Whose tongue and tread the House of God 

defiled. 
Then rose He ! bike a Hierarch array'd 



* Vide Josephus' Description of the Temple, 
t See Lightfoot and the ancient Commentators. 



With might celestial ; or a fervid seer 
In the deep passion of prophetic truth 
On realms and vices warring, — the unknown 
Redeemer ; driving with a wielded scourge 
The vile profaners, whom His visage awed 
With sudden brightness of appalling power ! 
" 'Tis written," cried a soul-commanding Voice, 
"My House the solemn House of prayer 

shall be, 
But ye profane it like a den of thieves ? " 
While fled the crowd, a mutt'ring wonder rose, 
Till one, perusing with an eye of wrath 
The face of Christ, thus haughtily inquired : 
" For this high daring, what miraculous sign 
Or what omnipotence from Heaven hast Thou?" 
" This Temple scatter, and ere three days end, 
Command it rise again ! " — Then spake the 

Jew, 
While o'er the vastness of Jehovah's pile 
His eye-glance roll'd, and thence with flashing 

pride 
On Jesu fell : " Through six-and-forty years 
This Temple rose, and widen'd ! canst Thou 

crush 
Its Glory, and in three days bid it rise ] " 
But Christ of His corporeal Temple spake 
In resurrection-power. Yet words that rung 
A knell of ruin o'er the noblest Fane 
Which earth had borne, or gazing awe beheld, 
Such fatal warning could not be forgiven 
E'en in that hour of agony divine 
When shook the World, as pass'd her God 

away ! 

Eternity ! there is a sound and sense 
Of terror, dwelling in thy dim abyss 
Of meaning, whether by a Spirit named 
When lips are whitening in the gasp of Death, 
Or utter'd by the pensive voice of Life. 
In vain immunity and calm we seek, 
Dark intimations of thy state will rise, 
Though time be mock'd, and tombs unheeded 

stand. — 
There was a man whom meditation charm'd 
And counsell'd, by the Sanhedrim beloved 
For wisdom ; hiving in his inmost heart 
Prophetic truths, and hopes of regal pride 
For Judah destined, when her king appear'd. 
All gloomy, lone, and melancholy things 
To him were genial : on the face of Death 
His eye would fasten a devouring gaze, 
For some confession ! down unpeopled haunts 
At midnight, when the fainting moon retired, 
Or planets sicken'd, by sepulchral caves 
Where prince and prophet slumber'd, — he 

would stray 
And ponder, dreaming of immortal doom. 
ISTo spot or scene, where past Religion shed 
A glory, but to him entrancement gave. 



THE MESSIAH. 



483 



On Horeb he had mused, and heard the choir 
Of Sinai's thunders, heralding their God : 
On dewy Hernion, loved by David's lyre, 
And Carmel's oaken top, where trembling stood 
Elijah, when the cloudy Answer came, 
He wander'd ; and the eagle-haunted heights 
Of cedar'd Lebanon by him were trod, — 
That mountain chill' d by everlasting snow, 
When all the firmament lies bathed in fire. 

For high revealings of immortal truth 
His soul was thus attuned ; and when the light 
Of miracles, by Jesu's hand perform'd, 
His heart illumined, as the risen day 
Oft suddenly with living splendour cheers 
The gloom and hollow of deserted vales, — 
A sudden radiance on his darkness stream'd. 
Goodness and glory, both in Christ he saw ; 
But in delusions of terrestrial hope 
Still blindly yearn'd a carnal Throne to see, 
And scepter' d Judah queen of earth admired ! 
And thus, by ebbing moods of doubt and faith, 
The Pharisee was sway'd, till Mercy came 
And led him safely to the Lord, at last. 
'Twas on a night of meditative calm, 
Devoutly while his musing spirit read 
The story of creation, sin and fall, 
And second Eden by atoning grace 
Procured, that impulses of sacred power 
Moved Xicodemus to consult the Lord. 
And what an interview that night reveals 
'Tween sinful Earth and condescending 

Heaven ! 
Go, read it, where Eternal Life is found. 
The second birth of renovated souls 
Commenced ; the Holy Spirit, how He comes \ 
The world to sanctify, unseen departs, 
And worketh like an unbeholden wind, 
The Lord explain'd ; till Xicodemus bow'd 
In wonder, doubted, trembled, and believed ! 
Since light was born, and condemnation found 
For deeds of evil, which in darkness lurk 
And blacken, hating light that brings a God. 
Then ask not, how the doubter home return'd, 
Or how his dreams to slumber's Paradise 
That night was wafted on melodious wing : 
From this deep hour his heaven of faith began. 
A Saviour living and a Saviour dead, — 
For both he pleaded, when the bravest shook, 
And they who loved Him were the first to flee ! 

"When John was prison' d, from those hating 

Jews 
"Whom miracles confounded, Jesus fled 
To Galilee ; that haunt supremely loved ! 
Where sprung Apostles, where His childhood 

grew, 
And where He hasten' d, when from death 

unbound. 



Through dells of beauty, hushed and shaded 

haunts, 
Or meadows, whiten' d by the olive-boughs 
That waved and flashed amid the swelling 

breeze, 
Through each and all, as Nature's fancy tinged 
And character' d her glowing realm, He roam'd 
Till day advanced; and burning, breathless 

noon, 
When earth was heated to her inmost core, 
And light and languishment the brain 

oppress'd, 
At Sichem 33 glitter' d round the Saviour's form. 

Alone, beside a patriarchal well 
He rested, wearied by the toil intense 
Of travel ; while his fond disciples sought 
The city, bosom'd in Gerizim's vale. 
Majestic calm and mournfulness divine 
Around Him incommunicably reign' d, 
Like stillness breathed from His eternity : 
So 'tranced the air, that each minutest sound 
By wing, or breeze, or basking insect made, 
Was audible, and seem'd profanely loud : 
At that deep moment Nature knew her God, 
And bade the silent Elements adore ! 

While thus, immersed in some immortal 

dream 
Of bright salvation, man's Eedeemer sat, 
There came a woman to that haunted well 
Where holy Jacob, in the dawn of time, 
Cool'd his hot thirst beneath a zenith sun. 
A Jew ! — of that abhorrent nation sprung, 
Who, ever since on Dan and Bethel stood 
Samaria's Idol, bade her miscreant race 
Of heaven despair, and scorn'd her rival fane, 
How spake He aught to one of Sichem born ! 
With touching beauty and with tender grace 
Messiah answer' d, " Had she known the Gift 
Of God, and who he was, that fain would 

drink, 
A living water had divinely flow'd ! " 
His heaven-like mien, and voice augustly toned 
With spirit-searching power, the woman awed ; 
And nearer still, with eye intently raised, 
She wond'ring stole, and mortal-like replied ; 
That from the well, o'erhung by solemn boughs 
Whose shadows oft on patriarchal heads 
Had play'd, He had not now wherewith to 

draw, 
And was He greater than their primal Sire 1 
Alas ! the dimness which our being shrouds, 
To keep us mortal in immortal hours ! 
Of Water springing with eternal Life 
Whose fountain is the awful soul within, 
Th' Incarnate spoke ; but when the letter still 
And not the spirit of His words prevail'd, 
Back from her heart prophetic wisdom roll'd 



II 2 



484 



THE MESSIAH. 



Clouds of dark guilt which there concealment 

spread, 
And bare before it laid her life of sin ! 
Then, Conscience ! like a voice from other 

worlds, 
Sudden and piercing, did thy power appeal 
To yon frail woman ! on her cheek's array 
Of paleness, in her eyes' dissolving shame 
It witness'd ; and her loudly -beating heart 
By every throb a pang to memory paid ! 
Then, pointing to Samaria's mountain-fane, 
Whose massy pomp of pinnacles and towers 
Eose black and solemn in the cloudless air, 
She call'cl Him, Prophet ! and in meekness 

ask'd 
Where heaven from earth the purest essence 

hail'd ? 
From Zion's hill, or where the Fathers knelt, — 
Gerizim 1 whence of old from Joshua's lip 
The full-voiced Blessing by a myriad tongues 
Was echoed, while from Ebal's blanched height 
A Curse came down, like thunder from the 

skies. 34 

Oh, ye who narrow to the dungeon-walls 
Of bigotry, the limitless design of Heaven, 
Approach and tremble ! — God a spirit is ! 
And they who worship, must in spirit bend 
His Throne before ! The universal Heart 
Of Man by revelation's light redeem'd, 
Jehovah ! this Thy purest temple forms. 
So heard the woman ; and a hope confess'd 
Of coming Glory, in whose morning-beams 
The night of error would dissolve away. 
But when Messiah, " I who speak am He ! " 
Eesponded, mute, and statue-like, she stood, — 
Embodied wonder ! till disciples came 
And marvell'd, how His purity could speak 
To one so branded, that her blood was crime ! 
But awe withheld them ; and on raptured wings 
Of speed, to Sychar back the woman rush'd, 
And, like a prophetess when new-inspired 
To holy madness, gloryingly cried, 
Through street and dwelling, "Lo! Messiah 

comes ! 
A Man who told me all I ever did, 
The Saviour, by yon well of Jacob sits ! " 
At once, to see the heaven-descended Christ, 
Up the green valley troop ecstatic throngs, 
Till thick and fast the mingling shadows fell 
From young Samaritans, on herbs and flowers, 
As on they sprang, like birds to meet the morn ! 
While slow behind, the hoary-headed forms 
Of Age were gliding, pale with wordless joy. 
" The harvest, say ye not, four months will 

bring ? 
Behold ! the meadows are already white, 
And he who gathers, reaps immortal fruit ! " 
Thus spake the Saviour, and His welcome high 



The crowd attracted ; dumb with deepest awe 
They linger'd ; not a heart but quaked with 

bliss 
Divine, or dreamt it immortality begun : 
Then lovingly that simple-hearted race 
The mighty Stranger to their dwellings 

brought, 
And fell before Him, in sublime belief 
Exclaiming, " Thou alone art Christ the Lord ! " 

From Sychar, hence to Cana Christ advanced, 
And there again shone forth, incarnate God ! 
A Nobleman, around whose only child 
The shades of death were deepening, at His 

feet, 
With all the father mirror'd in his eyes, 
Sank prostrate ; and in tones which tore the 

heart 
With dreadful truth, His healing power 

besought 
To soothe the madness of parental wo, 
And back to life a dying son recall. 
" Thy son is living ! " so Emmanuel spake, 
And he who trusted found his faith's reward ! 
And thus for ever His unwearied Arm 
Is present, guiding worlds along their paths, 
Or waved in mercy round the fate of man. 

But His it was, though all divinely meek 
Each virtue shone, to drink the bitter Cup ! 
As in the synagogue when call'd, as won't, 
From out th' assembly, to unroll and read 
The Haphtoroth, 35 a deaden'd language rose 
To life upon His lips ! there, all in vain 
The saving wisdom of Messiah spoke : 
Their eyes were dark, they saw but Joseph's 

son! 
But when of miracles for Gentiles work'd 
Alone, while famish'd Israel droop'd in dust, 
And on the heavens immitigably seal'd 
From dawn to midnight turn'd her mournful 

gaze, 
When such He mention'd, to convict the soul, — 
The living frame of that Assembly shook 
With passion ! not an eye but glared revenge ! 
And, fell as tigers, savagely they sprung, 
And bore Him upward to the rocky hill 
Where hung their city, down whose awful depth 
To atoms they would hurl the Saviour-God ! 
But in a moment, by its dizzy brink 
Each eye was dazzled, and a Power unknown 
Invisibly that human chaos quell'd ! 
In the full whirlwind of their fiercest ire 
They soften'd to a breezelike calm, which died 
To utter stillness, when the crowd beheld 
Their Victim, passing through the parted 

throng 
Unhurt ; as he who faced a fiery death 
And vralk'd the furnace with the Son of Man. 



THE MESSIAH. 



485 



To thee, Capernaum ! by Messiah bless'd 
And haunted, turn we now our solemn gaze. 
There, mead and hamlet, mountain, shore, and 

plain 
His presence felt, His mighty works enjoyed ; 
AYhile Nature to each theme of glory lent 
Her own sweet magic, imagery, and power. 
And seest thou, girdled in by barren wilds, 
Yon blue expanse ] Gennesareth is there ! 
Quiescent now as meditation's hour 
Yon lake of beauty in the noontide gleams ; 
But when a hurricane with Syrian roar 
Descends the mountain, and its calm defies, 
Then, Chinnereth ! th.j sleeping might awakes ; 
And yon deep billows with disastrous swell 
In hollow thunder to the winds respond. 

By the bright waters, on that lovely beach 
Of famed Tiberias, where a wondering crowd 
Around Him panted for immortal truth, 
Was Jesus standing ; while the fisher wash'd 
His net, and dried it on the pebbled shore. 
Two silent vessels on the lake reposed ; 
The one He enter'd, and the people taught ; 
But ere the music of His mighty words 
Was still'd, " Launch forth ! and let your nets 

descend," 
The Lord commanded : worn by fruitless toil, 
All doubtingly did Peter's hand obey : 
But when at once, with its enormous load 
The net uprose, till e'en the laden ship 
Beneath her living burden sank, and reel'd, 
Silence adored ! the tongueless air was hush'd, 
As though Creation wonder'd ! till, a cry 
Yon multitude from off the shore awoke, 
Which scatter'd silence like a broken dream ! 
While Peter, quivering with unearthly dread, 
Pell in amazement at Messiah's feet 
And utter' d, " Leave me, Lord ! for I am vile ! " 
That moment his Apostleship began 
For ever : death and darkness, time and wo, 
From Faith's high throne he overlook'd them 

all! 
Then James and John at once that Power 

revered 
To Whom the Elements their laws resign'd, 
And laid their sceptres down. Of old prevail'd 
The Prayer of prophets, for the sick and dead 
Arising ; but a Word that ruled the waves 
And master'd ocean with creative might, 
Had ne'er till now a lip on Earth inspired ! 

To this high deed, an unrecorded mass 
Of miracles, in one successive throng 
Was added : when the sun's expiring gleam 
Paled o'er Capernaum, round Messiah's door 
Disease assembled all her ghastly troop 
Of martyrs : in an instant, ere a sound 
Could perish, Health's untainted blood return'd ! 



The lame and sightless, palsied, deaf, and 

dumb 
Recoverd, fleet as resurrection's change ; 
And thus, by deed embodying all Isaiah sung, 
Through town and village the Redeemer went 
And rested never from His glorious toil; 
Except when God th' incarnate Son adored, 
As oft He did in melancholy wilds, 
Where, all unseen, the Man of Sorrows knelt 
And sanctified His human will by prayer. 

And must we sink, in lifeless wonder lost 
'Mid the pure radiance of such perfect deeds 1 
The power, but not the principle sublime 
Is hidden, whence creation's ruling Lord 
Each miracle derived ; — and that is Love, 
Which link by link connects a thousand worlds, 
And chains them all to one Almighty Throne ! 

For true example, not inactive awe, 
Messiah lived ; and he who soars to Him 
That living Orb of Righteousness beholds, 
Whose beams are catholic with boundless 

grace 
And sunlike fall on universal Man. 



BOOK Y. 

" All the stars 

Thou knew'st by name, and all th' ethereal powers, 
All secrets of the deep, all Nature's works, 
Or works of God in heaven, air, earth, or sea." 

Milton. 



ANALYSIS OF BOOK V. 

Solitude— How exaltedly employed when devoted to 
a contemplation of the glorious plan of Redemption 
— The Sermon on the Mount— Scenery — A Summary 
of its Doctrines — The measureless good they have 
effected in the world since first promulgated — Christ 
at Capernaum — A Leper cleansed — Escapes from the 
Multitude who would force Him to be their King — 
Passage over the Lake — Storm — Peril and affright 
of the Disciples — Jesus rebukes the Elements to 
perfect calm — The Demoniac — A description of his 
horrid sufferings — the Demons are expelled, and 
their Victim cured — How utterly impossible for 
Human Pen to paint or express the Divine love- 
liness of the Redeemer's actions and character — ■ 
The Daughter of Jairus — Her youth, education, 
sickness, and death — The Father's despair — Arrival 
of the Saviour — His Miraculous Display of Power 
in recalling the Spirit to Life — From hence Messiah 
goes to Galilee, passes a Night in Prayer, and on 
the morrow elects His Disciples — Then passes in 
Retrospective View their Triumphs and Toils, as 
they are recalled by the associations and scenes of 
Nazareth— Jesus goes to Nain — Calls to life the 
Widow's Son — Description of the Miracle— Reflec- 
tions on the tenderness of Christ in his conduct 



486 



THE MESSIAH. 



to Women — The Magdalene— Christ again at Je- 
rusalem — Cures a Man at the Pool of Siloam — 
The Jews mock observance of the Sabbath — Ob. 
served best by imitation of Christ — Messiah enters 
the Desert of Bethsaida — Feeds a Multitude — 
Reflections on this surpassing Miracle — Our strange 
neglect of the wonderful Love daily exhibited by 
God to Man — The Disciples embark on the Lake 
— Storm — Appearance of Christ walking on the 
Waters — Peter's Faith and Despair — Lesson taught 
by his presumption — The Transfiguration — Pride 
still the dominant principle in the Disciples' souls 
—Christ blesses little Children, and proposes them 
as examples of what his Followers should be — 
The Woman taken in Adultery — Her accusers how 
appalled and subdued by conscience — The Feast of 
Lights — Raising of Lazarus — Christ's triumphant 
entry through Jericho to J erusalem — The Widow's 
mite — The Saviour's last farewell to the Holy City 
— His prediction of its terrible fate — A vision of 
its fall. 

How beautiful the soul's religious calm 
When thought is heavenward, and the chainless 

mind 
Like soaring Enoch, to our God ascends ! 
And oh ! how glorious, by deep vision led, 
Six thousand years to travel back and view 
How from the cradle of eternity 
The infant -world at God's command arose. 
The new-born winds, the ocean's young delight 
Heard in a rhapsody of rolling waves ; 
With every tint and motion, gleam or glance 
Of life and matter, from the lyric host 
Of Stars, with quiring gratulation loud, 
To fairy insect and minutest flower, — 
On each and all Imagination dreams, 
When Earth lay basking in Jehovah's smile ! 

But what is this, or all th' amazing stream 
Of glories, terrors, and supernal acts 
Of truth and judgment, down the mighty page 
Devolved, to thine all-wondrous Plan, 
Redemption ? Yast beyond the vastest dream 
That circles round the comprehending soul, 
Thy range extendeth ! Nature's utmost bounds, 
From earth to heaven, from heaven to higher 

worlds, 
And higher still, beyond the furthest reach 
Of finite thought to mention or conceive, 
Immensity, and all Eternal Power 
Created, forms, or may hereafter free, — 
Eedeemer ! over all Thy glories reign ! 

But lo ! the Mount, whereon Messiah sat 
And taught ; while multitudes with lifted gaze 
And soul that listen'd with suspended breath, 
Beneath Him swarm'd, to drink eternal Life 
Whose fountain issued from the Throne of God. 
The Spring was forth : young loveliness and 

bloom 
Her reign attested ; trees and meadows fiash'd 



With verdant lustre, while the shaken flowers 
Their scent and beauty to the breeze resign'd 
With playful murmur. From its sacred top 
A bright extent of ever-changing view* 
The beatific Mount o'ergazed : from thence, 
Gilboa, where amid the chariot-rush 
Of Philistines, the dying Saul despair'd, 
Was seen to lift her Pyrenean crags 
And cloud-like spires ; Gennesareth's azure mass 
Of waters, and the snow-clad Hermon's height 
Conspicuous beam'd ; and all which gave 
To hallow'd words an instantaneous glow 
Of life and feeling, full before Him lay. 
Bethuliah to a thousand eyes appear'd, 
When Jesus of the hill-throned City spake ; 
The lily-flowers, which neither toil nor spin, 
Yet, beautiful beyond arrayed Solomon ! 
In golden freshness on the meadows waved ; 
And when on providential Care alone 
He bade terrestrial Want repose, and cried, 
"Behold the fowls your heavenly Father 



Their wings exulted on the air around 

And nerved the precept with example's force. 

Oh, what a scene of heart-affecting power 
Was there beheld ! — That consecrated Mount 
On whose green summit sat the Son of Man ; 
The words he utter'd ; deep and awful tones, 
Yet tender in their might, as mellow'd-sounds 
From Ocean's lip ; with all unclouded spring 
Of fresh and fair commandeth ; and the crowds 
Which hung like bees upon the mountain-side, 
As thick and numberless, yet hush'd and chain'd 
To utter calm, as though their living mass 
Together breathed but one absorbing soul, — 
Religion ! thou wert throned in godlike pomp 
Amid a scene transcendently endow'd 
Like this, with attributes of holy might 
Beyond the Temple in its costliest hour. 

And what a doctrine of almighty depth 
Messiah founded, when His truth declared, 
In meekness lies the majesty of Man ! 
At once the Wisdom of the world was dumb, 
And Mammon blighted on his throne of bliss. 
The ways of pleasantness, the paths of peace 
Are dim and narrow, tracks of noiseless gloom 
Which Glory flies, and Grandeur seldom walks : 
The poor in spirit, and the meek in heart 
Who thirst and hunger for Thy righteous Word, 
Oh ! these are blest, for Thine unerring Yoice 
Hath call'd them so, and crown'd their lowly 

Lot, 
And sanctified its unrebellious tear. 
To them divinely was the blessing given ; 



* Vide Wilson's Travels ; and Maundrell's Journey, 
p. 155, eighth edition. 



THE MESSIAH. 



487 



And while in shed or cottage, swamp or wild, 

The sacred pangs of Poverty endure, 

There Goodness and her Lord may constant 

meet, 
And Charity, with soft and silent foot, 
Move like an Angel to a deed of heaven. 

And vaster Truths, unspeakably divine, 
Which live before the Throne, and light effuse 
O'er all who worship their immortal Source, 
Did Christ reveal : — of uncomplaining Love, 
Forgiving, as it hopes to be forgiven ; 
Of Sanctity, within the spirit shrined ; 
Of Passion, rooted from terrestrial ties 
And trampled as the soul's unhallow'd weed ; 
Of alms in secret, — temples in the mind 
Where God in dedicated moments comes 
To earth unknown, 26 and needs no trumpet- 
voice 
To tell the world a conscious sinner prays ; 
Of Providence, life's angel, ever nigh, 
Who feeds the bird, and robes the meadow- 
flower ; 
Of lofty hope, of meditative peace, 
And feeling, touch'd with man's infirmity, 
O'ercoming wrong with mercy's tender gaze 
That looks aside when human error falls, 
But loves a virtue in its frailest hours, — 
Of these He spake, and taught believing Man 
A worship, which eternal Wisdom loves. 

E'en Him, whom yonder choir of worlds 
Adores, our faltering tongues may Father call ! — 
Glory of glories ! can archangels boast 
A voice, or language of mysterious love 
Surpassing this, which bids "our Father" 

sound 
From lip of mortals, when a soul renews 
Her solemn intercourse with God on high 1 
Give ear, Heaven ! thou wondering Earth, 

be still, 
For here is love so measureless and deep, 
That Feeling staggers, and Expression fails, 
Or ventures only, " let Thy will be done ! " 
Oh ! long as man upon creation moves, 
In solemn aisles of monumental gloom 
Ascendtng with a loud melodious swell, 
In rustic fane, or tranquil home beloved, 
By hoary age, or lisping childhood breathed, 
From cave or desert, dungeon, rock, or sea, — 
That mighty Prayer upon the mountain taught 
To Heaven and Jesus may it ever rise, 
And win the Mercy it was framed to woo. 

His task is o'er, the sacred Teacher gone, 
And the last murmur of descending feet 
Dies on the hill ; where now a breeze awakes 
The spring-born flowers, till livingly they stir 
And tremble into low sweet song again. 



But all the host who heard immortal Truth 
Upon the beatific Mount declared 
Are vanished, like the dew of yesterday ! 
And thrones and states and Babylonian piles 
Have wither'd ; Dust has claim'd its dead 
For ever, quenching in sepulchral sleep 
The Earth's unquiet generations gone ; 
Yet, pure as perfect, Christ's majestic Law 
High o'er the wreck of Men and Things 

endures, 
And will, — till heaven and earth dissolve 

away ! 

What toils and agonies, what glorious tears 
And blessed pangs by penitence sublimed, 
The earth has known, though unrecorded left ! 
History, thou hast done the world a wrong 
Immense and mournful • on the alpine heights 
Of human Greatness, thine enamour'd gaze 
Has linger'd ; mindless in that partial mood 
Of meek-eyed Virtue, in the vale below ! 
And robed thy themes of darkness with a veil t 
Of bright attraction, as the Thunder wraps 
His ruin oft in clouds of gorgeous spell. 
Yet better far, had thy pervading glance 
From earthly pomp to scenes of heavenly truth 
Descended ; marking how the Saviour's word 
Had triumph' d, how it lived in lonely hearts 
And aching bosoms, weeded daily life 
Of sin and wo, and dried the Avidow's tear. — 
Sublime of Sermons ! atheistic tongues 
Have bless'd thee, and the worldling's rocky 

soul 
Gush'd into tears beneath thy tender sway : 
When life is gladness, or when sorrow flings 
A sudden autumn o'er the leaves of joy, 
The purest homily of peace and love 
Wisdom has utter'd since the world began ! 

But thou, Capernaum ! once again the Arm 
Almighty bares itself for thee, and thine 
Oh, misbelieving Land ! to heaven upraised 
And hell cast down. — A grim and ghastly 

wreck, 
Upon his face beneath Messiah's feet 
A Leper falls, there, lifts his bloodshot gaze, 
And with a voice of choked and dying tone 
His help implores : — From Egypt's fiery realm 
The dread corruption came, when burning noon 
Flamed o'er the limbs of Pharaoh's toil-worn 

slaves ; 
And now, a victim of its direst rage 
The Son of Man beheld. Each sign accursed 
Disease had printed on his mouldering form ; 
Till fruit had wither'd in the hot embrace 
Of each infected hand ! — let Fancy shrink, 
But still a martyrdom of nature see, 
Then, picture how the Lord of Being look'd, 
When graciously His godlike hand approach'd, 



488 



THE MESSIAH. 



The Leper touch'd, and with a word divine 
Commanded, " Be thou clean ! " and lo ! he 

sprang 
To earth again, a free and perfect man 
And pure as childhood in its glowing prime ! 
For, health with instantaneous gush o'erflow'd 
His being ; like the world's untainted Sire 
He stood in glory, eyeing earth and heaven 
As though his spirit would encircle all ! 

And well might gratitude obedience quench ; 
On wings, that seem'd round every limb to play, 
O'er mount and vale th' ecstatic Creature fled, 
A living miracle : and cried aloud 
" A God ! a God ! His mighty cure behold ! " 
Housed into motion, like autumnal leaves 
By wind invoked, a rushing Host that cry 
Re-echoed : onward with exulting speed 
To fall in worship round th' Almighty Priest 
They came : but not in Him, the loud uproar 
Of shouting numbers, nor the false delight 
^ Of glory flashing over envious eyes, 
* Nor crown, nor throne upon the dying breath 
Of sudden wonder raised, — acceptance found. 
The shady desert, and the dark-bough'd wild 
Again He haunted ; there, amid the calm 
Of Nature, hush'd by some instinctive awe, 
Alone The Everlasting pray'd, and thought. 
But, vain seclusion ! through the verdant depth 
Of solemn woods the rush of thronging feet 
Advanced ; and voices, with a sea-like roar 
Confused and clashing, round the Saviour 

roll'd : 
'Twas then, escaping from the countless herd, 
Upon the Lake His prompt disciples launch'd 
Their bark, and bore the great Redeemer on. 
Far o'er the blue and rippled waters sail'd 
The boat ; serene as yonder twilight-cloud 
It moved, whose haven was the ruddy west. 
In pillow" d slumber on the silent deck 
The Son of Man reposed : sublimely calm 
His features in the light of evening shone ; 
And oft entranced, some fond disciples stood 
To gaze upon His holy sleep, and draw 
Transcendent meanings from that Face Divine ! 

But ere the Twilight, and her fairy crowd 
Of splendours, melted in the dark embrace 
Of night, with soul intent the seamen heard 
The incantations of a Storm begin ! 
The air was toned with sadness, like a sigh 
Of broken hearts, or moan of guilty dreams 
When Midnight is confessor : o'er the Lake 
A breezy and a sudden life arose, 
Till ripples flash' d, and bubbling foam began 
To whiten o'er the waters. In the sky 
No mercy dawns ; for all is scowling there, 
And savage clouds are in funereal march 
Benighting heaven with one enormous gloom. 



But hark ! with ominous array it comes, — 
Creation's tyrant ! list the Tempest howls ; 
The South-East sends her hurricane, and back 
The Jordan in affrighted motion rolls : 
The Lake is heaving with convulsive throes 
And billows writhe in agonising play 
Loud o'er the surface, till like living Shapes 
Of water battling with the Winds they seem 
In liquid thunder, wheresoe'er they move ! 
In that wild hour, while star nor moon reveal'd 
A solace, and the only light which gleam'd, 
Shone when red lightning with a wizard flash 
Call'd the dun mountains into dreary form 
And station, — then the pale disciples ran 
And cried, " We perish ! save us, Lord ! 

arise ! " 
He heard ; He rose ; and while the vessel 

creak'd, 
And cordage rattled in the roaring gale 
Like wither'd branches in a forest-wind, 
Till o'er the deck the climbing billows rush'd 
And darken'd round her with devouring yell, 
His hand He waved, the rolling storm rebuked, 
The Tempest knew her God, — and still'd ! 
Then o'er Tiberias, calm as cradled sleep, 
The Moon uprose ; and in her silver hue 
Each cloud dissolved, as angry feeling dies 
By music overcome ; and once again 
The doubting crew their winged bark beheld, 
With stars above, and star-lit waves beneath, 
Serenely gliding on to Gadarene : 
Oh ! then, amid that elemental trance 
The meek reproach of their forgiving Lord 
Was felt ; each gazed on each with holy fear ; 
The calm of Nature grew a fearful charm ; 
For Sea and Air with more than language cried 
" The waters hear Him, and the Winds obey ! " 

The shore is reach 'd; but what unearthly 

Shape, 
What Thing accurst, in human semblance 

clothed, 
Foaming and wild, with eyeballs sternly fix'd, 
Glares on them, like a cavern'd brute aroused 
By errant footsteps, when her whelps are nigh 1 
Prince of Darkness ! and ye Powers of Air 
By Heaven permitted, from the fiery ctoom 
Of Hell's abyss, to roam the peopled earth 
Awhile, and enter in the breathing frame 
Of mortals, maddening with demonian rage 
Both blood and spirit, — there, your victim 

stands ! 
Thou dreaded martyr ! words and feelings fly 
Aghast, or shudder round thy gloomy pangs : 
Thy limbs are bare, and down their wither'd 

length 
The blood has track'd the lacerating stone 
Tormented Madness from the hills hath wrung 
To glut her agony ! Among the tombs 



THE MESSIAH. 



489 



Thy dwelling is ; from human face apart, 
The dead around thee in sepulchral caves 
Of rocky darkness/ — there thy spirit moans, 
Or mutters, till the very mountains seem 
Appall'd to echo with thy blasphemy ! 
But, dreader far, when night's dominion came 
To hear thy howlings ! e'en the desert-beast 
Hath trembled, when the horrid echoes rang ; 
While, pillow'd on a sleeping mother's breast, 
The infant shook to think thy shadow nigh ! 

Thus stood the foaming maniac, while there 

glared 
The terror of his demon-haunted eyes 
Through each disciple's heart ! — but, ere a limb 
Could move, that dreadless Yoice, which made 
The roaring Tempest mute, and never spake 
But Heaven was raptured, and profoundest 

Hell 
With agonies of coming doom convulsed 
Or shaken, — like omnipotence arose : 
" Come forth, defiler ! " and the spirit fell 
In kneeling torture at Messiah's feet ! 
There, " By the living God ! " dark Legion 

cried, 
"Thou Jesus! Son of the Most High ! adjured, 
Before our time torment us not ! nor plunge 
Our spirits in th' Infernal Deep again, 
But let us enter in yon mountain-prey." 
When thus permitted, like a gentle dawn 
His soul emerged, and spread each vital hue 
Of nature o'er the freed demoniac's frame. 
And when the crowding Gadarenes advanced 
In gazing terror round Messiah's form 
~No bleeding maniac from the rocky tombs 
They witness' d, but a man renew'd and mild, 
From Hell deliver'd, at the feet of Christ 
Keposing, with his native vesture clad : 
And as he sat, how superhuman seem'd 
The great Restorer ! thanks in wonder died ; 
But what a language in his lifted eye, 
Whose words were tears, the eloquence of joy ! 

Divine perfection of embodied Love, 
Supremely fair, insufferably bright, 
By Thee, the Muse is dazzled ! all is deep 
August, and holy, where Thy presence rules ; 
The bigot tamed, the hypocrite unmask' d, 
The Law illumed, and blinded Israel taught 
The darkness of exclusive faith was o'er, 37 
And light celestial, from the depths of God 
Would soon irradiate universal Man. 
Him, Son of Alpheus ! though the luring world 
Had long enchain'd thee, thou didst not refuse, 
When, " Follow me " fell sudden on thine ear, 
And thou wert his, by deathless grace redeem'd. 



* See Maundrell's Account of the Ancient Tombs, 
&c. &c. 



But what awaits us ? Let maternal Hearts 
Whose pulse beats love, approach and tell, 
Oh life ! how beautiful thy maiden-bloom 
In that bright morn, when youth's unfolded 

years 
Like rising veils before enchantment spread, 
Recede, and down a fairy vista roams 
The glancing joy of Expectation's eye ! 
Then day by day, as some meek violet rear'd 
By fondling sunshine, grows the virgin Mind 
In home's retreat, till childhood melts away, 
And dawning Womanhood her smile begins. 
Then all is fair ; affection's graceful smile 
From out a purity of spirit plays, 
And life and motions, inspirations are 
Which tone the voice, or teach the step delight ; 
And frowning Sorrow, though it shade the 

cheek, 
The soul can darken not, whose placid tears 
Melt as they rise, like tender dews of wo. 
Romance is true, reality a dream, 
And cares, — oh ! what are they, but minute- 
clouds 
That speck the ether of our calmest life ! 

And canst thou, Death ! congenial dungeons 

quit 
Where thou art woo'd by dark and wretched 

men, 
To come where Youth and Loveliness unite 
Their magic, and the breath of life is joy 1 
Alas ! the knells, that with diurnal grief 
The wind intone ; alas ! the frequent pall, 
The church-yard tales on tomb and stone 

rehearsed, 
A blinded chamber, or that weeping Home 
Where round some coffin drooping parents bend, 
Like marble shapes of monumental Wo, 
Thy victims tell, thy savage choice reveal ! 

Then think, if in bereavement's blackest 
hour, 
When flooding agonies the brain o'erwhelm, 
And a last gaze seems looking life away, 
The parted spirit of the Dead return'd ! — 
For such the scene, by Revelation drawn. 
On Jairus Heaven an only child bestow'd ; 
A lovely scion, round whose being twined 
The clinging fondness of parental fear. 
For beautiful as Syria's lonely flowers, 
That wave and murmur on the shady top 
Of wooded Lebanon, her form had grown 
From infancy, till now revealing time 
Had written woman on her vestal cheek. 

Born in that Land where summer's pregnant 
beam 
Was brightest, where the fruits of Eden hung, 
And the rich mulberry spread a snowy bloom, 



490 



THE MESSIAH. 



While grapes empurpled every terraced hill, 
Her shape and spirit magic influence caught 
From Syria's clime of glory. Nature's grace 
By power of exquisite attraction seem'd 
Reflected from it ; light and beauty fill'd 
Her soul, and flash'd from those irradiate eyes ; 
And walk'd she not, as Israel's daughter would, 
The mighty scenes where patriarchal feet 
Had trodden, where the God of Zion spake ! 
Lake, fount, and river, and those Mountains 

three 
Which camp'd her warriors, and that still 

o'erlook 
Esdraelon's plain, where tented Arabs dwell, 
Around whose home, when dewy nightfall 

comes, 
The gambling flocks to reedy murmurs play, — 
From each and all pure inspiration sprung,* 
And told, how beautiful religion look'd 
By youth entempled in a spotless heart ! 

And yet on her, with vestal radiance clad, 
Infection breathed, and poison'd blood and 

brain, 
Till the rich bloom of animation died. 
Her form was blighted ; and her faded cheek 
The pallid certainty of coming doom 
Betray'd : oh, hear it, Heaven ! — a father's 

prayer 
The sky ascends to claim a brighter hope : 
Away, with agonising speed he flies, 
Nor treads the ground, nor hears the city-roar, 
Nor feels the motion of his moving limbs ! 
Condensed, and darken'd into wild despair 
His soul became, till Nature's functions fail'd, 
And earth was reeling from his dazzled gaze, 
When full amid the pharisaic throng 
He rush'd, and prostrate with a burst of wo, 
Voiced his dread agony with this deep cry, 
" My daughter, Lord ! her deathful pangs 

approach, 
But hasten ! touch her with Thy healing hand 
And yet my child shall live : " ere Jesus came 
Her spirit vanish'd, like a lovely sound ! 

The house of mourning ! — hark, the funeral- 
dirge, 
The doleful flutes, and dying melodies 
Of instrumental tone, or wailing yells 
Of frantic Grief, and mercenary Wo.f 
But, enter ! there in yon sepulchral room, 
Alone a childless mother comes to seal 
The lids of Death, and on that marble lip 
Imprint a long and last — the parting kiss ! 
And shall the worm of putrefaction feed 



* See Malte Brim on Palestine. 
t Abbe" Fleury's Account of Jewish Ceremonies, 
&c. &c. 



On that young form, of Beauty's finest mould J 
The light and life of twelve enchanted years, 
All sunk and shaded in remorseless dust ! 
Oh agony ! could thawing tears the soul 
Dissolve, let suffering Nature shed them now. 
While o'er thy cheek, so eloquently pale, 
Once full of rosy life, her bending eye 
AVith dreadful speculation broods, beloved 
And blessed ! all thy winning ways and smiles, 
Thy look and laugh, in one sweet throng, 

return 
Upon her, till thy warm and living breath 
Again is playing round Affection's heart ! 
But ah ! her martyr'd frame's convulsive heave, 
As if in that chaotic gloom of mind 
When feeling is our only faith, the soul 
Would rive the body and at once be free, — 
Betokens thou art death, and she despair ! 

Believe, and fear not : in the blackest cloud 
A sunbeam hides ; and from the deepest pang 
Some hidden mercy may a God declare. 
There as she stood, delirous, rack'd, and wild, 
The Saviour enter' d, and his soothing glance 
Fell on the mother's torn and troubled heart 
As moonlight on the ocean's haggard scene. 
The wailing minstrel, and the dirge of death, 
He bade them cease ; " The maiden is not 

dead, 
But sleepeth ! " Then around her vestal couch 
The mourning parents, with His chosen Three, 
Advanced, and in the midst, divinely calm, 
The son of Man ! In lifeless beauty laid, 
A loveliness and not the gloom of death 
The virgin wore ; and on her placid cheek 
The light of dreams reposed : oh, ne'er could 

dust 
A purer sacrifice from Death receive ! 
But when He stoop'd, and held her icy hand, 
And utter' d, -" Maid, arise ! " the beating heart 
Of wonder, doubt, delight, and awful fear 
Was hush'd ; for, swift as echo to the voice 
Eeplies, the spirit of the dead awoke 
At His high summons ! whether from the arm 
Of Angels, lock'd in some oblivious trance ; 
Or from the bloom and breath of Paradise 
Amid beatitude to earth recall'd, 
To us untold ; enough for man to know 
That when the Lord of resurrection spake 
The soul return'd! And mark its dawning 

glow; 
Soft o'er each deaden'd cheek the rosy light 
Of cherub slumber steals ; the eyes unfold 
And lift their veiny lids, as matin-flowers 
When dew and sunshine fascinate their gaze ; 
In red and smiling play the lips relax, 
And, delicate as music's dying fall, 
The throb of life begins ; she moves ! she 

breathes ! 



THE MESSIAH. 



491 



The dead hath risen, and a living child 
Sinks on the bosom of maternal Love ! 

From hence, to Galilee the Prince of Life 
Again retreated ; there His Own beloved 
Eeceived Him not, but savagely repell'd 
The Nazarene ; alas ! they little dreamt 
Of shrouded glory ark'd in Mary's Son ! 
But from the vain, -whom pomp alone allured, 
To multitudes of meek and aidless men 
Who, faint and scatter'd, for instruction pined, 
And tractable, the mild Redeemer turn'd. 
Upon the mountain, when a night of prayer 
Had pass'd, and awful Invocation knelt, 
The Twelve were chosen, seal'd and heaven- 
inspired, 
And yet, how poor ! — a Galilean tribe 
By man untaught, to Science all unknown. 
But not as ours, are Thine unfathom'd ways 
Jehovah ! in the mean Thy might display'd 
Its vastness ; on the low Thy lofty truth 
Descended ; out of weakness wisdom sprung, 
As light from darkness, worlds from nothing, 
came ! 

And these were living Oracles, whose voice 
Was power, whose doctrine breathed eternal life ! 
To them was portion'd this almighty Task, 
" Advance ! though Hell's dark legions rise, 

advance ! 
And preach the kingdom of approaching 

Heaven. 
Nor gold, nor silver, raiment, staff, nor scrip, 
Provide, but enter ye the city-gates ; 
The lame restore, the dead recal, the blind 
Illumine, cleanse the leper, heal the sick, 
And hurl the Demon from the haunted soul. 
Be wise as serpents, innocent as doves ; 
Beware of all, but flatter none ; for Thrones 
Shall tremble, and the cheek of Kings 
Look blasted, and j^our words of lightning 

cleave 
The spirits which appal ye, when the lash 
Is loudest, and the blood of trial flows. 
Advance, and fear not ! for your very hairs 
Are number'd ; viewless, God your Guardian is, 
And he who offers to the parched lip 
A cup of water, him will I repay ! " 

And did they not, by living grace empower' d, 
The Earth evangelise, till idols shook 
Before them, and the gates of hell were 

storm'd ] 
Its truthful witness let the solemn Past 
Uplift, and there, along the boundless scene 
Of time departed, shines the glorious track 
Of true Apostles ! On their heads the curse 
Was wreak'd, and fires of persecution rain'd ; 



Their limbs were torn, around them dungeons 

gaped, 
And yet, they ceased not ; still the cry was 

heard, 
" Redemption ! on the Cross a Saviour hung : 
Repent, believe, and be for ever blest ! " 

Transcendent martyrs ! round your awful 
brows 
Seraphic wreaths are twined, and ye adore, 
In throned array, the Co-Eternal Three ! 
But with your presence, not your power 

sublime 
Departed ; still around us in their might, 
Recorded mercies miracles and truths 
Divine, are breathing : by whose vital sway 
Are sanction'd all which daily Life enjoys 
Of charity, protection, faith, and peace ; 
The light of Laws, the Liberty of home, 
Content, and all that makes a Country dear. 

From what high armory, celestial Band ! 
Were your bright weapons taken ] Was your 

creed 
A pliant courtier, bending to the will 
Tyrannic, culling from each varied clime, 
Or doctrine, some accordant hue to please 
A passion, flatter doubt, or soothe despair 1 ? 
Or, did ye, by undaunted truth sublimed, 
Like second Daniels and Elijahs prove 
And brand the vices of corrupted man 1 
Against the Passions, wheresoe'er they ruled, 
Ye march'd, and fought them in their fiercest 



Of Lust and Pride, and dark Ambition's 

dreams, 
And Hopes which make eternity a lie 
By moulding heaven to each infirm desire. 38 

traveller ! far from England's elmy dales 
To Syria wafted, in the trance of noon 
When thou art seated on some rocky cliff 
Of Nazareth, and think' st that there, unknown, 
In meek subjection lived the Son of Man, 
Till came the hour when like a buried stream 
Of glory bursting into sudden day, 
That mighty Doctrine which embraced a world 
Rose into light, and ran its vast career, — 
What visions o'er thy musing spirit roll 1 ? 39 
The flood of centuries, in their fancied roar 
Thou hears't them sweeping ! but amid the 

tides 
Of desolation over king and kingdom pour'd, 
The " Rock of Ages," based on earth indeed 
But towering to the skies, — unshaken stands, 
Deep as eternity and high as heaven ! 

But now, from everlasting triumph fresh 
And ardent, met the apostolic Band 



492 



THE MESSIAH. 



Once more around Him ; then to lovely Nain 
By Hermon shaded, o'er whose dazzling snow 
A mid-noon burn'd, the godlike Jesus went. 
Whoe'er thou art, a scene of touching might 
And tender beauty waits thy spirit there. 
And yet, how simple ! such as link mankind 
Together by unbroken ties of soul, — 
The glories of the Gospel ! from the heart 
They spring, and to the heart alone appeal 
With eloquence divine. 

Behold, as noon 
Was calming down from its meridian heat, 
And Tabor o'er Esdraelon's verdure threw 
A longer shade, where cooling Kishon ran 
His midway course, the Lord of mercy reach'd 
That mountain-dell where Nain of Hermon 

stands : 
But ere He enter' d, came a mournful troop 
In dark procession from the city-gates. 
The air was rung with anguish ; and the dirge 
Fell sad and frequent on Messiah's ear : 
While midmost, on a mantled bier upborne, 
A youth was carried to an early grave, 
An only child, the Star of widow'd home 
In whose fond ray a mother's spirit smiled ! 
With what a sense of beautiful delight 
Her ear drank in the father's fancied voice, 
Still in her son triumphant o'er the tomb ! 
How tenderly her soul's creative eye 
Gazed on the meanings of his manly face 
And made each feature all the sire restore 
In proud resemblance ! while a sacred hope 
Survived, that when her widow'd race was done, 
His hand would smoothe, his gentle voice 

attend 
Her dying bed ; and tears of filial truth 
Fall on the flowers which graced a mother's 

tomb ! 
But Heaven had frown'd, her living star was set, 
In the bright morning of its beauty gone 
For ever. Pity ! thine are barren tears, 
And unrefreshing as the thunder-drops 
On burning sands, to wo intense as this ! 
For life and feeling in the grave descend ; 
And sounds of comfort, like the clamorous 

waves 
In heedless revel o'er the ocean-dead, 
Awake no echoes in her spirit now. 

But on they come, the sad funereal crowd, 
And deep o'er all the blended tones of grief 
A heart-wrung widow's lamentations rise 
Distinctive of the Mother ! Not a gaze 
By feeling unbedewed ; the young men weep, 
As fancy pictures, on yon cover'd bier 
Their pale companion, from whose mirthful 

brow 
So many a gleam of young enjoyment flash'd 



Like daily sunshine over kindred hours : 
The aged bow their heads, to dreams of death 
Surrender'd ; parents muse on buried hopes, 
Or clasp the living with a fearful joy ! 
And e'en the children, as the mourning-train 
Advances, from unthinking revel cease 
And sadden down the innocence of glee. 
'Twas then the Lord of Life and Death 

approach'd 
The long procession, and a widow's tear 
Was mighty, for it thrill'd Emmanuel's soul ! 
At once, majestic through the yielding crowd 
Beside the corse He came, the bier He touch'd, 
Then, moveless as the dead that living host 
Stood silent ; every throbbing breeze grew loud, 
And motions of the human heart were heard 
In the deep hush of this portentous hour ! 
The awful coming of some dread Display 
Each soul awaited : then was heard, " Arise ! " 
The spirit answer'd, and that youth arose ; 
And to his mother took Messiah's hand 
Her only child ! 

Oh, ask not, what excess 
Of rapture, what ecstatic shriek of joy, 
What thrilling fires of new affection rose 
When heart to heart the beat of life return'd, 
As there they stood, unutterably blest, 
Each twined round each, affection's holy pair ! 
The mountain-top, though daring clouds retreat 
Below it, oft victorious feet ascend ; 
And down the ocean have undaunted eyes 
Descended ; but the height and depth of Love 
Maternal, who shall meet its boundless sway ] 
But, rather witness how one eager gaze 
From the vast multitude's concentred awe 
Is bent on Jesus ! dreadful light enrobes 
His Form, divinity His features wear, 
And as He moves, in loud hosannahs rise, 
" Our God hath visited His people now ! " 

And thus, whene'er the tears of Woman fall, 
Compassion ! in the Lord of pity view 
Thy godlike Semblance. Never from His lip 
The crushing heartlessness of cold rebuke 
Descended, when the soul of woman cried ! 
And was not this example 1 Ere the tongue 
Can utter, or the eye a wo reveal, 
Her smile is round us, like a guardian-spell 
Which nothing scatters, save the tyrant-gloom 
Of death ; and then, whose unforsaking glance, 
Till the last hue of being fade, from dawn 
To midnight keeps angelic watch beside 
The ebbing spirit, lighting it to heaven 1 
'Tis Action makes the world of man ; but life 
Is feeling, such as gentler woman bears ; 
The fairy people of her inward world 
Are true affections; when the blight hath 
touch'd 



THE MESSIAH. 



493 



Or wrong' d their beauty, darkly cold this earth 
Becomes, the elements of being fade, 
And silence is the sepulchre of thought 
"Wherein the anguish of her spirit dwells. 

But should there yet some icy soul remain 
Which never melted at a woman's tear, 
Let such advance, and meet The Saviour's eye ! 
Behold a chamber ; roumi a simple board, 
On circling couches, with unsandal'd feet 
Reclined, a pharisaic throng convened ; 
Amid them, the Eedeemer : as He lay, 
Behind him crept a penitential form 
Of faded beauty ; years had fiercely traced, 
And chronicled with Time's disastrous pen 
The countless agonies of guilty wo 
On her pale visage, from whose haggard eyes 
The tears gush'd big and bright, while down 

her neck 
In flowing ringlets fell unheeded hair 
Of blackest lustre : — in her hand appear'd 
An alabaster box of rich perfume. 
But when her flood of anguish on the feet 
Of Christ intruded, with her flowing hair 
The tears she dried, and costly unction pour'd : 
Divinely humbled, That mysterious Head 
She would not dare profane ! but, sin-abash'd, 
Upon his feet alone an ointment due 
She pour'd, the sad and silent Magdalene ! 

On her, as some mute parent's pensive gaze 
The home-returning child of Error greets, 
Messiah look'd ; but from the scorner's eye 
A scornful flash of indignation broke, 
To think a vile corruption, frail as she, 
Might touch a Prophet, or communion hold 
With mortal Sanctity ! Yet, ere contempt 
Grew vocal, He whose comprehensive glance 
Both heaven and earth and time and space 

commands, 
And from the dungeon of the darkest soul 
The craven thought with sudden light expels, 
The brooding rancour of self-righteous man 
Perceived, and thus the hidden soul unmask'd : 
" Two debtors once a Creditor forgave ; 
Five hundred one, .the other fifty pence. 
Which loved him most ? " " The one forgiven 

most," 
The cowering Pharisee at once replied, 
With curling lip, and brow which blacker grew ! 
" Behold yon woman ! she hath loved the 

most, 
And is the most forgiven !" Deadly rage 
At those high words, which to Jehovah's lip 
Belong'd, and character'd almighty power, 
How fiercely did that proud assembly feel ! 
They spake not ; but the blood's resentful ire 
Flow'd on each visage with a fiery rush 
Of inward passion, while derisive tones 



Around the table murmuringly ran, — 
That He, a throneless Heir of mortal clay, 
The sanction of tremendous God assumed, 
And pardon'd one by pharisaic creed 
Accursed, whose presence was defiling breath, 
Than whom, for their celestial robe to touch 
To hug the Pestilence were purer far ! 
In deep soliloquy of hate and dread 
So mutter'd each dark soul ; but, mildly firm, 
Emmanuel then to weeping Mary cried 
" By faith forgiven, in thy peace depart ! " 

Again Jerusalem's Mosaic feast 
Return'd, and Christ within her hoary walls 
Hath enter' d, and beside Bethesda's pool 
Unknown amid the lazar-crowd appears, 
Beneath the porches lying. Round the bath 
A pillared shade/five towering cloisters threw 
Where each with ravenous impatience eyed 
The blood-stain'd waters ! panting for the hour 
Medicinal, when some high Angel stirr'd 
That healing Pool : as oft a summer-lake 
Convulsively a thrilling breeze attests, 
Bethesda rippled into mystic life 
Beneath the wave of His unshadow'd wings. 

Amid the martyrs, pale o'er all the rest, 
And ghastly, bearing on his palsied frame 
The loathsome curse of eight-and-thirty years' 
Dread malady, an aidless Yictim met 
Divine compassion, when his Lord approach'd. 
"Wilt thou be whole?" the Great Physician 

cried : 
" My limbs are moveless ! lo, the crowd 

advance 
Down in the waters ere my weakness come." 
As man to man, that pining creature spake ; 
But when, " Arise, thy bed uplift, and walk," 
Commanded Jesus, limb and life renew'd 
Their freshness ! free as Samson in his hour 
Of glory, with his couch the man uprose, 
While magic blood like streaming rapture ran 
From vein to vein, how exquisitely felt ! 
He walk'd, but not unenvied ; savage frowns 
Were seen, and stern the loud resentment rose : 
" A broken Sabbath ! did it not condemn 
The cure ? That burden, was it not profane ! " 
The rebel heart of Jewish envy cried. 
Thou hypocrite ! let days and seasons quench 
Thy soul, and narrow down the lofty creed 
Of true Religion : vital worth ascends 
Beyond them ; goodness is a godlike power 
And active ; it can lead an angel-life, 
But keeps a holy calendar in heaven. 

Celestial Founder of the Christian faith, 
Saviour of spirits ! Thy denouncing words 
Have been fulfill'd : the race who mock'd Thy 
deeds 



494 



THE MESSIAH. 



And darken'd all Thy bright perfection did 
Of good and wond'rous for afflicted Man, 
The cup of wrath have drench'd, and are 

become 
The scoff and vileness of our peopled globe ! 
But have we not Thy sacred Word denied, 
Thy Law profaned, the light of Truth repell'd, 
And often crucified Thee o'er again 
Lamb of the World ! Descend, Lord ! 

descend 
And lighten, as Thou didst the Jews of old, 
The dimness of our nature ! Still remain 
The curse of Sect, the bigotry of hate, 
And Doctrines impious whose exclusive lie 
Would limit God, and shut the gates of heaven ! 
The pure and open, the unbounded scheme 
Of Earth's redemption, let not man presume 
To shape or alter ; but submissive faith 
The grand relationship of human Souls 
Confess ; and while external Sense reveres 
Each hallow'd Kite, let inward love abound, 
And centre all its paradise in Thee : 
So will religion spread, and time record 
The days of Eden, sabbaths of the mind 
When dream and doctrine, hope and faith 

unite 
To make the heart anticipated heaven. 

Where Jordan mingled his melodious wave 
With the blue waters of that famous Sea 
Which often mirror'd the Redeemer's form, 
The grassy desert of Bethsaida lay. 
To this deep wild the Lord of Glory went 
Dejected, for the murder'd Baptist's fate 
A veiling sadness o'er His spirit threw. 
But such a halo of pure light begirt 
His Person ; wisdom so surpassing flow'd 
From perfect lips, that sooner might the sun 
At flaming noontide from the eye recede, 
Than Christ in unregarded loneness rest. 
And lo ! around Him, like a wilder'd flock 
Of mountain-sheep, unshepherded and lost, 
The poor have gather'd; and their pleading 

eyes 
Were overpower'd, when Incarnate Wisdom 

spake 
Of Time and Nature, man's undying soul, 
And Blood mysterious that would cleanse the 

world : 
Till deep entrancement on each spirit came, 
Serene as starlight o'er a dusky lake 
Of troubled water : — hunger, want, and toil 
Were unremember'd in th absorbing bliss 
Of vast instruction ; on the Bread of Life 
They feasted, mindless of all other food ! 
But day was dying ; and the mellow light 
Of evening slanted through the desert-boughs, 
Whose leafy motion, like a refluent tide 
The pebbles chafing, made a restless sound. 



And when Messiah in the pallid gleam 

Of western sunlight mark'd the wearied host 

Before Him, and a thousand faces turn'd 

Full on His gaze, all famish'd, feeble, worn ! — 

Compassion for their uncomplaining want 

Awoke ; at once a miracle sublime 

His soul conceived, His mighty hand perform'd. 

Among the multitude a lad was found ; 
Five barley loaves and two small fishes made 
His poor possession ; but that scanty meal 
Became abundance to creative Power ! 
By fifties rank'd, along the verdant ground 
The people sat, with expectation dumb, 
And trembling with profoundest awe ! Then 

took 
The bread, and lifted His majestic Eyes 
To heaven, the Saviour ; blessing, as He gazed, 
The food from whence a miracle would rise 
Magnificent, beyond those dreams of love 
CelestiaL such as sainted Prophets saw. 
Oh ! when His eye immensity o'ercame 
And travell'd through yon infinite expanse 
Of worlds on worlds, His own almighty Seat 
It witness'd ! There, pavilion'd round about 
With clouds and waters,* in array 'd excess 
Of unimagined Glory, it beheld 
Jehovah ! — then the mortal bread He brake, 
And bade Disciples to the awe-struck crowd 
The food bestow, till that enormous host 
Were fill'd ; and fragments of abundance lay 
Around them scatter'd from the glorious feast ! 
As though a seed of earth's minutest growth 
Rose from the ground, and like a forest spread, 
From that mean food miraculously sprung 
The glory of a great increase, which grew 
And multiplied beneath Messiah's hand, 
Till famish'd thousands were profusely fed. 

Was ever banquet so sublime as this 1 
No canopy of regal pomp was there, 
But the bright vastness of unclouded heaven ; 
The turf, a table, and the meanest food 
A mountain-peasant knows, the sole supply, — 
But God to serve, a Miracle, the meal ! 
The hour of beauty ; Syria's matchless sky 
Of floating crimson ; like Genesareth stretch'd 
In molten slumber, and her distant flash 
Of waters gleaming through the forest-boughs, 
And the deep moral of the mighty scene, — 
What fancy yearns not, to have witness'd all ? 

But He who fed five thousand, feeds a world 
And makes all earth miraculous by love ! 
Creation's undiminished banquet, spread 
For ever by the elemental Laws 



lSth Psalm. 



THE MESSIAH. 



495 



And Seasons ministrant to growth and good, 
How mindless we by Whose stupendous gift 
It fosters being as a boundless whole ! 
Enjoyment makes the world's ingratitude ; 
Above, around, beneath, th' almighty Hand 
Itself avows ; at morn, conducting forth 
The Lord of Brightness ; and when day 

concludes, 
And dews descend, the fairies of the night, 
Arraying yonder firmamental arch 
"With moon and planet, and uncounted orbs, 
Too beautiful for sullied lips to name ! 
But, constant good proves mercy unadored ; 
And while dumb Glories of creation give 
Their daily witness, Man alone is mute. 40 

But night commenceth : hark ! a shouting 
cry, 
A Multitude's delighted spirit speaks, — 
And woods are shaken with exulting sound ! 
Like mingling torrents, loud and far ascend 
Their many voices, blending into one, 
That hails him Monarch ! who had blest the 

poor. — 
Then Jesus to Bethsaida bade depart 
His own Disciples, from the crowd withdrew, 
And sought his mountain-solitude again. 

Meanwhile, obedient to a high command, 
Beloved disciples in their boat embark'd 
Upon the lake are rocking : Darkness weaves 
Her veil ; and, like a tempest-demon yells 
The howling wind, and tears the rising sea 
To billowy madness, o'er whose heave and 

surge 
Th' affrighted vessel like a weary bird 
Advances, hung with flakes of whitest foam. 
At starless midnight, on the yawning deep 
The mariners with death and gloom contend, 
Till in the sound of each remorseless wave 
Each Heart has heard a funeral anthem howl'd ! 
But ere the redness of reviving dawn 
Approach'd, when nature wore that spectral hue 
In which the shadows of the dead arise, 
A living Shape along the billows stalk'd ! 
God of the Waters, on the waves He moved 
Sublimely calm ! behind Him, like a cloud 
His garments floated on the gloomy air, 
And where He trod, the conscious billow sank ! 
At that dim sight each pale Disciple cower'd 
And trembled, holding in the gasping breath, 
Yet gazing, till their icy blood congeal'd, 
Each limb was marble, and the palsied heart 
Throbb'd loud and quick with supernatural 

play! 
A Spectre from the unapparent World 
He seem'd ; or, Spirit of the tempest born, 
Who walk'd the waters terribly divine ! 
But when in answer to a shriek of dread 



Heard o'er the billows in its wildest tone, 
Upon the winds in solemn murmur roll'd 
" 'Tis I ! " — the frenzy of affright was calm'd ; 
And he, whose feeling human faith surpass'd, 
Entreated like a God to tread the deep ! 
" Then come," the Saviour like a God replied. 
And he descended ; on the deep he walk'd 
O'erawed by dreadful wonder ! wave on wave 
And wind on wind, in elemental roar 
Like chaos, how can mortal faith defy 1 
His soul hath doubted, and th' Apostle sinks, 
Till, " Save me, Lord ! " the drowning Peter 

cries ; 
And him the affable Eedeemer caught 
From out the billows, in their fierce array, 
Rebuking thus, " thou of little faith ! " 
His fond disciple : when the toiling bark 
They both had enter'd, on the waves He 

look'd, — 
The Lake was silent, and the Tempest gone ! 

Appalling grandeur ! sea and midnight, God 
And Man, angelic Faith and mortal Fear, — 
All imaging with allegoric truth 
A storm of trial on the world's great Sea ! 
Thus, Heaven is round us in the dreadest hour. 
Her radiant mercies, like the mystic stars 
Through darkness glitter on the trembling soul : 
And from that shriek, 'mid whelming billows 

sent 
By human frailness, let Presumption learn 
How Nature falters when she feels secure ! 
Oh ! could our actions overtake Resolve, 
That oft in solitude so highly soars 
To perfect regions of primeval Good, 
What noble vengeance would the spirit wreak 
On baser qualities, which clog the soul ! 
Alas ! perfection is our moral dream, 
And error, nature's true reality : 
We would be angels, but we must be men ! 

Yet marvel not, that frail delusion hung 
And hover'd o'er his apostolic mind 
Who loved the Saviour with impassion'd truth, 
But oft out-soar'd himself, when feeling dared 
To mount where Faith alone her flight 

commands. 
To him, as all, Messiah's kingdom seem'd 
Dominion sceptred with terrestrial might ; 
The spell of earth was on them, and they rear'd 
On words whose meaning look'd this world, 

beyond 
Imperial thrones whereon The Twelve would sit 
Holding the keys of heaven ! But Jesus tore 
That veil of darkness ; as rejected Christ 
By malefactor's death foredoom'd to die, 
Himself described ; and when the shrinking 

mind 
Of Peter started with rebellious doubt, 



496 



THE MESSIAH. 



How quiver'd it at that august rebuke ! 

" A vaunt thee, Satan ! not the Things of God, 

But those of men, thy blinded heart adores." 

And then, at once from out this fading world 
To heaven, and heaven's unutterable scene 
Whence throned in glory the Redeemer comes, 
He led the Conscience, and of Judgment 

spake, — 
A shout of Angels ! and a trumpet- Voice, — 
Hark ! how it thunders round the shaken earth 
Till space becomes a universal sound ; 
The graves are riven, and the Sea aghast 
Unsepulchres her dead ! then, all is still, 
And every eye the Judge of Doom beholds ! 

Ere the dim shadow of this dreaded hour 
Predicted, from the mind has been dispell'd, 
His three disciples holy Jesus took 
From out the plain, to where the balmy hush 
Of aromatic Tabor breathed. And there 
While Christ paternal Deity adored, 
A languor like a cloud of music wrapt 
The yielding Sense, till wearily o'ercome, 
Their eyelids closed in slumber's soft eclipse, 
And slept the mortal three. While such repose 
Entranced them, into awful glory grew 
The Form of Jesus ! dazzlingly His face 
That lustrous Mien which Seraphim behold 
With eyes wing-veil'd, assumed ; His raiment 

shone 
Like robes that whiten in immortal beams 
Emitted from the throned Eternal ! Bright 
Beyond imagined brightness, He became 
Transfigured ; God of God, and Light of Light 
Apparent, round Him earth's surpassing two, 
In type of law and prophecy fulfill'd 
By Jesus, Moses and Elias, knelt, 
Communing ; like the roll of thunder-clouds, 
Their melody of voice the air inspired 
With deeper magic than expressive sound, 
That woke the sleepers, whose awe-stricken 

eyes 
Eeel'd in the blaze as though in heaven 

unclosed ! 
The Cross, and Resurrection of the Dead 
Appallingly distinct they heard reveal'd : 
And Peter, burning with sublime dismay, 
" Three tabernacles let us rear," exclaim'd, — 
" For Thee, for Moses, and Elias, one ! " 
But while he spake, an overshadowing Cloud 
Descended, such as o'er the golden wings 
Of Cherubim the Ark's shechinah made ; 
And from its depth a vocal Presence cried, 
" My Son of Glory ! hear His voice ! adore ! " 
Like riven trees th' affrighted mortals fell 
Beneath that sound almighty, till, " Arise," 
Messiah utter'd ; — they arose, and view'd 
Nor Cloud, nor Vision, but the lovely green 



Of Tabor ; Jesus in His wonted garb 
Of meekness ; and the soft luxurious sky 
With azure canopy o'erarching all. 

The passion that confounded heaven, 

unthroned 
Archangels, and the spotless earth defiled,- 
Not Christ himself could overawe ! In vain 
Of agony and blood Messiah spake, 
To be His direful portion : still prevail'd 
In each frail mind Ambition's royal dream 
Of Thrones to come ; and whose imperial rank 
Was most exalted, each with rival hope 
Disputed. Fathoming their inmost heart, 
Amid them all the mild Redeemer placed 
A little child ; then, gently with His arm 
Encompassing that infant, thus began : 
" Except man be converted, and become 
As little children, humbled, meek, and pure, 
My kingdom he cannot partake, nor feel ; 
For childlike is the greatest there ! " — How 

quail'd 
The pride, how shook the domineering thoughts 
Of that Assembly, when they thus beheld 
A passive meekness in the Form august 
Of Christ embodied ; and an artless child 
The type of man's eternal glory made ? 
Thou happy mother ! at whose nursing breast 
That infant fed ; still happier child wert thou, 
Whose eyelids fell beneath Emmanuel's gaze, 
Whose brow was hung with innocent alarm, 
Before that holy Presence ! — Fairy Things ! 
Incarnate poetry of human life, 
Oh, teach us, as around ye lisp and play, 
Nor heed the clouds, nor hear the muttering 

wind 
Which heralds what to-Morrow's doom may be, 
Like you content in uncomplaining hope 
To rest resign'd ; and innocently wear 
The smile which universal Love bestows. 

Pride blasted Eden; and the world has 

crouch'd 
Beneath her sceptre, which to break in dust 
God bow'd the heavens, and every meekness 

wore. 
Yet, what are we, that our Titanic dreams 
Assault the skies with their incessant aim ? 
Oh, could we read Creation's book aright 
Our nothingness by each vast page would be 
Convicted ! Atoms mock our deepest ken ; 
The winds invisible as angel-wings 
Attend our path, and tell not whence they come ; 
The Dust derides us ! from the floating Orbs 
Of night's dim world an overwhelming ray 
Of mystery pierces the distracted mind : 
And Ocean thunders with resounding scorn 
When monarchs dare him, and our fleets like 

foam 



THE MESSIAH. 



497 



From wave to wave are darted ! Gaze within, 
And Avhat is there ? — a tempest in repose 
Of passions wild, dark energies, and powers 
Which storm and madden at the Demon's call ! 

But evil is eternal war with heaven ; 
And Pride, how dauntless ! E'en that hallow'd 

fane 
Where sacramental Deity is shrined, 
She enters, balancing with haughty brow 
The merits which opinion, rank, or sect 
Assumes, before the Throne of that Supreme 
From Whose dread gaze the Universe recoils ! — 
When Jesus, from the triple-crested mount* 
Where midnight heard His orison arise, 
At morn descended, as the rosy flush 
Of daylight slanted over Kedron's vale 
And pilgrim-waters, in the Temple throng'd 
A pharisaic crowd, whose sleepless ire 
With blood-hound fury track'd His glorious 

way. 
Before Him now, as there the people stood 
And drank His words like inspiration's breath, 
A poor adulteress they rudely dragg'd 
For judgment ; should He dare condemn 
Her frailty, Rome would see rebellion rise, 
And dungeon him for slaughter ; should He 

blot 
Her guilt, upon His soul her crime devolved ! 
But Christ their black attempt at once unveil'd 
And answer'd not ; and, bending to the ground 
In mute abstraction, with His finger wrote ; 
Till once again That awful Soul they tried 
For judgment ; then with look divinely-stern 
He rose, and in a voice of withering tone, 
" Let him among you who is sinless, cast 
A stone thejirst," the Son of Man replied : 
Then, Conscience ! (Thou that in the deadly 

night 
The soul canst wringjand rack the murderer's 

sleep, 
Or people solitude with shapes of hell,) 
The vile accusers Thy terrific power 
'era wed ; till one by one, as though unseen 
A Hand compell'd their motion, dumb like 

Death, 
And slow, each follow'd each till all were gone ! 
But on the hush of that deserted room 
A sigh, as though some heart had heaved, and 

broke, 
Distinctly fell : — the Saviour's solemn eye 
Was lifted, and beheld the guilty shape 
Of woman ! on whose burning cheek the blood 
Confess'd her spirit, and the crime which drew 
Those tear-drops, running like a liquid fire 
From agony within. Her downcast head was 

hung 



* Olivet. 



With locks dishevell'd, wild as her despair; 
Her lips were moveless ; but the buried pang 
Which heaved her bosom with convulsive 

throes, 
And frequent shudder of her bending frame, 
Were language ; all which Penitence employ 'd 
To tell the damning shame ! — " Hath none 

condemn'd 
Thee, woman ] Where are thine accusers 1 " 

" None," 
She answer'd : " Neither then," the Saviour 

cried, 
" Do I condemn thee ; go, and sin no more 1 " 

The Feast of Lights, when dedicated lamps 
Flash o'er the walls of Israel's echoing homes, 
December brings : Jerusalem is loud 
With chanted song, and melodies from harp 
And timbrel, dulcimer and tabret pour'd ; 
From towering Altars an unwearied blaze 
Ascendeth, rolling up with spiral glee 
And gladness, crimsoning the sultry air. 
The hearths are heap'd, and silver-headed Age 
Delightedly to Youth's enamour'd ear 
The Festival unfolds ; 41 while maidens twine 
The holy Dance, or tune the patriot-lyre 
To measures, floating like the silky clouds 
The west along, so meltingly they die ! 
The street-ways, dappled with reflected gleams 
From many a lattice, like a forest sound 
When every leaf is motion. — But apart, 
Beneath yon shadow of the Temple-porch 
Messiah walk'd, till thence the scowling Jew 
Compell'd Him, thirsting for His righteous 

blood, 
To seek a shelter where Baptising John 
Had lived, when first by Jordan's laving stream 
He heralded Redemption. There He taught 
Believing thousands, till from Mary came 
A sudden messenger of wo, who said, 
That Lazarus, whom Messiah loved, was sick. 
But from that sickness sprang a glorious power 
The sisters dream'd not ! Both did Jesus love ; 
Yet still He rested, till the night of death 
Advanced, and Lazarus in the tomb reclined. 
Then slowly went to where in mourning gloom 
The fond and brotherless with mingled tears 
His presence waited ! Ere the olive-trees 
Of Bethany o'erhung His meadow'd way, 
Rush'd Martha forth, to meet her mighty 

Lord! 
" Hadst Thou been here, my brother had not 

died," 
Was her sad greeting. " He shall rise again ! " 
Responded Jesus : " When the dead awake 
And time is ended," sadly she replied. 
" I am the Resurrection and the Life ! 
And whoso liveth, and in Me believes, 
Shall never die ! " " The Son of God Thou art j 



498 



THE MESSIAH. 



The Christ to come, the Everlasting Lord ! " 
In one deep burst of lofty faith she cried, 
And then withdrew, to where her sister 

mourn'd, — 
To Mary, who the better Part preferr'd. 
At once she rose, the distant meadow sought 
And prostrate at the feet of Jesus fell ; 
" Hadst Thou been here, my brother had not 

died " 
She utter'd ; tears alone the rest could tell, 
And not a lid was dry ! Around He gazed, 
Their tears beheld, their voiceless anguish 

view'd, 
Then, meekly bowing His majestic Head, 
He sigh'd and groan'd in spirit : — Jesus wept ! 

A mournful beauty, a sepulchral grace 
Doth hallow nature, when the dead are tomb'd 
In garden-quiet, 'mid the wave of boughs, 
Which often murmur in our living ears 
Like tones ancestral by the heart revived. 
Beneath the twilight of o'erhanging trees 
A cave was hollow'd, in whose rocky depth 
Affection to the arms of Earth resign'd 
Her dead ; in mute companionship, there lay 
The babe and mother, sister, son, and sire, 
A household, though in dust ! A sad delight 
More exquisite than loud-tongued pleasure 

feels, 
Serened the spirit of surviving Love 
Whene'er it rambled in the pensive gloom 
Of such a garden. If the summer-air 
Breathed gladness, heaven was flaked with 

fleecy clouds, 
And playsome leaves hung prattling to the 

wind, 
While hue and sound made life immortal 

seem, — 
A shade of sadness mellow'd, not destroy'd 
The mirth and beauty of surrounding day. 42 
Oft would the eye of some fond mourner rest 
On the green rock, whose cavern'd silence made 
The home of Death, where generations slept. 
And haply, as the wild flowers meekly grew 
From the dim verdure of sepulchral stone, 
Delightful thoughts from sad mementos sprung. 

'Mid such a scene departed Lazarus lay : 
And lo ! Messiah by the rock-hewn grave 
Arrived : around him with unspeaking awe 
Disciples, mourners, and the sisters meek 
Collect. " The tomb unbar ! " — when thus 

exclaim'd 
The Lord of Resurrection, from the tomb 
They roll'd the stone ; then Martha's doubting- 
soul 
Full solemnly He chided ! Time had seen 
Four suns upon her brother's grave reflect 
Their brightness : on his frame corruption fed 



E'en now she deem'd, and buried in her doubt 
That faith whose glory soon its God reveal'd. 
The stone removed, apart Messiah stood, 
To heaven uplifted His appealing gaze ; 
Divine communion with the Vast Unseen 
Awhile He mutely held, and then arose 
The intonations of His prayer divine. 
But when a soundless answer from the Throne 
Descended, more than mortal radiance clothed 
Each feature ! on His brow mysterious calm 
Was mirror'd ; like a Deity he stood, 
And spake the fiat, — " Lazarus, come forth ! " 
And Lazarus came ! as once Creation did 
From darkness, by His forming Word produced. 
Bound hand and foot, amid the living breathed 
The dead, new risen ! But his presence cast 
A terror round it, awe without a name ! 
Entranced, as if another world begun, 
Dumb with amaze, the whole assembly stood, 
Till Jesus bade the grave's funereal robes 
To be unwound, and breathing Lazarus spake. 
As though a tree by blasting time destroy'd 
Bloom'd into life, and suddenly display'd 
The perfect glory of its forest-prime, 
So did the freshness of reviving blood 
At once the lividness of death dispel ; 
And Lazarus, pure as Man's primeval form 
Appear'd when first creation call'd him, Lord. 

Such power immense, in open day reveal'd, 
Through town and village, plain and hamlet 

woke 
A grateful wonder. At the school of Seers 
The sage consulted ; street and dwelling heard 
One mingled clamour of admiring tongues ; 
And in the Synagogues a muttering crowd 
Would linger, to peruse each other's face, 
And chronicle, as Rumour told its tale, 
The words of age, or wisdom. But the blaze 
Miraculous, which round the risen dead 
Concentred, fell like pestilential "fire 
Upon the soul of that dark Sect, whose reign 
Was clouded, and whose mouldering sceptre 

shook. 
Their fancy gloated on His bleeding form ; 
Their dreams were haunted with His dying 

pangs, 
And every heart some malediction framed 
To mock His agony ! Amid the wilds 
Of Ephraim, hence the Lord of grace withdrew, 
Till came the moment for the final Scene 
Of Man's redemption, to unroll its gloom : 
Amid the Capital with dreadless foot 
Then march'd He forth to meet that blood-red 

Hour! 

To Jericho, along whose plain immense 
In greenest lustre rose unnumber'd palms 
That waved their beauty on balsamic winds, 



THE MESSIAH. 



499 



Amid the breath of roses, flush'd and bright 

As clouds of damask •when they drink the hues 

Of sunset, Jesus and disciples went. 

But soon from out her walls, and stately crowd 

Of palaces, and domes of marble sheen, 

He passed to Bethany, where Lazarus rose, 

And shouting hosts with palms had come to 

meet 
The Son of David. From the verdant top 
Of Olivet, to where a hamlet smiled 
Before them, bosom'd in a mountain-vale, 
The two Disciples, at the word divine, 
Departed. There, as Christ's prophetic eye 
Fore-shadow'd, at the village-gate they found 
A colt, which never mortal burden bore, 
Then led it to the Lord ; devoutly hung 
Their garments o'er its sacred back, and placed 
The Christ thereon. Thus Zechariah sang, 
When Centuries, in their darkest slumber 

bound, 
To him like animated Creatures rose, 
And utter'd visions ! — Wonderful Thy ways, 
Jehovah ! in the whirlwind, Thou art there ! 
The tempest is Thy language ; sea, Thy path ; 
And Glory, but the shadow of Thy shade ! 
Yet human actions, by completing words 
Which drew aside the veil of Time, and roll'd 
Their meaning down the depth of Tears 

unborn, 
With voice as mighty as creation speaks, 
Thy power attest, Thy ruling hand portray. 

But oh ! what jubilant hosannahs rose 
As Him they sung, magnificent, and great, 
And good, and glorious, Israel's promised King, 
The Prince of Peace ! Beneath His path their 

robes 
They strew'd, and round Him waved triumphant 

palms, 
And scatter'd branches ; while a choral shout 
Deeper and deeper like colossal waves 
Of sound ascended ! till the Air partook 
The rapture, and the sympathetic leaves 
As with a breezy joy of summer-noon 
Were shaken ! Then a sudden silence came 
On the loud Host ; as when the pausing storm 
In elemental muteness dies away, 
The clamour ceased ; a multitude was dumb. 
On vast Jerusalem's devoted towers 
The gaze of Christ prophetically fell, 
And tears from out His mournful spirit rose 
While He beheld them, and their doom pro- 
nounced : 
" If Thou hadst known, at least in this Thy 

day,— 
But peace hath vanish'd ever from Thine eyes ! 
Thine hour is coming; round Thee shall a 

trench 
Be cast, and compass Thee on every side, 



Till tomb'd in dust Thy towers and children 

fall, 
Nor leave a stone to tell where Thou hast been ! 
Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! whose hand 
Hath stoned the prophets, and the holy slain, 
How often, as the hen beneath her wings 
Her brood protecteth, would My shielding hand 
Have shelter'd Thee ! — Thy children would not 

come ! 
Thine House is desolate, thy Kingdom gone, 
And never till the clouds of Judgment waft 
His Glory, will thine eyes again behold 
The Son of Man. But magnify, God, 
My Father ! magnify Thine awful Name :" 
The heavens grew vocal, and an angel- voice 
Came forth, — "I have, and will," whose thunder 

spake. 

Thus saying, in the portico He sat, 
Where ever and anon, within a chest 
Beside the pillars chain' d, an offering fell 
From worshippers. Amid the pompous crowd 
Of rich adorers, came a humble form, 
A widow, meek as Poverty doth make 
Her children ; with a look of sad content 
Her mite within the treasure-heap she cast : 
Then, timidly as bashful twilight stole 
From out the Temple. But her lowly gift 
Was witness'd by an Eye, whose mercy views 
In motive all which consecrates a deed 
To goodness : so He bless'd the widow's mite, 
Beyond the gifts abounding. Wealth bestow'd. 
Thus is it, Lord ! with Thee : the heart is 

Thine, 
And all the world of hidden action there 
Works in Thy sight like waves beneath the 

sun 
Conspicuous ; and a thousand nameless acts 
That lurk in lovely secrecy, and die 
Unnoticed like the trodden flowers which fall 
Beneath a proud man's foot, to Thee are known> 
And written with a sunbeam in that Book 
Of Life, where mercy fills the brightest page. 

Front of the Temple, whose enormous wall * 
Outlived the fury of Chaldean fires, 
And while around chaotic ruins fell 
Stood, like a master-spirit when the world 
Is rocking,— Olivet's green summit rose : 
And there Messiah, with his few elect, 
Ascended ; thence He took a last farewell ! 
Beneath them, in a wilderness of homes, 
The thousand-streeted City lay, and roll'd 
The hum and murmur of her myriad sounds 
High in the air ; while far around her stood 
The guardian-mountains, bathed in ruddy hues 



* Josephus' Account of the Foundation and Form 
of the Temple, &c. 



K K 2 



500 



THE MESSIAH. 



Of sunlight, while the peaks of countless spires 
Flash'd from the midst like pinnacles of flame. 
But, lone in glory, pillar' d, proud, and huge, 
Colossal as some architectural dream 
Embodied, Israel's massy Temple blazed; 
And seem'd, in her immensity of shape, 
A Shrine that would endure eternally ! 
When each disciple had around him gazed, 
And feasted with magnificent delight 
On such a miracle of pomp and scene, 
" It all shall wither ! not a stone endure " 
Messiah cried ; and, like a dying knell 
That murmur sank upon their listening souls ! 

That dread prediction ! was it not fulfill' d 
Beyond Imagination's blackest dream 
Of horror, when the hell of earth began, 
And men were Demons with a robe of flesh 
Enveloped, banqueting on human blood 1 ^ 
Ere forty years had swept the scene of time, ; 
On that same Mount where spake the awful 

Seer 
And drew from darkness the almighty Curse 
To come, the fierce-eyed Romans had encamp'd 
Their Legions ; while the roll of martial drums, 
And a loud music from the brazen lips 
Of trump and clarion, with a sound of death 
Erighted the hills and dales of Palestine. 

Distress of nations ! Sun and Moon with- 
drawn 
Enshrouded, that their gaze might not behold 
The World's disaster. Erom the howling sea 
Hark to the tempest ! on the earth are crime 
And famine, fear and pestilence combined ; 
While Havoc, on the wings of fury borne, 
Scatters fell ruin like a burning wind 
Which hurries round the universal orb 
To wither up creation ! Far and near, 
Whatever Light can face, or Darkness feel, 
Is terrible : and list ! amid the gloom 
Of midnight, like a guilty creature shakes 
A giant-City, as the earthquake-pant 
With fitful heavings moves her mighty heart ! 
Jehovah is abroad ! the heavens appall' d, 
Forget their seasons ; cloud-like visions, fill'd 
With fiery battle, and a myriad Shapes 
Of warriors charioted by burning steeds 
That vanish in commotion, throng the air 
With omens ! Then, a starry Weapon cleaves 
The sky, and flashes with descending might 
As though 'twere wielded by Eternal Hands ! 
While day and night, Jerusalem's ghastly eye 
Looks up, and sees a blood-red Comet blaze, 
Fix'd like a Curse of fire above the scene 
To agonise whate'er its flashes meet ! 
And once at midnight,* with appalling burst 



Vide Tacitus' Hist, book v. ; Josephus, &c. 



The massive portals of God's inner Shrine 
Expanded, and the shuddering Fabric heard 
A Voice that issued with a dread farewell, 
Whose thunder was departing Deity ! 

The hour of Judgment ! lo, at length it 
comes, 
And God is in it with devouring wrath 
That deepens, till the stricken Earth despairs. 
The Queen of Zion, beautiful and vast, 
Glory of nations ! who shall paint thee now ? 
Enwrapp'd with horrors, famish'd, weeping, 

faint, 
And fallen, round thee like a circling flood 
Rears a huge wall of Babylonian height, 
And thou a captive in the centre art 
For martyrdom. But, hark ! in whirlwind- 
rush 
A roaring flame around the Temple sweeps ! 
Moriah like a seething furnace glows 
And reddens ; as a cloudy palace built 
By sunset, there it dwindles, melts, and dies, — 
The fabric of Jehovah ! Palsied, wild, and 

pale, 
In solemn agony hush'd myriads stand, 
Scorch as they gaze,* but still yon gorgeous 

wreck 
Beholding, on their ghastly features plays 
A light of ruin, ere the Temple falls, 
Like funeral glory ! then, in tombs of fire, 
While the last pillar of expiring flame 
Mounts o'er yon wreck, they shriek, despair, 
and die ! 



BOOK VI. 

' But who is He with tortured brow. 
Degraded, bleeding, dying, now; 
His Visage marr'd beyond despair? 
Thou quaking earth ! thy God is there ! 
The Sun appall'd hath slunk away, 
And darkness hides the guilty Day ; 
Avert, O "World ! thine impious eyes ; 
The curse is o'er, — but Jesus dies ! " — MS. 



ANALYSIS OF BOOK VI. 

The Book commences with an apostrophe connected 
with the sad and mighty events which the conclu- 
sion of the Saviour's Life unrolls; but, previous to 
detailing them, a retrospective view of His Charac- 
ter, Actions, and Doctrine, is attempted ; the order 
of time is then preserved to the Ascension — The 
Sanhedrim take council against Christ — Judas 
agrees to betray Him — The Last Supper — Descrip- 
tion of the same — Terror and sadness of the Disci- 
ples when Christ announced that He was about to 
be betrayed — The Rite of Sacrament founded — The 
Redeemer's Farewell — The Garden of Gethsemane 



See Josephus for historical verifications. 



— Jesus in His Agony — Is traduced — The Dawn of 
the Day of Crucifixion — Jesus brought up for trial — 
Peter's Denial — Reflections on his Faith and Weak- 
ness — Jesus is condemned — Led to Caiaphas — Pro- 
nounced guiltless — Pilate makes his final attempt 
to acquit the Redeemer — Barabbas preferred to 
Jesus — At last is led forth on the judgment-seat in 
sight of the multitude — The repentance, horror, 
and destruction of Iscariot — The Crucifixion and its 
attendant scenes — The Miracles which attested His 
Godhead at His Death — The Burial of Christ — 
Night Scene — Moonlight on the Tomb of Jesus — 
The Roman watch, &c. &c. — The Resurrection — 
Affright of the Soldiers — Vision of the Angels — 
Jesus reveals Himself to Maiy — Journey of the two 
Disciples to Emmaus— Appearance of Christ — Dis- 
covered by the breaking of Bread — His Second 
Appearance to the Eleven — Miraculous Draught of 
Fishes — Peter thrice questioned — Previous to His 
Ascension, Christ takes the Eleven with Him to a 
Moimtain — Explains the Scriptures, gives His Final 
Charge, and ascends to Heaven. 
Here, as far as the Life of the Messiah is included, 
the Poem ends; but the Second Advent is the 
Hope, Faith, and Glory of a Christian, and could 
not be omitted. Previously to this, however, some 
reflections on the subject of the Poem, state of the 
human mind, the destinies of man, and the spirit 
of Poetry, viewed in connection with the advance- 
ment of Christianity, are offered: these naturally 
conclude in a contemplation of the immortality 
which was brought to light through the Redeemer 
— His Second Advent — Resurrection of the Dead — < 
Last Judgment of Men and Angels — Conclusion. 

Prepare, O Earth ! with solemn gloom invest 
Thy glories ; bid the rayless Sun retire, 
The Sky be sad, the Winds be tongues of wo, 
And deep-toned litanies from Ocean swell : 
Let time and nature, scene and conscious man 
In one vast fellowship of grief unite ; — 
An hour is coming, charged with dreadful fate, 
Whose darkness palls a Saviour's agony ! 

But, ere the crisis of creation dawn 
And palsied Earth her bleeding God proclaims, 
Behold the beauty of His matchless life 
In deed and thought connecting earth with 

heaven ! 
Cull every virtue which the Mind conceives, 
Or view Perfection's archetypal Eorm 
And what can emulate the Prince of Peace 1 

Where once the Seasons, in luxuriant strife, 
Eeign'd on the shore of that immortal Lake 
* Whose wave is purple as the heaven it loves, 
In that blest clime where fruit and verdure 

bathed 
Their tinted beauty in the richest sun, 
Where all is dreary now— Messiah dwelt, 
And bodied forth God's everlasting Will 
In life and love, by Incarnation there. 



Vide Josephus' description of the shore of Tiberias. 



Born in a manger, — yet by guardians bright 
And wing'd adorers, heralded and hymn'd ; 
The Heir of all things — yet possessing none ; 
Surrender'd now to tears of mortal truth, 
Or ministrant at some disciple's feet, 
Then,— thunder-greeted by the glorious Sky ! 
Here from the flower a lovely doctrine flows, 
And now, — a Tempest from His frown recoils ; 
Hung on the cross, a malefactor's doom 
He suffer'd, — yet a paradise was there 
By Him accorded to the felon-soul ! 
Though bleeding clay, — incarnate God confess'd 
Whose pangs an aching Universe partook ; 
While from those agonies which man beheld 
And mock'dthe terror-blighted Sun withdrew ! 44 

Man never spake, in words divinely-toned 
With tenderness beyond a tear to move, 
Like Him, to Whom unutter'd feelings lay 
Free as the clouds before a sun, exposed. 
The Heart, — He knew it best, and proved it 

most, 
And touch'd the master-chords of human mind. 
And oh ! what exquisite discernment mark'd 
Each high discourse, to creed or sect applied. 
Some true analogy in scenes, or sounds, 
And palpably by outward sense perceived, 
From mead and plough, the summer-task or 

toil, 
From storm and season, fruit and flower, — 

enlived 
Each sacred lesson which Emmanuel 

taught. 
And when hath Poet from his airy world 
To shape or action summon'd such express 
And touching images of graceful power, 
As Parables, 45 where conscience is instinctive 

judge 
And to the mind celestial truth commends ] 
Pathetic loveliness in all abounds ; 
And as the eloquent Creation oft 
By moonlight more than storm the soul 

subdues, 
When language by severest wrath sustain'd, 
No passion quell'd, the parable prevail'd ; 
Whose soft dominion, like an angel-smile 
Moved o'er the heart, and seemed reflected 

there. 

A Being thus surpassingly endow'd, 
Whose life was goodness in perpetual act ; 
By pure magnificence of spirit raised 
Above whate'er Platonic vision 46 shaped 
Of high and holy, in the perfect Man, 
What hymned worship should all Earth have 

paid 
To such embodied Glory ! Yet a doom 
Of torture hover'd o'er His righteous Head : 
The Sinless for the sinful World must die ! 



502 



THE MESSIAH. 



E'en now, the plotting Sanhedrim convened ; 
When suddenly, disorder'd, pale, and rack'd 
With guilty terror, which on brow and check 
Imprinted, villain ! lo, the traitor comes, 
And thirty pieces for his Lord betray 'd 
Demandeth : then with unappall'd delight 
The Priesthood revels o'er His dying form ! 

There, as the traitor in the twilight-gloom 
Is homeward skulking with a stealthy pace 
While every breeze like condemnation sounds, 
By Nature mutter'd with mysterious scorn, 
A Spirit, dark as demons love, behold ! 
He, ever when the proffer'd crown approach'd 
The head of Christ, in worldly vision hail'd 
The sceptred honours of some high domain 
About to dawn : but when the Saviour's lip 
Blest the meek hands which typically pour'd 
Balsamic odours to anoint His head, 
Eebuke was felt, and disappointment raged ; 
Till Satan enter'd with a rush of guilt 
The soul of Judas, and the traitor rose 
A dark apostate in his dream of blood ! 

Meanwhile Messiah, whose omniscient word 
A room appointed for the paschal Feast, 
To eat the Lamb of covenant prepared. 
His pangs approach, His agonies begin 
To throng around Him ! and that hour, fore- 
told, 
Prefigured, and so oft in gloom unveil'd 
To His mistaken Twelve, is come at last 
The Man of Wo to meet -! A feast is set 
Of wine and water, as Mosaic law 
Ordain'd ; where each with due thanksgiving 

drinks * 

The Cup whose seal and sanction typified 
The Blood of Jesus, by symbolic power ; 
And then, the taintless Lamb, the ritual Herb, 
And Bread unleaven'd, psalm and prayer 

succeed, 
Each serving each with ceremonious awe. 
But in the midst, again rebellious pride, 
Like Satan when he darken'd Paradise 
By curst intrusion, mars the lovely scene 
And mournful beauty of our Lord's farewell. 
But, princes, thrones, and dominations bow, 
Lie mute and dead, ye arrogant desires ! 
Ambition ! dooming life one long despair, 
Quench the wild fever of thy fire-struck brain, 
Heaven stoops to earth, a Deity to dust, 
A God is kneeling at the foot of Man ! — 
Humility which makes the heart to reel, 
Our blood to quiver, and the brow of pride 
Prostrates beneath the scathing light of shame ! 
Oh, when was meekness so almighty found, 
As when the Saviour dwarfs degree and state 
And dims the splendour of all outward things, 



Till, like the radiance of a dying eve, 
The waning glories of the World depart ! 

But why hath sadness with a sudden gloom 
On each descended ] What hath blanch'd the 

cheek 
With terror, in the eye dejection pour'd, 
And stirr'd the calm of countenance with lines 
Of feeling, working into restless play 
Like breeze-moved water ] Eye to eye, and 

brow 
To brow, in horrible dismay upturn'd, 
Each reads the other with unspoken dread 
Of something buried in the soul's abyss, 
Which now must be untomb'd, and stand 

condemn'd 
In the full light of God's omniscient gaze ! 
And yet, though terror-struck, with sad 

exclaim 
Each utters, " Is it I V Eleven are pure ; 
Their souls are ramparted with sacred truth, 
They tremble deeply, but with guiltless fear. 
And one there was, o'er all the rest beloved ; 
Whose tender mildness and devoted faith 
With childlike fervour to the Lord endear'd 
A guileless nature, — him whom "Jesus loved," 
The meek St. John ! Beyond expressive wo, 
The tearful language of his eye reveal'd 
A yearning spirit ; while his drooping head 
Lay fondly pillow'd on the breast of Christ. 
By Peter urged, with look of saddest depth 
On Christ he gazed, and whisperingly ask'd, 
" Who is it, Lord ]" Then Jesus, " He who 

takes | 

The bread I give, the Son of Man betrays : 
But, wo the traitor ! well for him, had light 
And being never an Iscariot known !" 
Betrayer ! thou whose spirit coil'd and sunk 
Within thee, as a serpent when the day 
Shines on the darkness of his den retires 
To deeper gloom ! upon thy face appears 
A pale confession, which thy tongue denies : 
Yes ! thou art he, — a traitor to thy Lord ! 
And driven by the whirlwind of despair, 
Forth from the chamber of discover'd guilt 
Thou speedest ; darkness is a heaven to thee ; 
And thou hast night, sepulchrally array'd, 
And starless, fit to cloak a traitor's deed 
Or give to earth the gloominess of hell ! 

As the dim spell-work of some awful dream 
Can people slumber with a ghastly host 
Of shapes and sounds, till lo ! the morning- 
smile 
Dissolves it, so hath this phantasmal scene 
Of doubt and dread, of agonising sway, 
At once receded ; and quiescent joy 
Again upon the true disciples came, 
When Judas from the paschal-chamber went, 



THE MESSIAH. 



503 



Convicted traitor .' Then, with mien august, 
The mild Redeemer took the Bread, and blest 
And brake it ; and the cup of Wine He took, 
And then of both made each disciple take : — 
A holy Sacrament, whose typic shade 
The great Passover was ; but mightier far 
The rite of Jesus, whose remembrance speaks 
No single nation, but a boundless World 
Deliver'd, saved, and free ! As bread and wine 
The body nourish, so the soul is fed 
By faith in this symbolic meal of Love, 
Wherein is shadow'd the Redeemer's death. 

"Do This, and thou wilt then remember 
Me ! " 
Remember Thee ! the Way, the Truth, and 

Life, 
On Whose pure eyelids hung our mortal tears ; 
Who wert so inaccessibly supreme 
In the bright plenitude of awe and power, 
And yet, so veil'd by condescending love 
That Childhood gazed upon Thy glorious 

smile, 
And deem'd it heavenlier than mothers wear ; 
Refuge and Rest 'mid all the woes of time ! 
Almighty Anchor for a sin-toss'd world ! 
Incarnate Saviour, and co-equal God, 
Remember Thee ! — oh, if some dying words 
Of honour'd parent round the memory cling 
With aye unweaken'd charm, shall man forget 
That dear and solemn, Thy divine command 
Beyond all parents' ] Till Thy Kingdom come 
When the great Banquet of perpetual bliss 
With Thee in glory Thine elected sons 
Partake, Saviour ! be this Sacrifice 
And Sacrament with awful love revered : 
For in it pardon and preserving grace 
Abound, and by it Earth with Heaven com- 
munes ; 
And when o'erwearied by this anxious world, 
Or toss'd in the tempestuous gloom of sin 
The soul repenteth, yet in doubt appears 
Like Hagar in the wilderness, to weep and die 
Forsaken, there in this all-heavenly Feast 
Redeemer ! Thine incarnate Presence dwells : 
And gently as the arkless dove was ta'en 
Back to a shelter from the dreary wild 
Of waters, welcomed by a meeting smile, 
The soul is bosom'd on Thy holy rest. 

But listen ! for the Lord's farewell begins, 
And deeply-solemn, His mysterious tones 
Fall on the silence of the sacred room, 
Till tears have gather'd in their gazing eyes 
From whence He parteth, to ascend and reign 
Where man beholds not. Yet, in dreadless 

faith, 
The fervent Peter, with erected brow 
And voice triumphant over hell, replied, 



" Though all desert Thee, still will Peter stand 
A rock unshaken ! death nor dungeon frights 
His spirit ; life itself but lives in Thee !" 
" I tell thee, Peter, ere the cock shall crow 
This very night wilt thou deny Me thrice ! " 
Then, more impassion'd with a louder voice 
And lip that quiver'd with exulting throb, 
" Deny Thee ! unto death my soul is fix'd !" 
The fond one answer' d, and on Jesus gazed 
With mild reproach, like one -who feels his 

wrong, 
But pleaded only by a look which spake ! 

A sadness, deep and holy as the heart 
E'er felt, came o'er that mute assembly now, 
When the meek Saviour with angelic truth 
Began : " Believe in God, in Me believe, 
For in My Father's everlasting House 
Are many Mansions, and your Lord departs, 
That ye may follow to a place prepared. 
The Comforter, the Holy Ghost, shall come, 
And all I utter' d, memory shall teach, 
By Him instructed ; peace, immortal Peace ! 
Beyond the world to give, with you I leave : 
Abide in Me, as branches in the Vine 
Endure, and ye shall bear celestial Fruit ! " 
And then, as o'er Him, in its dark array 
A vision of their sad desertion swept, 
Messiah added, " Do ye now believe ] 
Behold ! it cometh, yea, the hour is come ! 
When all are scatter' d, and the Son of Man 
Is left, — yet not alone, for God is there : 
The world is trouble, but in Me a peace 
Unfading ; let your souls in that confide 
JSTor tremble ; I have overcome the World ! " 
Then, lifting his omniscient eyes to Heaven, 
" My Father, glorify Thy Son !" He cried ; 
" Thy work is finish'd, and thy faith is taught, 
And Light and Immortality declared ; 
And now The Glory, Mine before this earth 
Was founded, I ascend with Thee to share ! " 

Thus ended, Lord ! thy first and last 
farewell. 
When rose the parting hymn Devotion sang, 
And all o'er Kedron to the Olive Mount 
Departing, wait upon Thy steps divine.* 

But, veil thyself, Imagination ! veil 
And worship ; put thy shoes from off" thy feet, 
Thou mortal Gazer ! for on hallow'd ground 
More consecrate than he of Horeb saw 
When the bush burn'd with sacramental fire, 



* The hymn that they sung was Ps. 110, 117, 118, 
which was the last part of the great Hallal, as they 
called it, which was constantly sung at the Passover 
and their other great solemnities ; and with this 
latter part was this solemnity concluded. — Ltght- 
foot's Harmony. 



504 



THE MESSIAH. 



Thou tread'st, — the garden of Gethsemane ! 
The Moon, pale hermitress of heaven, hath 

found 
With no bright fellowship of starry orb 
Her midway-sphere; and now with conscious 

dread 
Shrined in a cloudy haze, she disappears, 
AVhile motionless yon patriarchal trees 
Of towering olive lift their spectral gloom. 
But listen ! groan on groan, with awful swell 
Heaves on the air, as though a God bewail'd 
His creatures ! — Christ in agony is bow'd, 
And prostrate ; while from each denuded pore 
A litany of Blood to Heaven appeals ! 
Convulsed within Him, hark, the Human 

cries, 47 
" My Father ! if it can be, let this Cup 
Be taken from Me, from this hour removed : 
And yet not Mine, but let Thy Will, be done ! " 

Dark agonies, ineffable as deep 
That moment knew, whose merit countervail'd 
All which Eternity's remorse could pay, 
"Wrung from the torment of a punish'd World ! * 
As once on Tabor His transfigured Form 
A shadow of celestial Glory threw 
On Man's perception, so in this doom'd hour 
Gethsemane's most awful Scene declares 
The dreadful Infinite of sin, and guilt. 
His Manhood suffer'd all that Flesh could 

feel :— 
God unappeased, and Satan unsubdued, 
Darkness, and death, and unrepented crimes 
Still brooding o'er the world, and He fore- 

doom'd 
Upon the Cross of agony to die 
That Heaven might open on forgiven man, — 
These were combined in one almighty pang ! 
Exceeding sorrowful His soul became 
E'en unto death ; till from the Throne His cry 
Of anguish brought a soothing Angel down. 
But in the passion of this fateful hour, 
Oh ! where are they, whose eyes so oft beheld 
His wonders, in whose hearts His voice had 

pour'd 
The balm and blessing of immortal Truth ? 
Alas ! one hour they could not watch, nor pray ; 
And they were sleeping, when the Saviour 

thrice 
From prayer arose, and thrice their sleep 

forgave ! 

Yet now sleep on ; and take unthinking 
rest; 
The Son of Man, Emmanuel is betray'd, 
The traitor hath his treason-work fulfill'd ! 
For, hear ye not the sound of rushing feet 



Vide Barrow's remark on the agony of Christ. 



j And ruder voices, through the moonless air 
Advancing 1 Stirr'd, as by a tempest-wing, 
Around the olive-branches creak and bend, 
And light comes flashing with a fierce intent, 
i Till on the countenance of Christ it falls 
And lights His features : marr'd and pale they 

shone 
Beneath it, as He met a midnight-band 
With torch and lantern, sword and stave em- 

power'd 
Their impious hands on His pure Form to lay. 
When " I am He ! " was spoken, back they 

fell 
Like life before a sudden blast of death 
By miracle emitted ! — " I am He " 
Again was utter'd, and again they fell 
Confounded, till the traitor with a kiss 
Betoken'd Jesus ; then the troop approach'd 
And bound Him. Legions ! from your thrones 

of Light 
Descend, and wither that unhallow'd throng ! 
Xo : meekly as a lamb to slaughter goes 
The Lord hath yielded ; fetter' d, silent, sad, 
Deserted, and betray'd, alone He meets 
The Powers of darkness in their deepest might. 

The break of morning with a dim uprise ! 
Pale as a Prophet, when his eye foresees 
L'nutter'd woes upon the future throng, 
The Sun awaketh from his cloudy sleep 
To usher in this all-tremendous Day. 
Already in yon judgment-chamber meet 
The fell accusers ; there, aloft upraised, 
Their holy Victim in the upper-hall iS 
His trial waiteth : — not a shade of fear 
The innocence of that calm Brow defiles ! 
In shape a Man, in dignity a God 
He seemeth. But around the palace-fire 
Beneath Him, from the council-seat apart, 
What curses, loud with wrathful meaning, roll ? 
A damsel, when the Galilean-voice 
Of Peter sounded with betrayful tones, 
His true discipleship at once declared 
Then, he who hail'd Him "Son of living- 
God!" 
Adored His Person, saw His glory shine, 
And vow'd eternally with changeless love 
Through life and death unswerving faith to 

hold, 
The sacred knowledge of his Lord denied ! 
But when with horrid malediction rang 
The fierce denial of his furious lip, 
Till his eye glitter'd with a ghastly fire, 
And falsehood, cowardice, and guilty fear 
All met and mingled with terrific clash 
Within, a second time the Cock then crew ! 
And Jesus, — who shall paint the glance He 

gave, 
Where pity, pardon, and subdued reproach 



THE MESSIAH. 



505 



Concenter d in such look of loving power 
That Peter shrank, and trembled into tears ! 

Impassion'd, bold, beyond thy strength sin- 
cere, 
Sublime apostle but a sinful man, 
As in thy faith, so in thy fall we find, 
A truth which bids the yearning bosom feel, 
E'en as thou wert, how half the world has been ! 
Forgiven mourner ! while with mantled face 
In groaning penitence without the porch 
Thou weep est, and from unforgotten scenes 
A radiant vision of the Past returns 
With blighting splendour to condemn thy 

soul, 
Thou art a Moral for mankind to read 
And heart to study, long as Earth remains ! 

"While thus in penance sad St. Peter wept, 
Amid a council of encircling priests 
And scribes and elders, lone Emmanuel stood 
For judgment. Witness after witness rose, 
Suborn'd and savage ; yet a war of words 
Where lie to lie and truth to truth opposed 
A meaning, all their accusation grew ; 
But when His doctrine the Archpriest assail'd ; 
" The temple, synagogue, the open world, 
Let these My doctrine testify, and tell, 
For nought in secret have I said or done ! " 
Thus answer'd the Redeemer ; then uprose 
Accusers, who with dreadless voice declared 
" The gorgeous Fabric which our eyes adore, 
He thus blasphemed ; ' This temple built 

with hands, 
Will I destroy ; in three days shall arise 
Another, built by no terrestrial hands ! ' " 
Majestic silence was the sole reply. 
Then Caiaphas, with fierce emotion shook 
And darken'd; from his council-throne up 

sprang 
•And with a voice like far-off thunder cried, 
" Now by the living and tremendous God 
Thee I adjure ! art Thou The Christ]"— "I am ! 
Hereafter, coming with the clouds of heaven 
Girt like Jehovah, see the Son of Man ! " 
Then, " Let Him die ! " throughout th' assem- 
bly rung. 

The morning comes ; and with unfolding day 
The tragedy a deeper die assumes. 
Again did Pilate, with proclaiming voice 
To elder, priest, and multitude pronounce 
The Saviour guiltless : " Let Him be released ! " 
In vain he cried ; for hark the savage yell, 
"A prisoner ! be our wonted right perform'd, 
A captive freed ! " 'Twas in that stormy hour 
The dark confession of a hideous dream 
The wife of Pilate in her slumber saw, 
Was then reported : but His hour had come ! 49 



" Barabbas ! " was the universal shout 

By thousands echoed, when their judge preferr'd 

To free Messiah, " Let Barabbas loose ! " 

But " Christ, what deadly evil hath he done 1 " 

Again did " Crucify ! " in one fell war 

Rise on the air so murderous and loud, 

That Pilate quiver'd on his judgment-throne. 

Then Jesus, by the soldiers dragg'd, endured 
The mockery of reed, and robe, and crown 
Of platted thorns, upon His temples press'd ; 50 
There as He bled, before Him bow the knees 
Of scoffing worshippers, who shout and hail 
" King of the Jews ! " then smite His awful 

head 
And crush the crown upon His aching brows ! 

Thus bleeding, marr'd and mock'd, the 
Saviour comes : 
Unmoved He stands, insuperably calm. 
But wilder grew the clamour ; hand, and eye, 
And voice were raging with terrific signs 
Of vengeance ; till the name of " Csesar " rang 
Loud on the soul of Pilate, like the knell 
Of his destruction ! Caesar's foe must die ■ 
And Hate shall crucify whom Justice spared. 
Then took he water, laved his hands, and cried, 
" That I am innocent of blood, behold, 
Of this just Person •' be it yours to bear." 
" His blood be on us ! on our children be ! " 
In mingled answer from that murderous crowd 
Ascended ; dreary as the dying swell 
Of ocean, up to heaven this awful breath 
Of imprecation roll'd, and drew from God 
The answer, Judah's myriads suffer now ! 

Earth never parallel'd a scene like this, 
When list'ning Worlds were overawed to hear 
A creature his incarnate God condemn ! 51 
A paved tribunal by the Palace rose 
Of pictured marble, and mosaic sheen, 
Whereon was Pilate as in kingly state 
Enthroned ; before him stood a bleeding Form 
Of solemn aspect, in Whose mild regret 
A sanctitude beyond expression spake. 
Below a raving multitude was seen 
Upgazing, all athirst for righteous blood ; 
And who, with features harrow'd by the strife 
And scorn of passion, from their God invoked 
Eternal vengeance for eternal Blood ! 

But where the vile traducer? While the 
doom 
Of death was pass'd, and Jesus like a Lamb 
To slaughter by the savage crowd decreed, 
Then, Conscience, thy tremendous power 

began ! 
The beauty, glory, and sublime display 
Of virtues godlike by the sinless Christ 



506 



THE MESSIAH. 



Embodied, back upon his memory came ; 
And in the light of that immaculate Lord 
From all He did reflected, dark and deep 
The perfidy of His betrayer frown'd ! 
Lash'd by remorse, the council-Chief he sought, 
The crime of Innocence by him betray'd 
Confess'd ; but when in vain his pleading guilt 
Repented, in the Temple down he hurl'd 
The wages of Iniquity, and fled 
On wings of horror ! — like a maniac, wild 
And blasted into solitude he ran. 
The ground grew fire beneath his guilty tread; 
The heavens hung o'er him like a vast reproach; 
And groans which make the jubilee of hell 
Heaved from his soul with terrible excess ! 
Where rose a precipice, whose rocky gloom 
The plunging billows of a torrent fill'd 
With mimic thunder in chaotic roar, 
At length he stood, and on the black abyss 
Stared wildly — then a pace withdrew, 
Look'd o'er the heavens his horrible despair ! 
Till Nature with a ghastly dimness seem'd 
Enshrouded ; round him the horizon reel'd, 
The earth was waning, and with hideous yell 
He seized the branches of a rock-grown tree, 
Swung from its height, and down the dizzy steep 
Sunk into darkness, and was seen no more ! 52 

But come, thou Spirit of believing Awe 
Whom nothing boundeth, and a scene behold 
More wond'rous than eternity conceals, — 
A crucified Redeemer ! With His cross 53 
To Calvary the lacerated Christ 
Is now ascending ; famish'd, faint, and pale, 
Beneath the burden of a tree accursed 
He falters ; yet the goading throng 
His limbs profane, and trample when He falls 
Their silent Martyr ! Lest at once He die 
And cheat the tortures of intended doom, 
To bear it, from Cyrene is compell'd 
A pilgrim ; and again with murd'rous glee 
The rabble round about Him dance and hoot. 
Thus, all are merciless, while Mercy bleeds, 
Save thou, fond Woman ! in thy faithful eyes 
Are tears ; and from thine unforsaking love 
The language of sublimest pity flows. 
Yet not for Him, but for yourselves lament ; 
Ye daughters of Jerusalem ! who wail ; 
The days are coming when the soul will cry 
"The wombs how blessed which have never 

borne ! " 
But lo ; the hill of Golgotha appears ; 
The Cross is planted ; with convulsive shake 
Each limb unloosen'd ; and the starting blood 
In liquid torment from the flesh distill'd ; 
In vain, a potion to benumb His pangs 
Is proffer'd ; dying God, He suffers all. 
« Forgive them ; for they know not what they 

do!" 



And thus they crucify the Son of Man ! 
Those Hands are bleeding, which have bless'd 

a world ; 
Those Feet are tortured, which have never 

moved 
Except on errands of celestial Love ; 
Those Brows are throbbing, and those Eyes 

bedimm'd 
Where light and immortality were throned ; 
And ah ! that pure, unspotted, perfect Soul, 
Divine as Deity on earth could be, 
Doth agonise beneath th' imputed Curse 
Whereby a ransom for the World is paid : 
And silently He all endures! Around His 

Cross 
The soldiers wrangle for the parted vest ; 
And when His eye in lifted torment gazed 
O'er Calvary, by crowding myriads trod, 
How few the faces where compassion dwelt, 
Or tears were trickling, did that look behold ! 
The scowl of Pharisees, the hate of Scribes, 
And the fierce glance of hypocrites rebuked, 
Were turn'd upon Him, to translate His 

pangs, 
And drink the fulness of a deep revenge ! 
While others underneath the Cross advanced 
To read His title with reviling scorn, 
" King of the Jews ! " 

Two thieves beside Him hung 
In kindred torture to increase the shame. 
The one did rail, the other's soften'd heart 
Repented ; sudden faith his soul illumed, 
And, " Lord ! when in Thy kingdom Thou art 

throned 
Remember me ! " the dying creature said ; 
And lo ! a paradise was his reward. 

Then look'd Messiah where His mother 
stood, 
The Virgin Mary, with His Own beloved 
Disciple ; agony could not subdue 
His tenderness ; compassion fill'd His gaze 
With heavenly lustre, while in filial love 
He bent on Mary the divinest look 
That ever Child on weeping parent cast, 
And murmur'd, " Woman ! there a Son behold ; 
Disciple ! there a future Mother see." 
Maiden ! purest of all pure, who felt 
A love maternal, when thy bosom throbb'd 
Beneath the pangs of thine almighty Son, 
The sword of anguish, then thy soul it pierced, 
As hoary Simeon in the Temple sang. 

Thus in the light, 'tween heaven and earth 
upraised, 
Upon the malefactor's cross was nail'd, 
Was crucified, the Lord of living Worlds ! 
Till came the sixth hour, when the noontide-sun 



THE MESSIAH. 



507 



Waned from his throne ; and sudden darkness 

fell 
O'er all Judea, till creation seem'd 
By God forsaken, Whose averted face 
Bade darkness emblematically type 
The gloom internal God in Flesh endured. 
Jerusalem, her temples, domes, and towers, 
Were shaded ; Lebanon and Tabor shrunk 
And wither' d ; Carmel, Gilead, and the rocks 
By ocean towering, shadow cover'd all 
With night's terrific semblance. In the gloom 
The mutter of a multitude uprose 
Like sounds infernal ; while their features wore 
A fell expression of unearthly hue, — 
Each fearing what his impious tongue denied, 
As ever and anon some coward took 
A shuddering glance, where Man's Eedeemer 

hung, 
While the blood quiver'd in his guilty veins 
Till blasphemy in hollow murmur died ! 
Heart cannot dream, imagination dare 
By words to image th' almighty pangs 
That in His darkness and distress of soul 
Th' Ineffable upon the Cross endured ! 
Who held His spirit as the Prince of Life, 
To torment subject, till the Curse was paid. 
The ninth hour came; and then, with loud 

appeal, 
From the deep midnight of atoning Blood, 
He utter'd, " Why hast Thou forsaken Me ! 
My God ! My God ! " — then came an awful 

hush 
In which they deem'd Elias would descend 
To save Him : but, a second time, a Voice 
More audible the souls of myriads shook : 
" 'Tis finish'd ! Father, to Thy hands divine 
My Spirit I commend," the Saviour cried, 
And bow'd His head, and breathed* His soul 

away ! 

" 'Tis finish'd ! " let seraphic mind these 

words 
Translate, for immortality is there ! 
Which heaven re-echoed, while the regions dark 
Where Christ descended in a shape of Light 
Triumphant over Powers and Thrones of Hell, 54 
Groan'd at the sound which deepen'd their 

despair ! 
The Universe a ghastly signal gave, 
And Nature, as in agony, confess'd 
The Lord of Glory as His Spirit fled. 
The earth was palsied ; and the mountains rent 
like garments ; tomb and sepulchre their dead 
Eel eased, and out of dust the saints arose 
And look'd upon the living ; while the Veil, 
As 'mid the Temple of the Holies stood 
A. robed High Priest, in sacerdotal pomp, 



iZixmuffiv — Luke xxiii. 46. 



Was riven, from the top to bottom torn ; 
And full at once the Oracle reveal'd. 
Now, in the tremor of created things 
While rock and earthquake, tomb and temple, 

speak 
With dread conviction, "'tis a God that 

dies ! " 
The pale centurion and the crowd aghast 
Lift their wild looks, and smite their breasts, 

and cry, 
With lips that shudder, " 'Tis the Son of God ! " 

A Tragedy which made the sun eclipse 
His beams, and sympathising Earth to cast 
Her waken'd dead from out their riven tombs, 
Is ended ! and the oriental Night 
O'er Palestine her dewy wings unfolds. 
On Calvary the solemn moonbeams lie 
All chill and lovely, like those tranced smiles 
Which light the features, when the pangs of 

death 
Have ceased to flutter, and the face is still. 
The stars are trooping ; and the wintry air 
Is mellow'd with a soft mysterious glow 
Caught from their beauty ; not a vapour mars 
The stainless welkin, where the moon aloft 
One blue immensity of sky commands, 
Save where the fringe of some minutest cloud 
Hangs like an eyelid on a brilliant Orb, 
Then vanishes, in quenching lustre hid. 
Few hours have fleeted, and yon trampled hill 
Was shaken with a multitude, who foam'd 
And raged beneath their agonising God ! 
But Nature hath her calm resumed ; and 

night, 
As if to spread oblivion o'er the day 
And give creation a sabbatic rest, 
In balm and beauty on the world descends. 
The crowds have disappear'd like waves that 

melt 
And leave a shore to quietude again : 
Some in their dreams, perchance, the day renew ; 
But thou ! upon a kingly couch reposed, 
The Judge of Jesus, could thy soul conceive 
That long as Time's recorded truths endure 
Thy name, united to this awful scene, 
Would live, when all the Csesars are forgot 1 

The hum and murmur of a distant town 
How faintly on the breeze they roll, and die 
In soft confusion ! Turn thy gaze, and see, 
Encircled with a huge Titanian wall, 
Where tower and turret, and Herodian piles, 
And battlements of dusky gloom uprear 
Their vastness, there the Holy City stands ! 
Augustly beautiful, in moonlight bathed, 
Jehovah's palace awes the midnight-air 
Around it; while her mountain-bulwarks 
veil'd 



508 



THE MESSIAH. 



With dimmer lustre, far and near preside 
Like guardians planted by almighty hands, 
To watch the city, where a million breathe. 
From plain and desert, isles and regions call'd, 
Wherever son of Abram was, they throng 
For worship, and their Paschal Feast enjoy. 
And there, in some unnoticed chamber lurk 
The panic-struck apostles ! When the gloom 
Of earthquake on the hill of Calvary hung, 
That God was coming from the Cross to take 
Messiah, or, that Christ Himself would free 
And shake the universe to show the God, — 
Ambition blindly dreamt. As Lord of Worlds 
Him, they conceived too wonderful to die ! 
A veil was on them ; though the truthful Lord 
His future resurrection oft declared, 
'Twas unremember'd, while the sudden pangs 
Of terror crucified the faith of all. 

But north of Zion, on a mountain-slope 
That garden where the tomb of Jesus lies 
Behold ! impressively by vestal beams 
Of moonlight touch'd, his rocky grave appears ; 
Before it, with a frequent play, the flash 
Of steely armour, as the Roman watch 
Changes and moves in circular array, 
Is seen ; yet, save the night's uncertain sound, 
The fitful motion of a rambling breeze 
That stirs the olive, or the towering palm, 
And timid murmur of a garden-brook, 
The scene is voiceless ; while on high enthroned 
Yon firmamental Orbs are fixed and bright, 
As though in wonder, that their glory falls 
On the dread tomb where buried Godhead lies ! 

Still Calvary sleeps ; and nothing harsh or 

wild 
The holy slumber of the Night arrests. 
The sentries in their panoply are ranged ; 
Some on the gleaming worlds of air a glance 
Upturn, and with inaudible delight 
Adore their beauty ; some on fairy wings 
Of fondness to the haunt of childhood flee 
Among the hills of unforgotten Rome ; 
Or vaguely round yon high-wall'd city view 
The shadowy watch-towers on the vineyards 

raised, 
Or mountain dim, or Maccabean pile ; 
While others, haply, to the tomb devote 
A gaze of sorrow, for that righteous Form 
They helped to rivet on the Cursed Tree ! 

But in that syncope,* that solemn trance, 
When darkness as a fading thought decays 
Amid the glimmer of increasing dawn, 
Like God in thunder, hark ! an earthquake- 
throb 



A syncope, a solemn pause. — Cowper. 



While the rock quivers as a shaken reed ! 
In rushing glory down the sky advanced 
A giant Angel ; from the tomb he roll'd 
The barrier-stone, and on it sat, and blazed. 
His face was lightning ! and as dazzling snow 
His vestment glitter'd : with a clang of arms 
Prone on the earth affrighted soldiers fell ! 
And as Eliphaz, when the vision spake, 
Upon the Formless turn'd a fearful gaze, 
They look'd — were blasted — like the dead they 

lay! 
And then Emmanuel from the grave arose 
Invisible ; all paramount and pure 
The Resurrection and the Life He stood, 
Lord of the tomb, victorious and sublime ! 
Oh, then Captivity was captive led ; 
Satan unthroned ; His domination spoil'd ; 
Hell-gates were sunder'd, and from earthy 

sleep 
The dead awaking, as they lived and moved 
Felt on their brows a beam immortal play ! 

But He who moved invisible to man, 
To guardian woman did Himself reveal. 
As weeping Mary by the tomb remain'd 
And bow'd within its rocky depth to gaze, 
Two angel- watchers, robed in dazzling white, 
Were seated, where the vanish'd body lay : 
"Why weepest thou?" with gentlest tone 

they cried : 
" Because I know not where my stolen Lord 
Be taken ; " back she turn'd her eye of tears, 
And there stood Jesus ! but to her unknown. 
"Why weepest thou?" again was mildly 

heard; 
Then Mary, with mistaking love, replied, 
"If thou hast borne Him from this garden- 
tomb, 
Oh ! tell me where ; these hands will take 

Him thence." 
But Jesus, vocal with His wonted voice, 
Responded, " Mary ! " and the mourner fell 
Down at His feet ! Rabboni she adored ! 
Let one at midnight, when the cradling sea 
Hath rock'd his slumber, and a dream of Home 
In murmuring faintness to the soul renews 
Parental language, till his ocean-sleep 
Is harrow'd by that heart-entrancing sound, 
Her feeling image ! such may faintly tell 
When Mary worshipp'd how her spirit thrill'd ! 

'Twas on the evening of this hallo w'd day 
That two disciples, down a western vale 
To where Emmaus in the sunset show'd 
Her whitening cots, with pensive step 

approach'd. 
dying hour of beautiful delight ! 
The painter's worship and the poet's song, 
How few embrace thee with a purer thought 



THE MESSIAH. 



509 



Than one, whose dreaming Boyhood loved to 

form 
Eomantic visions of the unreveal'd 
From thine own hues ; when like those fairy 

clouds 
Which float and perish, yearning Fancy shaped 
Bright unrealities long roll'd away ! 
Divinest evening ! when thy Syrian glow 
On verdurous olive, sycamore, and palm 
Descended, not unfelt thy magic woo'd 
These holy pilgrims. Homeward flocks and 

herds 
"Were wending ; while around them richly-soft 
The lingering decadence of light began. 
But more than Nature on their brows has hung 
A solemn meaning ! of the Day they talk, 
Of Death, and Eesurrection ; such their theme, 
When, silent as the shadow of their forms, 
Another came ! and mingled word with word, 
In deep communion. Then of Christ He spake ; 
From prophecy to prophecy unroll'd 
Each revelation, till the shade of doubt 
Fell from their spirit like a film removed 
From Blindness, letting in the light of heaven. 
But when, abiding to partake their meal, 
He sat before them, and the Blessing gave, 
That Eye, so eloquent with awe devout, 
That voice heaven-toned, that superhuman 

Mien 
Declared Messiah ! Now at once He gazed 
Upon them, featured like that living Christ 
So often follow'd, worshipp'd, — and forsook ! 
Within them how each wondering heart had 

burn'd 
To hear Him as an Oracle reveal 
The Word of Life, God's Everlasting Will ! 
But like a vision of the soul He fled. 
Then back they speeded, to th' Eleven rehearsed 
Their tale of wonder : when again behold ! 
Th' Incarnate Saviour ! " Peace be with you ! 

hail ! " 
Becalming thus with salutation mild 
Th' appall'd Assembly, on them all He breathed 
His Holy Spirit, and to each bestow'd 
O'er sin a power, to pardon or retain. 
But Thomas doubted, till his hand could touch 
The living Jesus ! lo ! again He came 
Inaudibly, within a chamber barr'd ; ^ 
So like a Spirit of the shapeless air 
He enter' d, that o'erawed disciples quaked ! 
" Thy finger hither reach, These hands behold, 
And thrust thine own within My wounded 

side, 
Not faithless, but believing ! " Thus He spoke 
To him who answer'd " Saviour, Lord, and 
God ! " 

Once more upon the lake Messiah view, 
Whose azure waters at His word o'erfill'd 



With countless fish the Galilean bark, 
Which night had baffled ; then was Peter ask'd 
That threefold question, threefold wisdom fill'd 
With memory of his denial thrice ! 
And yet, so toned with tenderness divine, 
The soul of Peter in his fond reply, 
" Thou knowest I love thee ! " spake with 
answering tears. 

And now, the Counsel of eternal Love, 
Mysterious, vast, omniscient as profound, 
Wrapt in the folds of Heaven's decretive Will 
Before the universe was shaped or born, 
Concludeth ! Man's Eedemption is complete, 
And sanction'd ; all the archetypal Plan 
Of Deity, for reconciling grace 
With justice, by the mediating Blood 
Of covenant, in Christ has been fulfill'd. 
The Woman's Seed hath bruised the Serpent's 

Head; 
For Man hath lived, for Man hath bled, and 

died, 
Soar'd from the grave, and His true Person 

shown 
Not in the midnight, when the spirit shapes 
An earthless phantom ; but by living day 
Was risen Jesus handled, seen and heard.* 

But, ere ascending to His seat on high, 
Again the apostolic Band He taught 
The true Salvation, in its glorious light. 
From age to age prophetically sung, 
By type and shadow heralded or seen, 
Begotten Son of Co-Eternal Sire, 
His goings forth from Everlasting were ! + 
Before the works of Old, ere earth began, 
When God His compass on the waters set 
And gave the sea commandment, — He was 

there ! 
The Star ; the Prophet, like to Moses raised ; 
The Priest for ever, on the Eight Hand placed 
Of glory, while the sun and moon endure, — 
Dominion o'er all nations, kings, and isles, 
To Him was given, whom the Gentiles sought ; 
Born of a Yirgin ; perfect God and Man ; 
Desire of nations ; He whom Daniel saw, 
Ancient of Days; by king and kingdoms 

served ; 
The Heritor of Heathens and the Throne 
Of David : higher than the Heaven of Heavens, 
Expressive Semblance of the bright Unseen ! 
And Morning-Star of Immortality ; 
The Light of Light, unspotted Lamb of God, 
For sin an Offering, and for sinners slain, 



* There are eleven distinct appearances of Christ, 
after His Eesurrection, recorded in the New Testa- 
ment. 

t For this summary of Christ's magnificent titles 
and offices, vide Scriptures, passim. 



510 



THE MESSIAH. 



But now arisen from the tomb to soar 
Eternal Saviour of forgiven man ! * — 
Thus in the beams of revelation shone 
The great Messiah : thus the cloudy veil 
Of error from their souls He took, and cried, 
" Go forth ! .repentance and remission teach, 
Baptising Nations in the Name triune 
Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! 56 Behold 
All living Unction from the Spirit's grace 
From Me shall clothe you, as the promise spake ; 
Within the City tarry till they come, 
Lo ! I am with you to the ended world." 

My soul is shaken with a mighty Dream ! 
Dominion, Majesty, and Truth proceed 
In blended union from the deeps of Heaven. 
I hear the gates of second Eden ope, 
And balm and freshness on the blighted world 
Come flowing forth with universal love 
And Earth regenerate with redemption's smile. 
And hark ! the echoes of a choral strain 
Above ; a new and Everlasting Songf 
Is chanted, for the seven-seal'd Book unroll'd 
The Lamb hath open'd ; and symphonious 

hymns 
Of thousand times ten thousand Saints ascend 
The Throne around : "HosannahtotheLamb!" 
For He is worthy ! shout, ye Angels ! shout 
Till Earth re-echoes that unwearied strain ! 
Let sun, let moon, and each melodious star, 
The winds, the rivers, mountains, floods, and 

hills, 
The diapason deepen, and the loud 
Eternal hallelujah of the Sea 
Wake into sound; while regions, zones, and 

isles, 
The glory of our great Redeemer sing ! 
And thus with angels and archangels laud 
The Lamb Almighty, in the skies adored ! 

But, lo ! upon Mount Olivet appears 
With hands uplifted in their last farewell, 
The parting Saviour ; on His God-like brow 
The radiance of eternity begins : 
Disciples kneeling for His blessing ask, 
And, hark ! 'tis given ; on their souls He 

breathes 
The breath of sanctity, of love sublime 
And endless : then His mighty hand is lift, 
But while it blesseth the beloved of earth, 
The Air is waiting to upwaft its Lord. 
And see, He riseth ! solemnly and slow, 
Array'd in brightness, such as God invests, 



* Then opened He their understanding, that they 

might understand the Scriptures, and said unto them, 

Thus it is written, and thus it behoved Christ to 

suffer, and to rise from the dead. — Luke xxiv. 45, 46. 

t Rev. chap. v. 



In soaring grandeur from the baffled gaze 
Of His adorers, through the pathless air 
In the full lustre of unclouded day 
He riseth ! leaving, like th' Atlantic sun 
On ocean when he dies a gorgeous death, 
A beaming track magnificently bright 
Behind Him ; till a radiant star He seems, 
And then, is trackless., in celestial depths 
Evanish'd, soaring back to God again I 57 

But, oh, if Angels at His birth did sing, 
What paeans now through heaven's wide con- 
cave roll ! 
Who welcome there the sempiternal Lord, 
The Son incarnate, into glory come, 
O'er Sin and Death victorious, with a World 
Recover'd, ransom'd, and for ever saved, 
To speak his triumph in the state of Man. 
The skies are kindled ! from the opal walls 
And battlements of uncreated Light, ■ 
Lo ! seraphim and cherubim appear, 
With angel and archangel, — rank on rank 
In wing'd array of infinite extent 
And brightness, to conduct the Lord of 

heaven. 
Now lift your heads, ye Everlasting Doors, 
Receive the King of Glory ! Hark ! the choir 
With jubilant Hosannas shout and sing, 
" For ever and for ever is Thy Throne, 
Thou Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord of Hosts ! 
By Thee of old the heaven and earth were 

framed, 
Were founded : but they all shall fade and die 
And as a vesture shalt Thou fold them up, 
And they shall perish ! still art Thou the same 
Unchanging, Holy, Holy, Lord of Hosts ! 
Thy Throne eternal in the heavens resume 
Almighty Saviour, and triumphant King ! " 

My theme is o'er, the great Messiah sung ; 
And this attempt, whose vast persuasion fill'd 
My being with o'erawed delight, concludes. 
How often, in some pause of holy fear 
Hath Fancy folded her adventurous wing, 
And my soul bow'd with this unutter'd 

thought, 
That He, whose mediatorial love I sang, 
Beheld me, fathoming my spirit's depth ! 
And now, as girt with glory, in the Heaven 
Of Heavens the Son of Man His Throne 

resumes, 
A dread comes round me, like a shadow cast 
From waning tempest o'er a tranced sea. 

Thou Land sublime, of miracles and men, 
Where Poetry from God on earth came down 
In warbled echoes of celestial song ! 
Where Hebron, Tabor, and Mount Carmel, lift 
Their speaking vastness in the sultry air 



THE MESSIAH. 



511 



Divinely-haunted ; where the Jordan rolls, 
Where rock, and cavern, grotto, cell and cave 
Are mighty ; where the curse of Heaven has 

graved 
Terrific warning on thy blasted trees 
And haggard vales, all fountainless and dry, 
The stately vision of thy mingled Scene 
Departeth ! He whose spirit oft has heard 
The thunder-music of thy tempest roll, 
Beheld thy sun-blaze, seen thine eagles mount 
And dream-led roved beside that mournful 

Lake 
Where man's Redeemer in His days of earth 
Hath wander'd, — bids thee now a long farewell ! 

Autumnal morning round my chamber threw 
The gleaming wanness of its gentle smile, 
When tremblingly, as though omniscient Eyes 
Look'd on my soul, I struck the sacred Lyre 
And bade it warble this surpassing Theme. 
But ever, as the waves of moving life 
From England's capital, with heave and swell 
Came surging from afar, my soul partook 
A deep communion with the fate of Man 
Amid a sea of wide Existence toss'd, 
Whose billows only the Redeemer trod 
Secure ; but left along the stormy wild 
A track of glory for terrestrial feet 
To follow, guided by the star of Heaven. 

But now, the Spirit of mysterious Night 
Comes forth, and, like a ruin'd Angel, seems 
All dimly-glorious, and divinely-sad : 
And Earth, forgetful of her primal fall, 
Lies in the beauty of reflected heaven. 
Oh ! night creates the paradise of thought, 
Enchanting back whatever Time has wrong'd 
Or exiled, touch'd with that celestial hue 
Which faith and fancy on the Dead bestow. 
Emotions which the tyrant Day destroys 
Can now awaken, like reviving flowers ; 
And e'en the darkness of unheavenly souls 
Must feel illumined, as the Eye receives 
Erom all its views, a loveliness which comes 
To light the dimness of the spirit's depth. 
As when at morning, oft a sunrise pours 
A stream of splendour through the window- 
panes 
Of Temple vast, to cheer its barren aisles, 
And on the gloom of monumental Sleep 
To glisten, like a resurrection-morn. 

Thus, life is charter'd for a nobler fate 
Than glory, by the breath of man bestow'd : 
A living world a living God reflects, 
Morn, noon, and night, with everlasting 

change ! 
And who can hide the universe ; o'erawe 
The Elements ; the sun unseat : or mar 



That mighty Poem which the heavens and 

earth 
Exhibit, written by Eternal Hands ] 
A sense of beauty, which is so divine, 
Haunts human nature with undying spell ; 
And while the wonders of creation teem, 
To love and worship their majestic power, 
Can lift the spirit into purer light 
Than ever canopied the throne of Fame. 

And cold the heart, whose aspirations wing'd 
Their flight from thee, my own inviolate Land ! 
Whom night and beauty have apparell'd now. 
Thy heavens are stainless, as the molten blue 
Of ocean, in the noontide's dazzling sleep ; 
Thy starry multitudes their thrones have set ; 
And the young Moon gazeth on yon quiet sea 
Tranced like a mother, with her doating eye 
Intently fix'd upon a cradled child. 
While, round, and full, and ravishingly bright, 
A planet here and there the sky adorns. 
A path of lustre has o'erlaid the Deep, 
Which heaves and glitters, like a wizard shore 
For sea-enchanters, when they rise and walk 
The waves in glory : voice nor foot profanes 
This dreaming silence ; but the mellow lisp 
Of dying waters on the beach dissolved, 
Makes ocean-language for the heart and hour. 

Now thought is heaven-like ; and our earthly 
frame 
Of Purity beyond the day to bring, 
Is conscious. From the uncreated Fount 
Of Glory, may not emanations steal, 
By night absorbed, and mystically felt ? 
Or creatures, such as once the mental eye 
Of seraph-haunted Milton 58 saw descend 
Like sunbeams darted from a riven cloud 
On Eden's mount, with viewless wing career 
Around us, charming with a gaze unseen 
Whate'er the beauty of their glances touch 1 

But oh ! dark Spirit, 59 whose unquiet shade 
Our fancy visions in reflected gloom, 
Again thou comest ! and thy frown declares 
What penal agonies, what groans and pangs, 
In this calm hour a bleeding World contains ! 
E'en now, the curtains of Futurity 
Are shaken, by the blasts of coming doom ! 
For Self 60 has overshadow'd Love divine 
With dread oblivion ; till our daring thoughts 
To helm the Universe, and guide the wheels 
Of human Fate, have awfully presumed ! 

A Mind which glories in the world of Man 
And graves, immortal ! on the meanest brow, 
Oh ! how it loves the universe, and longs 
To see the spirits whom Redemption won 
Annihilate the hopes of Hell ! Shall souls, 



512 



THE MESSIAH. 



So highly destined, that a swell of joy 
Heaves o'er the harp of Heaven's resounding 

choir 
When Sin repents, be perfected and lost ? 
No ! let us, as the prince of morning quells 
A cloudy tempest with imperial rays, 
So learn to vanquish with celestial light 
Our Sin and Darkness, till, as demons shrunk 
To shapeless nothing at Messiah's look, 
Our Vices wither from our Virtues' gaze. 

Amid, deep Energies which now unfold 
Like harmonies from some awaking lyre, 
Wilt Thou, divinest of all Arts divine ! 
Last in the train of renovating Truths 
Advance, poetical Enchantress ? Muse, 
Who art the Angel of the soul, whose voice 
The primal loveliness of vanish'd Things 
Eenews ; or haply, thou in pure perfection art 
A Priestess, who behind the veil of sense 
Conducts the Spirit to the holy shrine 
Where Beauty, Love, and Everlasting Light 
Are shrouded ; or, a Prophetess, whose lip 
Their power interprets with a vocal spell. 

Thou beautiful Magician ! be thy name 
Whate'er Thou wilt : Creatress of delight 
Expression paints not ! though the World 

affright 
Thy radiant visit, still art Thou revered ; 
And the soft wave of Thy descending wings 
Is token'd by the pulse's quivering joy. 
Beneath the play of thy melodious smiles 
Our spirit quickens into thrills of heaven, 
And Feeling worships at thy faintest sound ! 
All hours are thine ; all climes and seasons 

drink 
Thine effluence bright, and immaterial power. 
Thou with the Universe twin-born didst rise ! 
And Thou alone, when tempted Nature fell, 
Unfallen wert : and thus Thy glorious aim 
Like true religion's, is to lead us back 
From recreant darkness to primeval bliss. 61 

All moods are Thine; all maladies of thought 
By thee are visited with healing sway. 
In those dread moments, when a hideous veil 
Of darkness, woven by some demon-hand, 
Lies on the world ; when Love itself is cold 
Or earthly ; and the tone Affection breathes 
Falls fruitless on the mind, as ocean-spray 
Which dies unheeded on the savage rock ; 
When Nature is untuned, and all things wear 
The coarse reality Derision loves, 
E'en then, how often thine assuasive balm 
Spirit of beauty ! intellectual queen ! 
Descendeth, melting over heart and brain 
Like dew upon the desert, till the soul 
Eevives, and this bad World seems exorcised ! 



And Thou canst hallow with ennobling power 
High impulses, of superhuman sway, 
Which come like shades of pre-existent Life 
Athwart the mind, when dream-eyed Fancy 

rules.* 
For is not Man mysteriously begirt 
By something dread, imagination feels, 
Yet fathoms not 1 Dare human Creed deny 
That mortal feeling, in its finest mood, 
May be some thrill of sympathetic chords 
Which link our nature to a world unknown ! 

And since the spirit with the flesh doth 
war, 62 
And Life is oft an agonising thirst 
Which nothing visible can tame, or cool, 
That Beauty, which the hues of thought create, 
By thee enchanted, slakes the mental fire 
That parches us within : and yearning dreams 
And hopes which breathe of immortality 
Thy power ennobles with mysterious aid. 
Then, long as Earth is round us, and the wings 
Of Fancy by the light of faith ascend, 
May Poetry her sibyl-language weave, 
Enlighten, charm, and elevate the world. 

Creation's hope ! our universal All ! 
From Thee alone believing spirits learn 
That man is deathless, an immortal heir 
Of Being yet to be. Stupendous thought ! 
Though frail as dew thy fleeting life departs, 
The Soul is godlike ! world on world may 

rise 
And wither, quench'd in everlasting gloom ; 
And surging ages into silence roll 
Like haughty billows which have heaved and 

died; 
But still unfading, bright with awful bliss, 
Or pale with agony, the Soul shall live 
And like Jehovah, utter its " I am!" 

We shall not sleep, but we shall all arise 
For judgment ; — with an instantaneous frame 
Of being, Dust shall look on God, and live ! 
An hour is coming when the grave will hear 
And answer to a tomb-awakening trump 
Which thunders o'er the icy trance of Death ; 
The waning universe, the earth and heaven 
Shall vanish in th' immeasurable Deep ; 
But Thine own promise shall not pass away. 
And though that hour, for resurrection 

doom'd, 63 
Be hidden, shrouded from angelic mind 
A secret buried in Eternal Thought, — 



* Man can never altogether turn aside his thoughts 
from Infinity; and some obscure recollections will 
always remind him of his original home. — M. 

SCHLEGEL. 



THE MESSIAH. 



513 



As certain as the blood of Christ hath flow'd, 
Messiah risen, and the heavens received 
And throned His Presence, He shall come 
again ! 

And then, the funeral of Creation see ! 
Sun, moon, and star dissolve, and wane, and 

die; 
The earth is riven ; with appalling roar 
The Sea departeth, as her dead ascend ; 
And wing'd Archangels on the winds unroll 
Their summons ; not an atom but is thrill'd 
With life or feeling, at that dreadful sound ! 
And now look up ! behold, He cometh ! clouds 
And splendours, with seraphic armies, throng 
Before Him, cleaving the prophetic sky 
With vanward glory, to announce The God. 
And lo ! the semblance of His far-off Throne 
Advances ; as embodied lustre bright 
The Judge of Earth, the Son Almighty, comes ! 
And all who have been, since creation was, 
Moveless and countless, on their features wear 
A solemn radiance, from His Form Divine 
Reflected ; every eye is fix'd and still, 
To Him upraised, whose eye discerneth all ! 

Again the trumpet ! and this dread array, 
The multitudinous and living mass 
At once is sever'd ; right and left they stand 
Divided, as of old the fated sea 
Was cloven when the wand of Moses waved ; 
And in each soul there is a judgment-throne 
Erected, where eternal Conscience reigns. 

But listen ! — far behind this breathing host 
Of mortals, myriads of colossal Shapes, 



Unearthly, wild, and dim with ghastly wo, 
Rise in the glare ! — the ruin'd Angels * come 
From darkness, and a clank of chain resounds 
Appallingly, above the world distinct ! 
But One, who, vast above the vastest there 
In towering majesty the sky confronts, 
As though the fabric of the heavens would 

shrink 
From the dark light of his unfathom'd gaze, 
Behold him ! how magnificently dread ! 
From the huge mountain into embers sunk 
To the last billow of expiring sea, — 
O'er all the terror of his ruin frowns, 
Who battled with omnipotence in heaven 
And will be fearless in the fires of hell ! 

Another gaze ! e'er Earth and Nature die ; 
The Spirit of eternity descends, 
Seven thunders speak,f to heaven his arm He 

lifts, 
And utters, "Time and earth shall be no more : " 
Creation withers at that dread command, 
And like a shade, the Universe departs ! 

Oh ! in this agony of Nature's death 
May he, who dared from erring fancy's gloom 
To lift his spirit to the Light of Light, 
And shadow forth some lineaments divine 
Of God Incarnate, by redemption seen, 
Unblasted look upon the Lord he sang : 
And in yon world unutterably bright 
Where thought is holy as the heaven it breathes, 
By Angels taught, around The Throne renew 
The song eternal hymning Time began. 



Epistle of Jude, 



t See Revelation. 



514 



THE MESSIAH. 



NOTES. 



Note 1, Page 456, Column 1. 

Himself was all ! the unapparent God. 

Since the above line was written, the author has 
perused an emphatic comment on its meaning, in a 
sermon of South's, on the Divine Mercy : — "His good- 
ness was so vastly, so infinitely full, that He seemed 
unquiet and unsatisfied till He had, as it were, 
disburdened Himself by some communications of it. 
One would have thought that these perfections had 
been too rare to be communicated, so much as in 
resemblance, and that God would have folded them 
up within His own essence for ever ; so that He who 
now contents Himself with the prerogative of being 
the best and greatest Being, might have been the 
only Being ; but He chose rather to draw out, than 
only to possess, His own fulness; to scatter some- 
thing of His image upon the creature, and to see 
Himself in effigy." — Works, vol. viii. p. 81. 

Note 2, Page 456, Column 1. 
Whereof the day thou eatest, — thou shalt die ! 

It was fit to lay upon Adam this small restraint, to 
make him sensible that, though he had dominion 
over all things, yet he was not their lord, but a ser- 
vant of the Most High. But still, some ask, why 
should his obedience be tried in such an instance as 
this ? — not considering that a trial of it could scarcely 
have been made in any of the usual precepts, which 
there was no opportunity of violating. For what 
should tempt him to idolatry, or to take God's name 
in vain, or to murder his wife ? How was it possible 
to commit adultery, when there was nobody but he 
and she in the world ? How could he steal, or what 
room was there for coveting, when God had put him 
in possession of all things ? It had been in vain to 
forbid that which could not be done ; and it had been 
virtue to abstain, not from that to which there was 
no temptation, but from that which invited them to 
transgress. — Bishop Patrick. 

In Vitringa, on the "Tree of the Knowledge of 
Good and Evil," the reader will find some profound 
and vigorous reasoning. He says that "the tree of 
the knowledge of good and evil was so called, because, 
from the divine institution, it was a moral cause of 
that knowledge, — i.e. it was a visible, familiar, and 
permanent lesson, by which man was not only 
admonished of the eternal distinction between good 
and evil, but was put upon his guard as to the quarter 
from which alone evil could assail him." Concerning 
the command itself, it is observed, "the prohibition 
answered the threefold purpose of trial, instruction, 
and of a sacramental pledge." We will venture to 
extract his eloquent comment on the second of these 
purposes: — "Placed in the midst of the garden, and 
often meeting the eyes of our first parents, it (viz., 
the ' Tree of Knowledge, ') could hardly fail to teach 
them such truths as these : That God is the Lord of 
all things ; and, consequently, that man's dominion 
was neither absolute nor independent ; that in the 
enjoyment of God alone is the satisfying good of man ; 
that, in judging of good and eviL man is not to be 



directed by his own reason or pleasure, but by the 
revealed will of God ; that man had not yet arrived 
at his highest happiness, but was bound to expect 
and desire a more perfect state, yet in that way alone 
which God had appointed ; that if he would escape 
death, he must avoid the cause of it, — i.e., sin. How 
much further the unclouded mind of the first man 
might have carried his reflections on the forbidden 
tree, to what sublime conceptions of the Divine 
Nature and works of Providence it might have led 
him, we, in our shattered state, with our discordant 
affections and obscure lights, are poorly qualified to 
judge. Yet, disabled as we are by the Fall from taking 
such rapid, capacious, and elevating views of what- 
ever is fair, and good, and magnificent, in the creature 
and Creator, as were competent to a sinless being, we 
can discern enough to persuade us, that the tree of 
knowledge of good and evil must have been to an 
innocent man a rich source of intellectual improve- 
ment and moral joy." — Observ. Sacr., tome ii., lib. iv., 
c. 12. 

Note 3, Page 456, Column 2. 
Let Nature hope ; and, while her blessings thrive, 
To secret Heaven resign the vast unknown ! 

A beautiful illustration of our limited apprehension 
relative to the origin and destiny of things occurs in 
one of Paley's Sermons, for which he is indebted to 
Tucker's "Light of Nature:" — "All such partial 
knowledge must be encumbered with many diffi- 
culties, — it is like viewing the map of a district, or 
small tract of territory, by itself, and separated from 
the adjacent country ; we see rivers marked out, 
without any source to flow from, and running where 
there is nothing to receive them. In like manner we 
observe events in the world, of which we trace not 
either cause or origin, and tending to no design or 
purpose that we can discover." 

Note 4, Page 457, Column 1. 

In Christ all Revelation lives. His voice 
With man in Eden dread communion held, 

It is perhaps deserving of observation, that, in the 
account of the production of the world, in the first 
chapter of Genesis, the absolute term ' ' God, " is con- 
stantly used ; but when the account of the adminis- 
tration of the new-created world begins, the term, 
"the Lord God," is introduced. And in all the inter- 
course and converse between the Deity and the first 
inhabitants of the world, this appellation is constantly 
given to the Divine Person, whom we find adminis- 
tering the affairs of the new creation, and seems to 
denote a distinct person and character. And in the 
several conversations between this Divine Personage 
and Adam, Eve, Cain, &c, as recorded in the third 
and fourth chapters of Genesis, it seems plain that he 
presented himself in some personal form or visible 
appearance. And whether or not this might have 
any relation to the assumption of Humanity in the 
Mediator, there is, I think, no doubt but it is to be 
referred to the same Person, and relates to His media- 



THE MESSIAH. 



515 



tonal character, being part of the administration of 
that important government, which was from eternity 
ordained to be laid upon His shoulders ; and which 
comprehends, not only as the Jews fondly believed, 
the protection and restoration of their nation, but of 
all the race of mankind. 



Note 5, Page 458, Column 2. 

My son ! in thee a sacrifice the Lord 

Hath found, and — thou to God art dedicate ! 

Bishop Warburton supposes that the command of 
sacrificing Isaac was a mode of information by action, 
instead of words, concerning the great sacrifice of 
Christ, given to Abraham at his own request ; which 
is well illustrated by Mr. Gilbook ("Script. Hist.") 
and might receive perhaps some confirmation, by 
observing that this scene was placed, most probably, 
upon the very spot where Christ actually suffered. 



Note 6, Page 459, Column 2. 

Seven altars, 

It is well known that, in the Oriental style, the 
perfection of any quality is expressed by the applica- 
tion of the number Seven ; a figure, probably, derived 
from the history of the Creation, the division of time 
into weeks, and the primeval honour of the Sabbath 
day. But whatever was its origin, seven came to be 
regarded as a most dignified and sacred number. It 
occupied a marked place in the religious and political 
institutions of the ancient Persians, who had derived 
many principles of primitive revealed truth from un- 
doubtedly a patriarchal source : and it was adopted 
into the sacred phraseology of the Jews. Thus the 
extremity of distress is denoted by seven troubles : 
the most complete refining of metals is called a being 
purified seven times; a character of consummate 
wickedness is represented by an enumeration of seven 
vices, or the habitation of seven evil spirits ; the 
highest measure of accomplishments is signified by 
seven men that can render a reason ; the perfect ex- 
cellence of wisdom, by a palace of seven pillars ; and 
the omniscience of God, by seven eyes and seven 
lamps. So also, still more remarkably, in this book 
of mystical visions, the perfection of the Divine 
government, in different parts of its administration, 
is described by the symbolical agency of seven angels, 
seven thunders, seven phials, seven plagues ; and the 
perfection, and power, and wisdom of Christ, as exer- 
cised in the protection and government of His 
Church, is represented by seven horns and seven eyes. 
— Pye Smith's Scrip. Test. vol. iii. 153—4. 

EiTTflt fjLt $aiVY,vivrot 8tov apBirav aivu 

Y0au.fMx.Ta. tcov Tocvraiv, ctz<x,fAoc.rov srarEfa, 

Eiu.i S* vyca xavrw %sAus cxpBiros q to. Xv°uhvs 
Hefxatrot/jcytv Sivys ovotxvioio [AiXvi. 

" Seven sounding letters sing the praise of me, 
TV immortal God, th' Almighty Deity, 
Father of All, that cannot weary be. 
I am th' Eternal Viol of all things, 
Whereby the melody so sweetly rings 
Of Heaven's music which so sweetly sings." 

"What these seven letters are, that do thus express 
God is easie to guess that they be the letters of the 
name of Jehovah. — Lightfoot's Miscell., fol. edition. 



Note 7, Page 459, Column 2. 

With curses, like the winds, when desert-bom, 
Terrific, loud, with desolation wing'd ! 

As the storm darkened over the Hebrew kingdom, 
the voices of the prophets became louder and more 
wild. In their magnificent lyric odes, we have a 
poetical history of these momentous times. They 
were like the great tragic chorus to the awful drama 
which was unfolding itself in the eastern world.— 
Milman. 

Note 8, Page 460, Column 2. 

TJie infant of eternity 
By wo is nursed, and strengthen' d for the skies. 

The existence of misery and evil in the world has 
ever been, and continues to be, the grand question in 
theological and sceptical controversy. But on such a 
subject we may say, with Young, — "Those things 
which our hands can grasp, our understanding cannot 
comprehend : why then deny to the Deity himself the 
privilege of being one, amidst that multitude of 
mysteries which he has made. — Essay on Infidelity. 

How noble is the sentiment of Seneca with refer- 
ence to the trials and afflictions of this present scene ! 
" Magnus es vir ; sed unde scio, si tibi fortuna non 
dat facultatem exhibendae virtutis. Descendisti ad 
Olympia ; si nemo prater te, coronam habes, victoriam 
non habes. " 

The sentiments of a great modern metaphysician 
are in perfect unison with those of the Eoman philo- 
sopher : "If virtue be excellent, the capacity of suf- 
fering, by which virtue is formed or perfected, must, 
when this great relation of it is considered, be allowed 
to have itself an excellence that is relative to the 
excellence produced by it. Without it we might 
indeed have been what the world terms happy — the 
passive subjects of a series of agreeable sensations ; 
but we could not have had the delights of conscience ; 
we could not have felt what it is to be magnanimous, 
to have the toil, the combat, and the victory ; to 
exult that we have something within us which is 
superior, not to danger only, but which can vanquish 
even pleasure itself." — Brown on the Philosophy of the 
Human Mind, Lect. 95. 

Note 9, Page 460, Column 2. 

God's Incarnation is the focal truth 
Where prophecy's converging beams unite. 

Instead of loading the text with prophetical refer- 
ences, the author has thought it more convenient to 
introduce, by way of note, a table of prophecies rela- 
tive to the kingdom, office, and character of Christ. 
This summary was originally collected by Hartwell 
Home, to whose invaluable Introduction the writer 
begs to acknowledge infinite obligations. 

TABLE OF PROPHECIES RELATIVE TO THE 
MESSIAH AND HIS KINGDOM. 



PROPHECIES CONCERNING THE LIFE, DEATH, RESUR- 
RECTION AND ASCENSION OF THE MESSIAH. 



1. That a Messiah should come. 



Gen. 
xxvi. 4, xxviii. 14 
Isa. xl. 5, 9, 10. 



PROPHECY. 

. 15. xii. 3, xxii. 



Ps. lxxii. 17. 
lag. ii. 7. 



FULFILMENT. 

Gal. iv. 4. Romans xvi. 20. 
1 John iii. 8. Rev. xii. 
ii. 14. Luke ii. 1—16. 



Heb. 



n2 



516 



THE MESSIAH. 



2. WJien he should come. 

FBOPHECY. FULFILMENT, 

Gen. xlix. 10. H»ft. ii. 6—9. Luke ii. 1—3, 5. Mat. xxii. 



Dan. ix. 24, 25. Mai. iii. 1. 



90, 81. John xLx. xx. 10—15. 

Mat. ii. 1—10. Mark xv. 43. 
Luke ii. 25— 33. John i. 19, 45. 



3. That the Messiah should be God and man together. 



Ps. ii. 7, ex. 1. Isaiah ix. 
Micah v. ■:. 



Heb. i. S. Mat. xxii. 42—45. 
1 Cor. xv. 25. Heb. i. 13. Mat. 
i. 23. John i. 1—14. Rom. ix. 5. 
CoL ii. 9. 1 John v. 20. 



4. From wJtom he was to be descended. 

From the first woman, Gen. Gal. iv. 4. Acts iii. 25. Mat. 
iii. 15; from Abraham, Gen. xii. 3, i. 1. Heb. vii. 14. Rom. xv. 12. 
xviii. 1-; frtim Isaac, Gen. xxvi. John vii. 42. Acts ii. 30; xiii. 23. 
4 ; Jacob, Gen. xxviii. 14 ; Judah, Luke i. 32. 
Gen. xlix 10; Jesse, Isa. xi. 1 ; 
David, Psa. exxxii. 11, lxxxix.4, 
27; Isa. vii. 13* 14, ix. 7; Jer. 
xxiii. 5, xxxiii. 20, 21. 

5. TJiat the Messiah should be bom of a Virgin. 



Isa. vii. 14. Jer. xxxi. 22. 



Matt. i. 24, 25. Luke i. 26— 
b. Matt. i. 22, 23. 



17. Tltat the Messiah should die with malefactors, but 
be b" ">>ly. 



6. Where the Messiah was to be born. 

Micah v. 2. Luke ii. 4—6, 10, 11, 15. Matt, 

ii. 1, 4—6, S, 11. John vii. 42. 

. That a Prophet in the spirit and power of Mias or 
Elijah should be the Messiah's forerunner. 

Mai. iii. 1. Isa. xl. 3. Luke Matt. iii. 1—3 ; xi. 14, Luke 
17- -vii. 27, 2a 

S. That the Messiah was to be a Prophet. 



Deut. xviii. 15, IS. 



John iv. 19 ; ix. 17. Matt.xxi. 
46. Mark vi. 15. Luke vii. 16. 
John vi. 14; vii. 40. Luke xxiv. 
19. Matt. xxi. 11. 



9. That he should begin to preach in Galilee. 
Isa. ix. 1, 2. Matt.iv.12— 1". Lukeiv. 14, 15. 

10. That he should confirm his Doctrine by Miracles. 



Isa. xxxv. 5, 6 ; xlii. 
3,4; xxix.lS. 



i. Matt. xi. 4, 5. Luke vii. 21. 
Matt. iv. 23, 24 ; xv. 30,31. Acts 
ii. 22, and many other passages. 

11. In what manner he shovM enter Jerusalem. 
Zech. ix. 9. Matt. xxL 4, 5, 7, 10. 

12. That the Messiah, should be poor and despised, and 
that he should be betrayed and sold by one of his 
disciples for ihvrty pieces of silver, with which the 
potter's field should, be purchased. 

Isa-liii. 3. Ps. xli.9; lv. 12— Luke ix. 58. 2 Cor. viii. 9. 
14. Zech. xi. 12, 13. John xi. 35. Luke xxii. 3, 4. 

Matt. sxvi. 14 ; xxvii. 3—10. 

13. That the Messiah should suffer pain and death for 

the sins of the world. 



Ps. xxii. 14, 15. lsa.i. 6; 
5, 8, 12. 



John xix. 1, 2. Matt, xxvii. 
29—31. Mark xv. 19, 25. 1 Pet. 
ii. 23, 24. 



14. That the Messiah should, be cruelly mocked and, 
derided. 



Ps. xxii. 7, 5, 12, 13. 



Matt, xxvii. 39— y. Mark 2 
31, 32. Luke xxiii. 35, 36. 



15. TJiat vinegar and gall sJwuld be offered to the Messiah 

on the cross, and lots cast for Ms vesture. 

Ps. lxix. 21 rsii. 18. John xix. 29. Matt, xxvii. 34, 

35. Mark xv. 36. John xix. 23, 

24. 

16. That not a bone of him should, be broken, but thai his 

side should be pierced. 
Ps. xxxiv. 20. Zech. xii. 10. John xix. 32—34. 



FBOPHECT. 

Isa. liii. 9, 12. 



FULFILMENT. 

Matt, xxvii. a?, 57—60. 



IS. That the Messiah sliould rise from the dead, and 
ascend into Heaven. 

Ps. xvi. 9, 10. Isa. liii. 10; Acts ii. 32, 33; xiii. 35, 37. 
lxviii. 18, Matt. xxviiL 5, 6. Luke xxiv. 5, 

6. 1 Cor. xv. 4. 

39. Tftat the Messiah should send tJie Holy Ghost tJ<e 
Comforter. 

Ps. Lxviii. 18. Joel ii. 28. Acts ii. 1—4, 16—21; iv. 31; 

viiL 17 ; x. 44 ; xi. 15. 



PP.OPHECTE3 RELATING TO THE OFFICES OF THE 
MESSIAH. 

1. That the Messiah was to be a Prophet and La.wgiver 
Wee unto Moses, but superior to Jam; wJto should 
change the law of Moses into a new and more 'perfect 
law, common to both Jews and Gentiles, wJdch. should 
last for ever. 

Deut. xviii. 15, 18, 19; also, John vi. 14. Luke xxiv. 19. 

Acts iii. 22; vii. 37. Heb. iii. 5, 6; vii. 18, 19. Isa-ii. 

3. Matt, xxviii. 19, 20. Heb. ii. 

20; ix. 24. Johnxiv.iL3. 1 John 

ii. 1. Heb. vii. 25. John i. 45. 

2. That the Messiah xras to be a Teacher. 

Isa. lxi. 1 ; liv. 13, 1. 4. Ps. Mark i. 14. Luke viii. 1. Mark 
lxxvii. 2. vi. 6. Luke iv. 15, 44. Matt. v. 

1,2; xiii. 34. Mark iv. 33. John 
iii. 2 ; i. 49. 

3. TJiat the Messiah was to in.s+rv.ct and enlighten men. 

Isa. ix. 2. John xii. 46 ; viiL 12 ; ix. 5. 

Luke ii. 32. John i. 4, 5. Acts 
xxvi. IS. Ephes. v. 8. 

4. That the Messiah was to be the Christ or anointed 
of God. 

Isa. Lx. L Dan. ix. 24, 25. Ps. John iv. 23, 42 ; vi. 69 ; xi. 27- 
exxxii. 17 ; lxxxix. 20, 51 ; iL 2. Matt. xvi. 16 ; xxvi. 63, 64. Mark 
xiv. 61, 62. Acts xviii. 28. 

5. That the Messiah xcas to be a Priest. 

Ps. ex. 4 (cited in Heb. v. 6; Heb. iv. 14; viii. I; in. 1; X. 
vii.21.) Zech.vi.13. 21; ii. 17; vii. 24. 

6. The Messiah was, by the offering of himself as a 
sacrifice for sin, to make an end, of sin; to make 
reconciliation for iniquity ; to make men Jioly ; and 
to destroy th.e power of the Devil. - 

Isa. liii. 6, 10, 12. Dan. ix. 24. Eph.v.2. 2 Cor. v. 21. Rom. 
Gen. iii. 16. viii. 3. 1 John ii. 2. Heb. Lx. 

14. 1 Pet. i. 19; iii. 18. Heb.x. 
12; ix. 12; vii. 27: ix. 25, 2«. 
John i. 29. Actsv. 5. 1 John i. 
7. Rom. v. 10. 2 Cor. v. IS. 
Col. i. 20. Heb. v. S, 9. 2 Cor. 
v. 15. Rom. vi. 10—12. 1 Thes. 
v.10. 1 Pet. ii. 24. Tit. ii. 14. 
1 Cor. vi. 20. 1 Pet. iv. 1, 2. 

7. TJce Messiah was to be a Saviour. 

Isa. lix. 20; LxxiLll. 1 John iv. 14. Luke ii. 11. 

Matt. i. 21. Acts xiii. 26. John 
iv. 42. Actsv. 31. 2 Pet. ii. 20; 
iii. 18. Tit. iii. 6. 2 Pet. i. 1. 
Phil. iiL 20. Tit. ii. 18. 

8. Th.e Saviour was to be a Mediator. 
Ps. ex. 1. Dan. ix. 17, 19. Isa. John xiv. 6. lTim.ii.5. Heb. 
viii. 14. Ps. Lxxx. 17. xii. 24. Eph.iLl3,lS. Heb.vu. 

22 ; viii. 6 ; ix. 15. John xv. 16 ; 
xvi. 23, 24; xiv. 14. 



THE MESSIAH. 



517 



9. The Messiah was to be an Intercessor. 



PROPHECY. 

Isa. liii. 12. 



FULFILMENT. 

Luke xxiii. 34 ; xxii- 32. John 
xvii. Heb. ix.24. Uohn ii. 1. 
Roui. viii. 34. Heb. vii. 25. 



10. Messiah was to be a Shepherd. 

Isa. xl. 11. Ezek. xxxiv. 23; Jobn x. 11, 14. Heb. xiii. 20. 
xxx vii. 24. 1 Pet. ii. 25 : v. 2, 4. 



11. Messiah was to be a King. 

Ps. ii. G; cxxxii.ll. Isa. ix. 6; Matt, ii. 2, 6 ; xxi. 5. Jolinxii. 

It. 4. Zee. vi. 13. Jer. xxiii. 5, 6. 15. Luke xix.3S ; i. 32, 33. John 

Isa. xxxii. 1. Ezek. xxxvii. 24, i. 49; xviii. 33, 36, 37. Matt. 

25 ; xwiv. 23, 24. Jer. xxx. 9. xxvii. 11. Acts v. 31. 
Hos. iii. 5. Zech. ix. 9. Mic. 
v. 2. 

12. Messiah as a King was to be above all others, and 

Head of his Church. 

Ps. lxxxix. 27, 30. Dan. vii. 13, Rev. i. v. 1 Tim. vi. 15. Rev. 

14, 27; ii. 44. xvii. 14; xix. 16; Eph. i. 21-23. 

Phil. ii. 9. Col. i. 18. Eph. iv. 
15,16. 1 Cor. xii.27. 

13. Messiah the King was to be exalted more particularly 

after his sufferings and resurrection. 

Ps. ii. 6, 8; viii. 5. Isa. liii. 1 Pet. i. 11. Luke xxiv. 26. 

10, 12. John xvii. 1. Rom. i. 4. 1 Pet. 

i. 21; iii. 22. Acts ii. 32, 33. 

Phil. ii. 8—10. Heb. ii. 9 ; xii. 2. 

14. That there is salvation only in Christ. 

Isa. xlv. 21. Zee. xiii. 1. Mai. John iii. 16. 1 Thess. v. 9. 

iv. 2. Isa. liii. 11 ; lix. 20 (see John xvii. 3. Luke xxiv. 47. 

also Rom. xi. 26). Ps. exxxviii. Acts x. 43; xiii. 38, 39; iv. 11, 

22. Isa. xxviii. 16. Mark xii. 10. 12. 

15. Of the necessity of believing in Christ, and the danger 

of rejecting him. 

Deut. xviii. 15, 19 (see Acts John iii. 18. Heb. ii. 3; x. 
iii. 23. Num. xv. 30, 31. Ps. ii. 26—29. 2 Thess. i. 7, 8. 



NEW TESTAMENT PREDICTIONS, WITH THEIR 
FULFILMENT. 



PREDICTION THAT THEY WOULD FIND THINGS 
ACCORDING TO HIS WORD. 

Matt. xxi. 1—3. Mark xi. 2. Mark xi. 4—6. Luke xix. 32 ; 
Luke xix. 30, 31. Mark xiv. xxii. Mark xiv. 16. 
13—15. Matt, xxvi, 18. 



PREDICTIONS OF JESUS CHRIST, RELATIVE TO HIS SUF- 
FERINGS, DEATH, RESURRECTION, AND ASCENSION. 

1. That he was to be betrayed by one of his disciples, 
Judas. 

Johnvi. 70, 71. Matt. xx. 18; Matt. xxvi. 14-16. Mark xiv. 
xvii. 22. Mark x. 33. Luke ix. 10. Luke xxii. 34. John xiii. 2. 
44. Matt, xxvi. 2. John xiii. 10, Matt. xxvi. 47, 49. 
11, 18; xvii. 12. Mark xiv. 18. 
Matt. xxvi. 21. John xiii. 21, 26. 
Luke xxii. 21. Mark xiv. 20, 42. 
Matt. xxvi. 46. 



2. That his other disciples would forsake Mm. 

Mark xiv. 27. Matt. xxvi. 31. Matt. xxvi. 56. Mark xiv. 50. 
John xvi. 32 ; xviii. 8, 9. 



TJtat Peter would deny him. 



Luke xxii. 31—34. John xiii. 
3S. Matt. xxvi. 34. Mark xiv. 30. 



Luke xxii. 60—62. Matt. xxvi. 
75. John xviii. 27. Mark xiv. 72. 



4. That he shoidd sufft 



PROPHECY. FULFILMENT. 

Matt. xvi. 21. Mark viii. 31. John xi. 53. Matt. xxvi. 4. 
Luke ix. 22. Mark ix. 31. Matt. Mark xiv. 1. Luke xxii. 2. Matt, 
xvii 22,23. Mark x. 33, 34. Matt. xxvi. 66. Mark xiv. 64. Luke 
xx. 18, 19. Luke xviii. 31— 33. xxii. 71. Matt, xxvii. 26. Luke 

xxiii. 24. John xix. 16, 18. Matt. 

xxvii. 35. Luke xxiii. 33; xxiv. 

6, 7, 26, 46. Acts ii. 23 ; xiii. 27 ; 

xvii. 3. Gal. iii. 1. 

5. That lie should suffer in Jerusalem. 

Matt. xvi. 21. Luke ix. 31; Luke xxiv. 18. Matt xxvii. 
xiii. 31, 33 ; xviii. 31. Matt. xx. Mark xv. Luke xxiii. John xix. 
18. Acts xiii. 27. Heb. xiii. 12. . 

6. That he should suffer by the Chief Priest. 

Matt. xvi. 21. Mark viii. 31. Matt. xxvi. 3, 4. John xi. 53; 
Luke ix. 22. Matt. xvii. 12. xviii. 13, 24. Matt. xxvi. 57, 65, 
Mark x. 33. 66. Mark xiv. 63. Matt, xxvii. 

20. Luke xxiii. 13, 18 ; xxiv. 20. 

Acts xiii. 28. 

7. Tliat he should suffer by the Gentiles. 

Luke xviii. 31, 32. Mark x. 33. Acts xiii. 28. Matt, xxvii. 1. 
Matt. xx. 18, 19. Mark xv. 1. John xviii. 31, 32. 

Mark xv. 15. Luke xxiii. 24. 
Acts iv. 27. 

8. That he should be mocked. 

Mark ix. 12. Luke xvii. 32. Matt. xxvi. 67, 68. Mark xiv. 
Mark x. 34. 65. Luke xxiii. 11. Mark xv. 

17—19. Matt, xxvii. 29. John 
xix. 2. Mark xv. 29—32. 

9. Jesus foretold that he should be crucified. 

John iii. 14; xii. 32; viii. 28. Matt, xxvii. 31. John xix. 16. 
Matt. xx. 19. Luke xxiii. 33. Mark xv. 24, 25. 

Luke xxiv. 6, 7, 20. Acts ii. 23; 
iv. 10. lCor.i. 23. Gal. iii. 1. 

10. Jesus Clirist foretold his resurrection. 

John ii. 19, 21 ; x. 17. Mark Luke xxiv. 5, 6—15. Matt. 
x.34; viii. 31. Lukeix.22. Matt, xxviii. 6, 9, 11. Lukexxiv. 15,23, 
xxvii. G2, 63. 34, 36. John xx. 14, 19, 27; xxi. 

4. Acts i. 3; x. 40, 41 ; ii. 32; iv. 

33. 1 Cor. xv. 20. Acts xvii. 3 ; 

xxvi. 23. Rom. i. 4. 

11. Jesus Christ foretold thai he would appear again to 

his disciples. 

John xvi. 16, 22. Matt. xxvi. Mark xvi. 14. John xx. 19. 
32. Mark xiv. 28. Matt.xxviii. Luke xxiv. 36. Matt, xxviii. 16, 
10. Mark xvi. 7. 17. John xxi. 1. 1 Cor. xv. 5, 6. 

12. Jesus Christ foretold his ascension into heaven. 

Johnvi. 62; xvi. 28; xx. 17; Mark xvi. 19. Luke xxiv. 51. 
vii. 33; xiv. 19; xvii. 13. Acts i. 9, 10. Eph. iv. 10. 1 Pet. 

iii. 22. Heb. ix. 24; iv. 14; vi. 
20. 1 Tim. iii. 16. 

13. Jesus Christ foretold the descent of the Holy Ghost 
after his ascension. 

Matt. x. 20. Luke xi. 13 ; xii. Acts ii. 1—4, 33 ; iv. 8. 31 ; v. 

12. John vii. 39 ; xiv. 16, 17, 26 ; 31,32; vii. 55; viii. 15— 17; ix. 
xv. 26 ; xvi. 7—15 ; xx. 22. Luke 17 ; x. 44 ; xiii. 9 ; xv. 8, 28 ; xix. 
xxiv. 49. Acts i. 8. 6; xx. 22, 23, 28; xxi. 4, 11. Rom. 

viii. throughout; xv. 13. 1 Cor. 
ii. 10— 16; iii. 16, 17; vi. 11, 19; 
xii. 3—13. 2 Cor. v. 5. Gal. iii. 
3 ; v. 16—18, 22—25. Eph. ii. 18, 
22; iv. 4, 30. 1 Thess. i. 5, 6. 
1 Tim. iv. 1. 2 Tim. i. 14. Titus 
iii. 5, 6. Heb. vi. 4. Rev. i. 10; 
ii. 7 ; xvi. 13 ; xxii. 17. 



To this prophetical scheme, the masterly comment 
of the Rev. W. Lancaster ("Harmony of the Law 
and Gospel." p. 326) may xvith much propriety be 
appended. "Redemption is the great centre-point 
of scriptural instruction ; every other divine ordinance 
either meets in this point, or diverges from it. The 
doctrine of the Atonement is the great and leading 
doctrine of the Bible from beginning to end. This 
was darkly intimated to fallen man before he was 
expelled from the abode of innocence and bliss. The 



518 



THE MESSIAH. 



sacrifices offered by the faithful immediately after the 
fall, were in unison with this intimation. Abraham 
rejoiced in it, when he saw the day of Christ afar off. 
The bloody ordinances of the Levitical law shadowed 
out the same truth in emblem and mystery. The 
sweet psalmist of Israel spoke a congenial language 
when he painted the sufferings of Him who was to be 
the Saviour of Men. In strains of mingled sadness 
and triumph, the prophetic son announced the Man 
of Sorrows and acquainted with grief ; and it bore, 
also, in different ages of the Jewish church a varied 
yet harmonious testimony to the great Personage in 
whom truth was substantially verified. The latest 
prophet under the law, and the immediate harbinger 
of the Messiah, proclaims the same truth, when he 
announces Christ as the Lamb of God which taketh 
away the sin of the world. Christ himself declares 
the doctrine he verifies, and bears witness to it in his 
death. The apostles proclaim our Redeemer as him 
whom God hath set forth to be a sacrifice and pro- 
pitiation for the sins of the whole world. The holy 
martyrs under the agonies of death testify the same ; 
nor does the attestation stop here. After the Church 
militant hath maintained it throughout every stage of 
its warfare, the Church triumphant takes up the 
heavenly theme, resounding it in hymns of exaltation 
and praise to the end of time. It was first heard in 
the terrestrial Eden, and it ceases not to be heard in 
the songs of the blessed Spirits who inhabit the 
celestial Paradise." 

Note 10, Page 462, Column 2. 
purer than the light of light, 
Of all Transcendencies the sum and soul ! 

On the same principle that prophecy, when proved 
by the admissions of Volney, and similar writers of 
the French school, affects the mind with a more con- 
vincing power than when illustrated by orthodox 
divines, the testimony of Rousseau to the glorious 
perfection of Christ's character is extremely valuable. 
It forms one of his most eloquent passages, and cannot 
be deemed intrusive on the present occasion. 

"The majesty of the Scriptures strikes me with 
admiration, as the purity of the Gospel has its influence 
on my heart. Peruse the works of our philosophers, 
with all their pomp of diction ; how mean, how con- 
temptible are they when compared with the Scrip- 
ture ! Is it possible that a book, at once so simple 
and sublime, should merely be the work of man? 
What prepossession, what blindness must it be to 
compare the son of Sophroniscus to the Son of Mary ! 
What an infinite disproportion is there between them ! 
Socrates, dying without pain or ignominy, easily sup- 
ported his character to the last : and if his death, 
however easy, had not crowned his life, it might have 
been doubted whether Socrates, with all his wisdom, 
was anything more than a vain sophist. He invented, 
it is said, the theory of morals. Others, however, 
had before put them in practice ; he had, therefore, 
only to say what they had done, and to reduce their 
examples to precept. But where could Jesus learn, 
among his competitors, that pure and sublime mo- 
rality of which he only has given us both precept and 
example ? The death of Socrates, peaceably philoso- 
phising with his friends, appears the most agreeable 
that could be wished for ; that of Jesus, expiring in 
the midst of agonising pains, abused, insulted, and 
accused by a whole nation, is the most horrible that 
could be feared. Socrates, in receiving the cup of 
poisori, blessed the weeping executioner who admi- 



nistered it ; but Jesus, in the midst of excruciating 
tortures, prayed for his merciless tormentors. Yes, 
if the life and death of Socrates were those of a sage, 
the life and death of Jesus were those of a God." — 
Emil., vol. ii. p. 215. 

The following testimony of Publius Lentulus (who 
was Governor of Judea during the period of Christ's 
ministry), as transmitted by him to the Roman 
senate, though deemed spurious by many writers, is 
too interesting to be omitted : — 

"There appeared in these our days a man of great 
virtue, named Jesus Christ, yet living amongst us, 
and of the Gentiles is accepted as a Prophet of the 
Truth, but by his own disciples called the Son of God. 
He raiseth the dead and cureth all manner of diseases. 
A man of stature somewhat tall and comely, and a 
very reverend countenance, such as beholders may 
may both love and fear.* His hair is of the colour of 



* " Irenseus, who was born as early as the year 130, 
says, that the Carpocratians exhibited both statues and 
pictures of our Saviour, and that Pilate had caused a 
likeness to be painted of him. Tertullian speaks of 
the intention of Tiberius to assign a place to our 
Saviour among the deities of Rome, as a thing publicly 
and commonly known. Eusebius relates, that there 
was, in his time, in the city of Csesarea Philippi, a 
group of bronze figures, representing Christ and the 
woman whom he had cured, and proceeds, — ' We 
are not to be surprised that the Gentiles should raise a 
monument to those who were cured by our Saviour ; ' 
and further, ' that he had seen pictures of the apostles, 
as of St. Peter and St. Paul, and of Christ himself, 
kept and preserved ; for it was an ancient custom 
among the heathens,' he continues, 'to honour 
those after this manner who had benefited their 
country.' Zozomen, too, reports that Julian, who 
lived at the same time, took down the statue of Christ, 
to withdraw the people from idolatry, and in order to 
substitute his own. It is not essential to my pur- 
pose that these details should be literally true ; but 
we cannot deny the existence of what men like these 
declare that they have seen. The same gratitude 
and veneration which prompted the early Christians 
to preserve a resemblance of their Lord would operate 
equally in making them hand down his features to 
posterity. The impulse is natural, and has been ob- 
served from remote antiquity; and the heads of 
Socrates and Plato, for instance, are as well known 
to us now, as they were to their contemporaries. If, 
therefore, we can produce a portrait of Christ of the 
time of Zozomen, the latest of the four writers above 
quoted, may we not fairly conclude it to be a faithful 
resemblance? One of these was, within these few 
years, to be seen in the Basilica of St. Paul, in the 
Via Ostinese, before that structure was destroyed by 
fire. The situation of it was over the Arcus Trium- 
phalis ; and it possessed traits of benign majesty 
beyond what we observe in common mortals. It was 
executed in mosaic, an art practised through every 
period at Rome, and which is almost as indestructible 
as the building it adorned. The date of the edifice 
was verified by an inscription, by which we learn that 
it was dedicated to Placidia, the mother of Valentinian 
the Third, a.D. 441. When at Rome, I was very care- 
ful in collecting the opinions of persons best qualified 
to judge concerning this portrait. I have viewed it 
with our own Flaxman — ' himself a host ; ' and every 
one whom I consulted concurred in the belief of its 
being a genuine remain. A question will instantly 
suggest itself to the reader, ' Why was not the portrait 



THE MESSIAH. 



511 



a filbert full ripe, and plain almost down to his ears, 
but from his ears downwards somewhat curled, more 
orient in colour, and waving about his shoulders. In 
the midst of his head goeth a seam or partition of his 
hair, after the manner of the Nazarites : his forehead 
very plain and smooth ; his face without spot or 
wrinkle, beautified with comely red ; his nose and 
mouth so formed as nothing can be reprehended ; his 
beard somewhat thick, agreeable in colour to the hair 
of his head, not of any great length, but full in the 
midst ; of an innocent, mature look ; his eyes, grey, 
clear, and quick. In reproving, he is terrible ; in ad- 
monishing, courteous and fair spoken ; pleasant in 
speech, mixed with gravity. It cannot be remem- 
bered that any have seen him laugh, but many have 
seen him weep ; of proportion of body well shaped 
and straight ; his hands and arms right delectable to 
behold; in speaking, very temperate, modest, and 
wise. A man, for singular beauty, surpassing the 
children of men. " 



of Christ uniformly continued among the faithful, 
with the same accuracy as those of Socrates and 
Plato?' One reason might be found in the wide 
diffusion of the Christian religion through so many 
countries of different manners, habits, and ideas ; 
each of whom would naturally represent the coun- 
tenance of the Redeemer under the similitude 
most congenial to their own minds and feelings, 
although the true effigy might still be preserved in 
the capital of the western church, such as we presume 
to be the portrait once existing in the church of 
St. Paul. Another cause might be, that in the early 
periods of the Christian faith, the cross was repre- 
sented simply as it was in imagination seen by Con- 
stantine. This sacred symbol was at times rendered 
significant by the accompaniment of a gemmed or 
laurelled crown, held over it by a hand from the 
clouds with A and fi. The body of Christ was not 
represented on the cross till the seventh century. It 
was first so admitted in the western church, with the 
head bowed down ; whereas inthe eastern (though not 
without some exceptions) the face was lifted up. In the 
latter, the effigy of Christ is first seen on a Byzantine 
coin, struck in the reign of Justinian the Second, 
685 — 695 ; previous to which time we find only crosses 
and anagrams. The Greeks, indeed, reluctantly 
yielded to an innovation which they deemed de- 
grading to the Divine character, and rarely, if ever, 
exposed the Saviour of mankind (and how barbarous 
the exposure!) to open view, nailed to the cross, 
crowned with thorns, exhausted with suffering, and 
devoid of grace and majesty. To the Latins, among 
whom the rudiments of ancient art are not so evident 
as among the Greeks, and whose ideas were therefore 
more on a level with common life, this mournful 
character of the ' Man of Sorrows ' was more congenial. 
Anxious to render the subject in the highest degree 
affecting, and to bring it home to the feelings of every 
one, under national configuration, attempts to be 
pathetic degenerated into low life ; and a system of 
worship was inculcated which addressed itself more 
to the passions than to the understanding of its 
votaries. In the aspect of the Author of my redemp- 
tion, let me not contemplate a mortal sinking under 
infirmities like those to which I feel myself exposed, 
but a being who animates me with hope, and inspires 
me with a confidence which enables me to exult in 
the consciousness that ' my Redeemer liveth ! ' " — 
Gunn's Cartonensia. 



Note 11, Page 463, Column 1. 

holier than our holiest awe 
Can worship, — imaged only in, I AM! 

Nothing is, in fact, more difficult, for such a crea- 
ture as man, surrounded as he is by gross material 
objects, and necessarily occupied in worldly pursuits, 
than to lift up his thoughts and affections to God. 
A being whose nature is so incomprehensible that 
our knowledge of him is chiefly negative, — of whom 
we know not so much what he is as what he is not, — 
it is difficult even to make a steady object of thought. 
Now we believe that God is a spirit ; but we have a 
very faint notion of the nature of a spirit, except that 
it is not a body ; God is eternal ; but we are bewil- 
dered with the very idea of eternity, of which we only 
know that it is without beginning and without end : 
we say, that the divine attributes are infinite ; i. e., 
not bounded, unlimited. And even where our know- 
ledge of God extends beyond mere negatives, we 
cannot but perceive, on attentive reflection, that the 
attributes assigned to the Deity must in reality be 
such in Him, as the ordinary sense of those same 
terms, when applied to men, can but very faintly 
shadow out. — Archbishop "Whately on Declaration 
of God in his Son, pp. 130, 131. 



Note 12, Page 463, Column 1. 

all that charms 
Regenerate heart, to thine unspotted truth 
May plead for sanction. 

"We may consider that our Lord, as partaker of 
our nature, and in all things (bating sin) like unto 
us, had a natural human will, attended with senses, 
appetites, and affections, apt from objects incident 
to receive congruous impressions of pleasure and pain ; 
so that whatever is innocently grateful and pleasant 
to us, that he relished with delight, and thence did 
incline to embrace ; whatever is distasteful and afflic- 
tive to us, that he resented with grief, and thence was 
moved to eschew. To this, probably, he was liable 
in a degree beyond our ordinary rate ; for that in him 
nature was most perfect, his complexion very delicate, 
his temper exquisitely sound and fine. — Barrow's 
Works, vol. ii. p. 308. 



Note 13, Page 463, Column 1. 

Surrenders meekly to the central Guide 
Of hope and action, by a God empower' 'd. 

Jeremy Taylor, "the Shakspeare of divines, " thus 
illustrates the mysterious operations of the Holy 
Spirit over the human heart.— Vide Sermon preached 
to the University of Dublin : — 

"God, who designed the heavens to be the causes 
and changes of all motions here below, hath placed 
his angels in their houses of light, and given to every 
one of his appointed officers a portion of that fiery 
matter to circum-agitate and roll; and now the 
wonder ceases : for if it be inquired why this part of 
the fire runs eastwards, and the other to the south, 
they being both indifferent to either, it is because an 
angel of God sits in the centre : and so it is in the un- 
derstandings of men ; when they all receive the same 
notions, and are taught by the same master, and give 
full consent to all the propositions, and can, of them- 
selves, have nothing to distinguish them in the events, 
it is because God hath sent his Divine Spirit, and 
kindles a new fire, and creates a braver capacity, and 



520 



THE MESSIAH. 



applies the actives to the passives, and blesses their 
operation. For there is in the heart of man such a 
dead sea, and an indisposition to holy flame, like as 
ill the cold rivers in the north, so as the fire will not 
burn them, and the sun itself will never warm them, 
till God's Holy Spirit does, from the Temple of the 
New Jerusalem, bring a holy flame, and make it 
shine and burn." 



BOOK II. 



Note 14, Page 464, Column 1. 
The faint reflections of a vast Unseen ! 

If Phidias could so contrive a piece of his own 
work as in it to preserve the memory of himself, 
never to be obliterated without the destruction of the 
work, well may we read the Great Architect of the 
World in the works of his own hands, and by the 
existence of one thing demonstrate the First Cause 
of ail things. * * * No age so distant, no country 
so remote, no people so barbarous, but gives a suffi- 
cient testimony to this truth. When the Roman 
eagle flew over most parts of the habitable world, 
they met with atheism nowhere ; but rather by their 
miscellaneous deities at Rome, which grew together 
with their victories, showed no nation was without 
its God.— Pearson, fol. 10th edit., pp. 19—21. 

One of the finest thinkers of modern times (the 
author of "Natural History of Enthusiasm"), in 
alluding to the revelations of a Deity, as exhibited 
by the material universe, in his last work, presents 
us with a noble passage: — " The nocturnal heavens 
at once symbolise and demonstrate the concealed 
existence and attributes of God, just as the presence 
and symmetry of a man are made known to a distant 
spectator, when the shadow of his person, in sharp 
outline, falls upon a brightly illuminated surface : we 
see not indeed the man, nor, in strictness of argu- 
ment, is it more than his exterior form of which we 
have direct evidence : nevertheless we do not scruple 
to fill up in idea what is wanting in formal proof ; 
and we think almost as distinctly of the person, as 
if he stood, without a screen, fronting us in the 
blaze of light. Thus is it that, both in the vastness 
and in the richness of the visible universe, "the invi- 
sible God is adumbrated. If the eye be but clear, 
we can never gaze upon the expanse of stars without 
descrying, as it were, filling all the bright abyss of 
worlds, the great lines, or contour, of the Supreme 
Majesty." — Saturday Evening, p. 171. 



Note 15, Page 466, Column 1. 

how Mature visioneth the plan 
That God himself descended to reveal. 

The whole analogy of nature removes all imagined 
presumption against the general notion of a " Mediator 
between God and man ;" for we find all living crea- 
tures are brought into the world, and their life in 
infancy is preserved by the instrumentality of others ; 
and every satisfaction of it, somehow or other, is 
bestowed by the like means. So that the invisible 
government which God exercises over the world is 
by the instrumentality and mediation of others. And 
how far his invisible be, or be not so, it is impossible 
to determine at all by reason. And the supposition 
that part of it is so, appears, to say the least, alto- 
gether as credible as the contraiy. There is, then, 
no sort of objection, from the light of nature, against 



the notion of a Mediator between God and man 
considered as a doctrine of Christianity, or as an 
appointment in this dispensation ; since we find by 
experience that God does appoint mediators to bo 
the instrument of good and evil to us, the instru- 
ments of his justice and mercy. — Butler' 8 Anal., 
part. ii. p. 176. 

Note 16, Page 466, Column 1. 

Thus Plato, in his pure ambition, nursed 
A glorious longing for supremer Mind. 

"Socrates, in a conversation with his friends, from 
the present visibly perverted state of the world, infers 
the apparent necessity of a Divine mediator and 
restorer, and from hence that we have reason to hope 
for and expect one. And on another occasion, he 
says something very remarkable, and then thought 
very mysterious, concerning a Divine Person to be 
sent from heaven, to instruct mankind and restore 
them to virtue and happiness. And Plato, either in 
his own person or in that of Socrates, makes mention 
of the divine Logos as of a personal existence, and 
seems to have had an idea of his distinct operation in 
the economy of the world. And when Orpheus (if he 
is really the author of the fragments that are ascribed 
to him), admonishes the person to whom he addreses 
himself, ' that the thing which he had been revolving 
in his mind should not rob him of his much-desired 
futurity,' and directs him to 'look to the Divine 
Logos, and adhere to that ; ' * whether by the word 
(Logos) he means a person, or a precept, law, or 
instruction, it is clear that he recognises some Divine 
aid to which men might have recourse when human 
reason fails them. And whether he derived it from 
the writings of Moses, of which he certainly had 
some knowledge, t or from a still more ancient source, 
he seems to have had a clear persuasion of the Deity's 
being to appear personally on earth at a certain 
period ; % as also an idea of the Only-begotten, who 
alone was capable of beholding the Divinity, and of 
personal approach unto him. And if his describing 
him as of Chaldean extraction § refers to the promise 



* \lt.oica yu.% «.Kvi6iae, ; /xy^i <n rot vr%)v 

'Ev (rrvfii<r<n Qctvivrat <p/A?)s kiwvos u/ui^a-yi. 
Ei$ dl Xoyov duov ^Xi-^tx,;, rovrat rtzpffihiepi} 

f 'ft? Xoyoq ctex M ' av &S v'bgoyir/is 2 iiiTa^iv, 
'Ex Oiodiv yvaifAowrt ktzfiaiv xara, S'txActxa. 8iir/u.6v. 3 

J Ovdi t;s ttrd' irietx;' <tv Vs. y.tvetct. travr Itrotfffaus icon 
At ztv iSjj? otv70v jrfiv %'h nort dive, hxi ycttav. 4 

§ OJ ycce, x.iv r/s \}>oi Bv/itoiv jjuqoxcuv xe.a'vwrct, 
Ei /Mi {Avvvoyiv/is tis a.nc£%o'£, <pvXov kvudiv 



1 I will declare truth. Neither shall those things 
which you have been considering in your mind rob 
you of desired futurity ; but looking £o the Divine 
word (Logos), hold to that. 

2 And she called his name Moses: And she said, 
because I drew him out of the water. — Exod- ii. 10. 

3 As the doctrine of the ancients, as he that rose 
from the water hath taught : who divinely received 
precepts according to a twofold law. 

4 Neither is there any beside him. But you would 
clearly discern all this, could you see him before the 
time when he shall at last appear here on the earth. 

5 None can see the Supreme Ruler of mortals 
except a certain Only-begotten, whose descent is 
from an ancient race of the Chaldeans. 



THE MESSIAH. 



521 



made to Abraham, he must have had a much clearer 
conception of that promise than ever the Jews them- 
selves had. " 

Note 17, Page 466, Column 2. 
And stubborn ages, as they m-ept along, 
But mock'd her impotence with blind misrule, 
Of creed, or crime begot. 

" Let us turn our eyes to those remote regions of the 
globe to which this svipernatural assistance has never 
yet extended, and we shall there see men endued 
with sense and reason not inferior to our own, so 
far from being capable of forming systems of religion 
and morality, that they are at this day totally unable 
to make a nail or a hatchet 1 These have uniformly 
flowed from that great fountain of divine communi- 
cation opened in the last, in the earliest ages, and 
hence been gradually diffused in salubrious streams 
throughout the various regions of the earth. And 
as Reason in her natural state is thus incapable of 
making any progress in knowledge ; so when fur- 
nished with materials by supernatural aid, if left to 
the guidance of her own wild imagination, she falls 
into more numerous and gross errors than her own 
native ignorance could ever have suggested. There 
is then no absurdity which she is not ready to adopt : 
she has persuaded some that there is no God : others 
that there can be no future state : she has taught some 
that there is no difference between vice and virtue, 
and that to cut a man's throat and to relieve his 
necessities are equally meritorious ; she has con- 
vinced many that they have no free-will in opposition 
to their own experience ; some that there can be no 
such thing as soul or spirit, contrary to their own 
perceptions ; and others, no such thing as matter or 
body, in contradiction to their senses. By analyzing 
all things, she can show there is nothing in anything ; 
by perpetual shifting, she can reduce all things to 
the dust of scepticism, and by returning to first 
principles, prove to the satisfaction of her followers, 
that there are no principles at all." — Jenyn's View, &c. 

Note 18, Page 467, Column 1. 
and ritual pomp 

Of ark and fane and sacrificial blood, 

The chosen People. 
" A splendid ceremonial dazzled their senses, perpe- 
tual sacrifices enlivened their faith, frequent comme- 
morative festivals not only let loose their gay and 
joyous spirits, but reminded them of all the surprising 
and marvellous events of their national history. 
The tabernacles preserve the form of the more solid 
and gigantic structures of Egypt ; their priesthood 
were attired in dresses as costly, in many respects 
similar ; their oblations were as frequent ; — the exclu- 
sions of daylight probably originated in subterranean 
temples, hewn out of the solid rock, like those of 
Ipsambul, and the cave-temples of India : the use of 
incense seems to have been common in every kind of 
religious worship." — Milman. 

Note 19, Page 468, Column 2. 
All things have glided into beauteous change. 
Those who, from doubt or indifference, are apt to 
regard the efforts of Missionaries as fruitless and vain, 
will do well to peruse the highly interesting volumes 
of Mr. W. Ellis, Missionary, entitled "Polynesian 
Researches." Speaking of converted isles, he remarks, 
"Aged chiefs and priests, and hardy warriors, with 



their spelling-books in their hands, might be seen 
sitting hour after hour on the benches in the schools, 
by the side, perhaps, of some smiling little boy or 
girl, by whom they were now thankful to be taught 
the use of letters. Others might be seen pulling 
down the houses of their idols, and erecting temples 
for the Prince of Peace. Their sabbaths must have 
presented spectacles on which angels might look 
down with joy. Crowds who had never before 
attended any worship but that of their demon-gods, 
might now be seen repairing to their rustic and 
lowly temple erected for Jehovah's praise; amidst 
their throng, mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters, 
who were never before allowed to join the other sex 
in any act of worship. Few remained behind ; all 
the inhabitants of the district or village who were 
able, attended public worship." — vol. i. pp. 262, 3. 

Note 20, Page 469, Column 1. 
as the gorgeous cloud, 
E'en as it dazzles, is but dying air ! 

There is a severe truth in a remark of Wollaston 
on the unreality of human fame. "A man is not 
known ever the more to posterity, because his name 
is transmitted to them; he does not live because 
his name does. "When it is said Julius Caesar sub- 
dued Gaul, beat Pompey, changed the Roman com- 
monwealth into a monarchy, &c, it is the same 
thing as to say, the conqueror of Pompey was 
Csesar ; that is, Caesar and the conqueror of Pompey 
are the same thing ; and Csesar is as much known 
by one distinction as the other. The amount then is 
only this : that the conqueror of Pompey conquered 
Pompey; or, somebody conquered Pompey. Such a 
poor business is this boasted immortality ; and such 
as has been here described is the thing called glory 
among us." — Relig. of Nat. Bel. 

In consolatory opposition to this, may be added 
the sentiments of the elegant and philosophic Gray : 
— " One principal character of vice in the present age 
is the contempt of fame. Many are the uses of good 
fame to a generous mind : it extends our existence 
and example into future ages ; continues and pro- 
pagates virtue, which otherwise would be as short- 
lived as our frame; and prevents the prevalence of 
vice in a generation more corrupt even than our 
own."* 

Note 21, Page 469, Column 2. 

And if there be, as saintly minds allow, 
Some god-like moment, when pure Spirits walk 
This lower world. 
The idea of some mystic communion between the 
living and the dead has been a beautiful source of 



* The above passage is taken from the notes which 
Gray had collected for a poem entitled "The Alli- 
ance of Education and Government." The fragment 
we possess vies with anything the poet has written. 
In what ode has he surpassed, or equalled, the fol- 
lowing image ? — 

"Where Nile redundant o'er the summer bed 
From his broad bosom life and verdure flings, 
And broods o'er Egypt with his watery wings." 

Of this poem well might Gibbon exclaim — "Why 
did not Mr. Gray apply the powers of his genius to 
finish the philosophic poem, of which he has left us 
such an exquisite specimen?" — Becline and Fall, 
vol. ii. p. 248. 



522 



THE MESSIAH. 



religious consolation in all ages. Klopstock was 
constantly dwelling on this. In one of his letters to 
his departed wife (Meta), he remarks : 

" All the ideas that man can form of the ways of 
Providence, and of the employment of angels and 
of spirits, must ever fall short of reality ; but still 
it is right to think of them. What can have a more 
exalting influence on the earthly life, than in these 
first days of our existence to make ourselves con- 
versant with the lives of the blessed, with the happy 
spirits whose society we shall hereafter enjoy? We 
should accustom ourselves to consider the spirits of 
heaven always around us ; observing all our steps, 
and witnessing our most secret actions. Whoever 
has become familiar with these ideas, will find the 
most solitary place peopled with the best society." 

Of a mind breathing such elevated sentiments, 
well may his excellent wife say — "It will be a 
delightful occupation for me to make you more ac- 
quainted with my husband's poem. Nobody can do 
it better than I, being the person who knows the 
most of that which is not published, being always 
present at the birth of the young verses, which begin 
by fragments here and there of a subject of which 
his soul is just then filled. He has many great 
fragments of the whole work ready. You may think 
that persons who love as we do, have no need of 
two chambers ; we are always in the same ; I with 
my little work, still, still only regarding sometimes 
my husband's sweet face, which is so venerable with 
tears of devotion and all the sublimity of the subject." 
—From Letters to Richardson. 



Note 22, Page 470, Column 1. 

Let all we look upon religion make 

For inmost thought, or meditation's love. 

* ' Why is this the order of Nature, that there is such 
a difference in the duration and destruction of her 
works ? If the mere stone decay, it is to produce a 
soil which is capable of nourishing the moss and the 
lichen ; when the moss and the lichen die and 
decompose, they produce a mould which becomes 
the bed of life to grass, and to a more exalted 
species of vegetables. Vegetables are the food of 
animals, — the less perfect animals of the more perfect ; 
but in man, the faculties and intellect are perfected 
— he rises, exists for a little while in disease and 
misery, and then would seem to disappear, without 
an end, and without producing any effect. 

We are deceived, if we suppose that the human 
being who has formed himself for action, but who 
has been unable to act, is lost in the mass of being ; 
there is some arrangement of things which we can 
never comprehend, but in which his faculties will 
be applied. 

The caterpillar, on being converted into an inert 
scaly mass, does not appear to be fitting itself for 
an inhabitant of air, and can have no consciousness 
of the brilliancy of its future being. We are masters 
of the earth, but perhaps we are the slaves of some 
great and unknown beings. The fly that we crush 
with our finger, or feed with our viands, has no 
knowledge of man, and no consciousness of his 
superiority. We suppose that we are acquainted 
with matter, and with all its elements, and yet we 
cannot even guess at the cause of electricity, or 
explain the laws of the formation of the stones which 
fall from meteors. There may be beings, thinking 



beings, near us, surrounding us, which we do not 
perceive, which we can never imagine. We know 
very little ; but, in my opinion, we know enough to 
hope for the immortality, the individual immortality 
of the better part of man." — Dr. Pakis's Life of Sir 
Humphrey Davy, vol. i. p. 198. 



BOOK III. 

Note 23, Page 470, Column 2. 

Round, these, perchance, a sympathetic thrill 
Of worship ran, when first Solvation dawn'd I 

Though we can trace particularly the designs and 
effects of the Redeemer's undertaking only in that 
part of the system of Nature which, in some degree, 
falls under our knowledge and observation, yet there 
is ground from Revelation, as well as from analogy 
of things, to suppose that it extends to beings that 
lie entirely beyond the reach of our conception. For 
whoever adverts to the boundless beneficence of the 
Universal Parent, and the ways and degrees in which 
an Infinite Operator may confer being and enjoyment, 
cannot doubt for a moment that there are more 
things and more beings in Nature than either our 
reason or religion gives us any notice of. But all 
these, whatever they may be, are the subjects of the 
Mediator's government, and the objects of his redemp- 
tion ; as being the Universal Operator of Omnipotence, 
He by whom the Almighty executes all his purposes, 
carries on, and shall bring to perfection, all his works : 
for it is a doctrine laid down in the most pointed and 
express terms in Scripture, — " That God hath pur- 
posed in himself, in the dispensation of the fulness of 
time, to gather together in one all things in Christ, — 
and having made peace by the blood of his cross, by 
him to reconcile all things to himself; by him, I say, 
whether they be things in earth or things in heaven." 



Note 24, Page 470, Column 2. 

Whose powers, though blended in Virgilian song, 
Sublimely differ 1 d. 

Vide "Tacitus Hist.," b. v. c. 13. "Suetonius 
Vespas.," c. 4. — The Sibylline books were an assem- 
blage of rumours, accounted sacred, that circulated 
in different regions of the ancient world.* Part of 



* Bishop Horsley says, the Sibyl oracles "were 
composed of adulterated fragments of the patriarchal 
prophecies and records, and that put it out of doubt 
that of much of the prophetic part the Messiah was 
the specific subject." 

The origin of the Barbaric and Grecian philosophy 
may incontestably be traced to fragmental records 
derived from patriarchal ages, which were adopted 
into various systems, together with all the pollutions 
and extravagances of each successive founder. This 
is briefly but comprehensively proved by Clement of 
Alexandria. 

" With regard to the wise men and philosophers of 
Greece, it is hardly necessary to remark, that the 
greater part of the most ancient of them were either 
barbarians by birth, or instructed by barbarians ; 
since it has been shown that Pythagoras was either a 
Tyrrhenian, or a Tyrian ; Antisthenes was a 
Phrygian ; Orpheus an Odrysian, or a Thracian ; and 
Homer is, for the most part, thought to have been an 



THE MESSIAH. 



523 



these were Judean — Le., relative to the Messiah; and 
hence confusion of the prophecies relative to a Tem- 
poral King and a Spiritual One. Virgil, in his 
"Pollio," has blended them, and thereby puzzled the 
commentators. The Judean oracles had foretold, for 
several ages, two great kings, — Augustus was one 
(the last of the four monarchs alluded to by Daniel), 
and Jesus Christ the other. 

The following extracts are quoted by Sandys, as 
genuine specimens of the Sibyl Oracle : — 

" Sed manibus passis cum mensus cuncta coronam 
De spinis tulerit, nee non latus ejus arundo 
Fixerit acta manu, cujus causa tribus horis 
Nox tenebrosa die medio monstrosaque fiet. 



Egyptian. Thales was a Phoenician by birth, and is 
moreover recorded to have conversed with the 
prophets of Egypt. Pythagoras did the same, and 
was likewise circumcised by those prophets, in order 
that he might be admitted to the most sacred recesses 
of then- temples, and thus become instructed in the 
mystical philosophy of the Egyptians. He also con- 
versed with the most ancient of the Chaldeans and 
the Magi. As for Plato, he does not deny that he 
brought home from the barbarians the Doblest parts 
of his philosophy, and confesses that he visited Egypt. 
Indeed, it is manifest that he takes every occasion to 
magnify the barbarians, since he speaks of both him- 
self and Pythagoras as having learned the largest 
and the best part of their doctrines among them. In 
one of his dialogues he discloses his acquaintance 
with the Egyptian king, speaks of Thoyth, an emi- 
nently wise man, whom he knew to be the same with 
Mercury ; and in another he appears to have known 
certain Thracians who held the immortality of the 
soul. Pythagoras is recorded to have been the scholar 
of Sonches, the Egyptian chief prophet; Plato, of 
Sechnuphis, the Heliopolitan ; and Eudoxus the 
Cnidian, of Cenuphis, who was also an Egyptian. 
With regard to Democritus, we find him in his 
writings magnifying his own learning after the fol- 
lowing manner : — ' I have travelled over a greater 
part of the earth than any of my contemporaries, 
carrying my inquiries into the most remote points of 
human knowledge ; I have also witnessed a greater 
variety of climates and soils ; I have conversed with 
a greater number of learned men. No man, not even 
those who are called Aspedonaftse, among the Egyp- 
tians, ever surpassed me in the construction of lines, 
together with the demonstration of their properties. 
With these learned men I have maintained an inter- 
course, in the whole, for eighty years in foreign 
countries.' For he visited Babylon, and Persia, and 
Egypt, and was a scholar of both the Magi and the 
Priests. Pythagoras first made mention of Zoroaster, 
the Persian Magus, of whose secret books the fol- 
lowers of Prodicus boast themselves in possession. 
Alexander, in his 'Treatise on the Pythagoric 
Symbols,' records that Pythagoras was a scholar of 
Zasoratus, the Assyrian, and that he was moreover a 
hearer of the Gauls and Brachmans. It appears, 
then, philosophy flourished in ancient times among 
the barbarians, and diffused its light among the 
nations ; and that it was afterwards introduced into 
Greece. And those who taught it, the prophets of 
Egypt, the Chaldeans of Syria, the Druids of Gaul, 
the Samarians of Bactria, those who philosophised 
among the Celts, the Magi of Paris, the Gymnoso- 
phistae of India, and other barbarian philosophers." — 
Clement, Alex. Strom., i. 15. 



Tunc hominum generi magnum Salomonia signum 
Templa dabunt, Ditis cum tecta profunda subibit, 
Nunciet in vitam reditum quo morte peremptis." 

Orac. 1, 5. 

His Name. 



" vocales quatuor autem 



Fert, non vocalesque ; duas binum geniorum : 
Sed quae sit numeri totius summa docebo, 
Namque octo monadas, totidem decadas super ista 
Atque hecatonradas octa, infidis significabat 
Humanis nomen." — L. 1. 

Thus explained : 

I H 2 O T 2 

10 . 8 . 200 . 70 . 400 . 200 

8.8. 300. 



Note 25, Page 470, Column 2. 

The world reposed ; and grateful Rome 
Her Janus shut, her crimson banners furl' d. 

* ' Augustus Caesar, having united all nations in peace, 
from east to west, from north to south, closed for the 
third time the gates of the temple of Janus ; and at 
that particular period, in the same year, in which, by 
the ordinance of God, he had established a universal 
peace, Christ was born into the world; to whose 
advent that peace was made preparatory. " — Orosius, 
a native of Spain, 4th cent., Hist., vii. c. 22. 

Note 26, Page 472, Column 1. 

where Deity the mortal shape 
Of feeble infant took. 

"The world's salvation was, without the incarnation 
of the Son of God, a thing impossible ; not simply 
impossible, but impossible, it being presupposed that 
the will of God was no otherwise to have it saved than 
by the death of his own Son. Wherefore taking to 
himself our flesh, He had none of his own, although 
from us, what to offer unto God for us. And as 
Christ took manhood, that by it He might be capable 
of death, whereunto He humbled himself ; so because 
manhood is the proper subject of compassion, and 
feeling pity, which maketh the sceptre of Christ's 
regency even in the kingdom of heaven, be affixable, 
He which without our nature could not on earth 
suffer for the sins of the world, doth now also, by 
means thereof, both make intercession to God for 
sinners, and exercise dominion over all men with a 
true, a natural, and a sensible touch of mercy." — 
Hooker, Eccl. Pol., vol. ii. p. 202. 

Note 27, Page 473, Column 2. 
In darkness, — still to Zion turn, and weep ! 
" Amid this extraordinary desolation, you must 
pause a moment to contemplate two circumstances 
still more extraordinary. Among the ruins of Jeru- 
salem, two classes of independent people find in their 
religion sufficient fortitude to enable them to surmount 
such complicated terrors and wretchedness. Here 
reside communities of monks, whom nothing can 
compel to forsake the tomb of Christ. Night and 
day they chant their hymns around the holy sepul- 
chre. Cast your eyes between the Temple and 
Mount Sion ; behold another petty tribe, cut off from 
the rest of the inhabitants of this city. The parti- 
cular objects of every species of degradation, they 
bow their heads without murmuring ; if their head 



524 



THE MESSIAH. 



be required, they present it to the scimitar. Enter 
the abodes of the people — you will find them, amid 
the most abject wretchedness, instructing their 
children to read a mysterious book, which they in 
their turn teach their offspring to read. * What they 
did five thousand years ago, these people still continue 
to do. Seventeen times have they witnessed the 
destruction of Jerusalem. Nothing can prevent them 
from turning their faces toward Zion." — Chateau- 
briand. 



Note 28, Page 474, Column 1. 

till Restoration's voice 
Her orphan' d race to Salem's clime recall. 

From the melancholy grandeur of prophecy ful- 
filled, it is delightful to turn to the bright futurity 
that is promised to afflicted Israel. The restoration 
of the Jewish kingdom is as clearly revealed as its 
destruction was. In Keith's invaluable work on 
Prophecy, the reader will find the various prophecies 
relative to this assembled. The author remarks : — 

"Not naturalised to the isles of the Gentiles, 
either by law or affection, nor bound to any soil by 
the possession of fixed property, which would be of 
no easy transference ; but ever looking with undi- 
minished love to the land of their fathers, even after 
an expatriation uninterrupted for nearly eighteen 
centuries, they are ready — whenever the time shall 
be fulfilled — to fly thither, like a cloud, and like 
doves to their windows. But to what degree, and 
in what manner, the present convulsions in the 
Turkish empire, combined with the peculiar, and, in 
many instances, novel condition of the Jews through- 
out Europe and America, shall be the means of 
facilitating their eventual restoration to their own land, 
no mortal can determine. It is enough for Chris- 
tians to know, that two thousand of years, through 
nearly which it has been dormant, can neither render 
extinct the title, nor proscribe the heaven-chartered 
rite of the Seed of Abraham to the final and ever- 
lasting possession of the land of Canaan ; that God 
will remember the land, and gather together unto it 
his ancient people; and that his word concerning 
Zion, which he hath neither forgotten nor forsaken, 
is, ' I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands, 
thy walls are continually before me — thy children 
shall make haste ; thy destroyers, and they that 
made thee waste, shall go forth of thee. ' And that, 
through all the changes which have happened in the 
kingdoms of the earth, from the days of Moses to the 
present time, which is more than three thousand two 
hundred and sixty years, nothing should have hap- 
pened to prevent the possibility of the accomplish- 
ment of these prophecies ; but, on the contrary, that 
the state of the Jewish and Christian nations at this 
day should be such as renders them capable, not only 
of a figurative, but even a literal completion, in every 
particular, if the will of God be so. This is a miracle 
which hath nothing parallel to it in the phenomena 
of Nature."— Keith's Work, p. 410, 7th ed. 



Note 29, Page 475, Column 2. 

And Messiah grew 
Strong in the spirit, wisdom, grace, and power. 

" The act of the Son of God, in becoming a Mediator 
and Saviour to mankind, is considered as that which 
involved a temporary cessation or diminution of the 



developments, or manifestations, ab extra, of the 
essential divine glories. It is, therefore, according to 
our apprehension of those phrases, described as 
coming forth from the Father, coming down from 
heaven, being sent into the world, becoming flesh, 
and making his tabernacle among men, being sent in 
the likeness of sinful flesh, divesting himself, taking 
the form of a servant and humbling himself. It 
cannot be but immensely difficult, and probably, to 
human powers, impossible to form perfect concep- 
tions of all that is included in the fact which these 
expressions designate ; yet it seems undeniable, that 
they all contain the idea of degradation, humiliation, 
and submission to a subordinate capacity. Such a 
state we may, with reverence and sacred modesty, 
conceive to be congruous with the supposition, that the 
habitual consciousness and feelings of the Man Christ 
Jesus were not those of unspeakable delight, in the 
enjoyment of intimate communications from the un- 
existent Deity ; but that, on the contrary, they were 
the feelings of a mental depression which no words 
could describe, or imagination represent." — Smith's 
Scripture Testimony. 



Note 30, Page 476, Column 2. 

Where buried cities lift their ghastly wreck 
In tomb-like waste. 

" Several travellers, and among others, Troilo and 
D'Arvieux, assert that they remarked fragments of 
walls and palaces in the Dead Sea. This statement 
seems to be confirmed by Maundrell and Father 
Frau. The ancients speak more positively on this 
subject. Josephus, employing a poetic expression, 
says he perceived on the banks of the lake the shades 
of the overwhelmed cities. Strabo gives a circum- 
ference of sixty stadii to the ruins of Sodom, which 
are mentioned also by Tacitus. I know not whether 
they still exist ; but as the lake rises aad falls at cer- 
tain seasons, it is possible that it may alternately 
cover and expose the skeletons of the reprobate 
cities." — Chateaubriand, quoted by Conder in his 
Palestine. 



BOOK IV. 



Note 31, Page 480, Column 1. 

On Herod's towers, 
From whose dread altitude the very sky 
Seems nearer. 

' ' The city lay over against the Temple, in the manner 
of a theatre, and was encompassed with a deep valley 
along the entire south quarter ; but the finest part of 
the Temple, which was southward had indeed gates 
in its middle, as also it had the royal cloisters with 
three walks, which reached at length from the east 
valley unto that in the west, for it was impossible 
it should reach any farther : and this cloister deserves 
to be mentioned better than any under the sun ; for 
while the valley was very deep, and its bottom could 
not be seen if you looked from above into the depth, 
this farther vastly high elevation of the cloister stood 
upon that height, insomuch, if any one looked down 
from the top of the battlements, or down both those 
altitudes, he would be giddy, while his sight could not 
reach to such an immense depth." — Joseph. Antiq., 
lib. xv. c. ix. sect. 5. 



THE MESSIAH. 



525 



Note 32, Page 480, Column 1. 

To Quarantania' 's unascended top 

That crowns the wilderness ioith savage pomp. 

" After some hours' travel, you arrive at the moun- 
tainous desert into which our Saviour was led by the 
Spirit to be tempted by the Devil : a most miserable, 
dry, barren place it is, consisting of high rocky moun- 
tains, so torn and disordered, as if the earth had here 
suffered some great convulsion, in which its very 
bowels had been turned outward. Certainly there 
could not be found in the whole earth a more com- 
fortless and abandoned place for that purpose. As 
soon as we entered the plain, we turned up on the 
left hand, and going about one hour that way, came 
to the foot of Quarantania, which, they say, is the 
mountain into which the Devil took our blessed 
Saviour, when he tempted Him with that visionary 
scene of all the kingdoms and glories of the world. " 
— Maundrell's Journey, &c, pp. 106, 7. Eighth 
Edition. 



Note 33, Page 483, Column 2. 

At Sichem glitter' d round the Saviour's form. 

" Naplosa is the ancient Sychem, or Sychar, as it is 
termed in the New Testament. It stands in a narrow 
valley between Mount Gerizim on the south, and 
Ebal on the north, being built at the foot of the 
former. From Mount Gerizim it was that God com- 
manded the blessings to be pronounced on the 
children of Israel, and from Mount Ebal, the curses." — 
Matjndrell. 

Note 34, Page 484, Column 1. 



from Ebal's blanched height 
A Curse came down, like thunder from the skie3. 

"Never did human imagination conceive a scene so 
imposing, so solemn, so likely to impress the whole 
people with deep and enduring awe, as the final rati- 
fication of their polity, commanded by the dying 
lawgiver. In the territory afterwards assigned to the 
tribe of Ephraim, a central region, stand two remark- 
able mountains, separated by a deep and narrow 
ravine, in which the ancient Sechem — the modern 
Naplus — stands. Here all Israel was to be assembled, 
six tribes on one height, six on the other. In the open 
day, and in a theatre, as it were, created by the God 
of Nature for the express purpose, after a sacrifice 
offered on an altar of stones, the people of Israel testified 
their free and deliberate acceptance of that constitu- 
tion which their God had enacted. They accepted it 
with its inseparable condition, maledictions the most 
awful, which they imprecated on their own heads, in 
case they should apostatise from its statutes, — bless- 
ings equally ample and perpetual, if they should 
adhere to its holy and salutary provisions. The type 
of either destiny lay before them : Mount Ebal was a 
barren, stony, wild, and desolate crag ; Gerizim, a 
lovely and fertile height, with luxuriant verdure, 
streams of running water, and cool, shady groves. As 
God has blasted Ebal, so he would smite the dis- 
obedient with barrenness, hunger, and misery ; as he 
crowned Gerizim with beauty and fruitfulness, so he 
would bless the faithful Israelites with abundance, 
with peace, with happiness." — Milman. 



Note 35, Page 484, Column 2. 

to unrol and read 
The Haphtoroth. 

" The 'Haptoroth ' was the section or lesson from 
the prophets for that day. The one alluded to in the 
text commenced with the first verse of the forty-first 
chapter of Isaiah. In the synagogues of the Hel- 
lenists, or Greek Jews, the law was always read in 
the Greek version ; but in those of the native Jews, 
the law was always read in the Hebrew ; whence it 
became necessary, as soon as that language ceased to 
be vernacular among the Jews, to establish an inter- 
preter, by whom the Jewish Scriptures were ex- 
pounded in the Chaldee dialect, which was spoken by 
them after the return from the Babylonian captivity. 
The doctor, or reader, therefore, having the inter- 
preter always by him, softly whispered in his ears 
what he said, and this interpreter repeated aloud to 
the people what had thus been communicated to 
him. To this custom our Saviour is supposed to 
have alluded, when he said to his disciples, 'What ye 
hear in the ear, that preach ye on the house-tops.' 
Matt. x. 27."— Horne. 

In the midst of the synagogue was a desk or 
pulpit, on which the book or roll of the law was read 
very solemnly. There, likewise, he stood who 
intended to harangue the people. At the highest 
part of the synagogue, towards the east, and over 
against the door, which is always west, as far as can 
well be, is the chest, or press, wherein the book 
or roll of the law is kept, wrapped up in fine em- 
broidered cloth. The women are distinct from the 
men, and seated in a gallery inclosed with lattices, so 
that they may see and hear, and not be seen. — 
Pride atjx, Connect, and Jennings' Jew. Antiq. 



BOOK V. 



Note 36, Page 487, Column 1. 



in the mind, 
Where God in dedicated moments comes 
To earth unknown. 

The following quotation is pronounced by Words- 
worth to be " one of the finest passages in modern 
English prose : " 

"A man is supposed to improve by going out into 
the world, by visiting London. Artificial man does ; 
he extends with his sphere ; but, alas that sphere is 
microscopic : it is formed of minutiae, and he sur- 
renders his genuine vision to the artist, in order to 
embrace it in his ken. His bodily senses grow acute, 
even to barren and inhuman pruriency ; while his 
mental become proportionally obtuse. The reverse 
is the Man of Mind : he who is placed in the sphere 
of Nature and of God might be a mock at Tattersall's 
and Brookes's, and a sneer at St. James's : he would 
certainly be swallowed alive by the first Pizarro that 
crossed him ; — but when he walks along the river of 
Amazons ; when he rests his eye on the unrivalled 
Andes ; when he measures the long and watered 
Savannah ; or contemplates from a sudden promon- 
tory the distant vast Pacific, and feels himself a free- 
man in this vast theatre, and commanding each 
ready-produced fruit of this wilderness, and each 
progeny of this stream — his exultation is not less 
than imperial. He is as gentle, too, as he is great : his 
emotions of tenderness keep pace with his elevation 



526 



THE MESSIAH. 



of sentiment ; for he says, ' These were made by a 
good Being, who, unsought by me, placed me here to 
enjoy them.' He becomes at once a child and a 
king : his mind is in himself ; from hence he argues, 
and from hence he acts, and he argues unerringly, and 
acts magisterially : his mind in himself is also in his 
God; and therefore he loves, and therefore he soars." — 
From the Notes upon the Hurricane, a Poem by 
"William Gilbert. 



Note 37, Page 487, Column 1. 

The Law illumed, and blinded Israel taught 
Tfie darkness of exclusive faith was o'er. 

"Without a correct acquaintance with the doctrinal 
character of the Jews at the time of our Saviour, it is 
utterly impossible to understand or duly feel the 
solemnity of his rebukes when the Pharisees at- 
tempted to shape religion into a mechanical observ- 
ance of rites and ceremonies. A few passages from 
uncommon sources are therefore submitted to the 
reader's perusal. 

"Whoever shall sincerely keep even any one of the 
six hundred and thirteen precepts [of the Law], be- 
hold he, by fulfilling that precept, shall merit eternal 
life." — Obadias de Babtenora. 

" This is also one of the fundamental principles of 
our law, that all the good which God has done, or will 
do, to us, is done on account of the merit of 
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, because they kept the 
way of the Lord, by doing justice and judgment." — 
Maimonides. 

" Every Israelite will have his portion in a future 
life." — Mishna. 

"Abraham sits near the gates of hell, and suffers not 
any wicked Israelite to go down to hell." — Talmud. 

"The resurrection will be peculiar to the Israelites, 
and that the Gentiles will not partake in it, for the 
whole world was created for the sole benefit of Israel ! 
Our wise men have said, 'To Him who spake the 
word, and the world was made, it was well known 
that Adam would sin; why, then, did he create 
Adam ? Because a nation in whom he found refresh- 
ment would come from him.. From the Israelites who 
stood at the foot of Mount Sinai, that is, who received 
the law, which is the tree of life, defilement was taken 
away, and they were thus made fit for eternal life : 
the Gentiles who were not present there, were not 
cleansed from this defilement, and therefore are 
unfit for life. The resurrection is therefore wholly 
confined to the Israelites ! ' " — Judah JZabarah, 
Pocock, Notes Misc., p. 194. 

The extreme repugnance between these doctrines 
and the boundless glory of Redemption will account 
for the rejection of Christ by the Jews. The follow- 
ing is a curious and valuable summary of the popular 
notions which the Jews had formed of the Saviour of 
Israel : — 

" As to the days of the Messiah, that is, the time 
when the kingdom will be restored to Israel, and the 
Israelites will return to Palestine — The Messiah will 
be a powerful king : Zion will be the metropolis of his 
kingdom : his name will be illustrious, and fill the 
uttermost parts of the earth with its renown : he will 
be greater and richer than Solomon : the nations will 
enter into peace with him, and the provinces will 
yield obedience unto him, on account of his distin- 
guished righteousness, and of the miracles which he 
will perform. If any man shall rise up in rebellion 
against him, God will destroy that man, and deliver 



him into his hand. Moreover, all the texts of Scrip- 
ture declare both the felicity of the Messiah himself, 
and that which we shall obtain through him. But 
there will be no change in the nature of things from 
the state which now prevails, except that the king- 
dom will be with Israel. So our wise men have said, 
' There is no difference between the present age and 
the days of the Messiah, except only the subjugation 
of the kingdoms.' And under his dominion, some 
will be stronger and some weaker than others. But 
in those days men will enjoy a remarkable facility 
of obtaining food, so that a man will be able to 
obtain riches with the least possible trouble. This 
is the meaning of the saying, ' It will be that the 
land of Israel will bring forth cakes and silk gar- 
ments. ' The sons of the alien shall be your plough- 
men and vinedressers. But the great facility of that 
time will be, that we shall then be liberated from that 
yoke of evil dominion, which keeps us back from the 
pursuit of every virtue ; and that knowledge will then 
be multiplied, as God hath said, ' For the earth shall 
be filled with the knowledge of the Lord : ' and that 
then contentions and wars shall be done away, as He 
also hath said, 'Nation shall not lift up a sword 
against nation.' For to them who live at that time 
shall be granted every advantage by which they may 
attain to the life of a future world. But the Messiah 
will die, and his son and his posterity will reign after 
him. For that he will die, God declares : ' He shall 
not fail nor be discouraged, till he set judgment in 
the earth.' But his reign will be of very long dura- 
tion, and men will then attain great length of life ; 
for life is prolonged by the removal of grief and 
sorrow. And it is certainly true that his reign will 
last for some thousands of years. For it is said the 
coalition of society among the good cannot be dis- 
solved. But the days of the Messiah are not so much 
to be desired, either that our corn or wealth may be 
multiplied, or that we may ride on horses, or drink 
together to the sound of musical instruments ; but 
the prophets have wished for, and excellent men have 
eagerly expected, those days, on account of that 
society of good men, that virtuous conversation and 
knowledge which will then prevail, and on account 
of the righteousness of the king and his distinguished 
knowledge, and the near degree in which he is 
related to his Creator, as God hath said to him, 
' Thou art My Son :' and because the whole Law of 
Moses will then be fulfilled without reluctance, per- 
turbation, or constraint." — Maimonides, Porta Mosis, 
p. 60. 

Note 38, Page 491, Column 2. 

And Hopes which make eternity a lie, 
By moulding heaven to each infirm desire. 

According to the author of the Koran, there will 
"not only be marriage, but also servitude in the next 
world. The very meanest in Paradise will have 
eighty thousand servants and seventy-two wives. 
He will also have a tent erected for him of pearls, 
hyacinths, and emeralds ! " In a catechism printed at 
Constantinople are the following principal articles to 
which a Mussulman is required to assent : — "I believe 
in the books which have been delivered from heaven 
to the prophets. In this manner was the Koran 
given to Mahomet, the Pentateuch to Moses, the 
Psalter to David, and the Gospel to Jesus. I believe 
in the prophets, and the miracles which they have per- 
formed. Adam was the first prophet and Mahomet 



THE MESSIAH. 



527 



was the last. I believe that, for the space of fifty 
thousand years, the righteous shall repose under the 
shade of the terrestrial Paradise ; and the wicked 
shall be exposed naked to the burning rays of the sun. 
I believe in the bridge Sirat, which passes over the 
bottomless pit of hell. It is as fine as a hair, and 
as sharp as a sabre. All must pass over it, and the 
wicked shall be thrown off. I believe in the water- 
pools of Paradise. Each of the Prophets has, in Para- 
dise, a basin for his own use : the water is whiter 
than milk, and sweeter than honey. On the ridges 
of the pools are vessels to drink out of, and they are 
bordered with stars. I believe in heaven and hell. 
The inhabitants of the former know no want, and the 
houris who attend them are never afflicted with sick- 
ness. The floor of Paradise is musk, the stones are 
silver, and the cement gold. The damned are, on the 
contrary, tormented with fire, and by voracious and 
poisonous animals." 

Note 39, Page 491, Column 2. 

What visions o'er thy musing spirit roll ? 

"The pilgrim need not trouble himself about the 
authenticity of the tradition which gives to every 
cave in Palestine a sacred name. In Nazareth, at 
least, there is a religion in the place, which needs not 
the adventitious aid of superstition to excite enthu- 
siasm. The peaceful valley of Nazareth, hemmed in 
from the noisy world by an amphitheatre of verdant 
hills, is the spot which one might imagine the meek 
and lowly Jesus would have chosen for his earliest 
abode. The silent paths, the deep ravines in the 
eastern hill, might well have served for meditation ; 
every morning during my stay in Nazareth I visited 
these solitudes, calling to my mind the miracle of 
morality and philosophy which came from the little 
town before me, and reflecting on the revolution in 
religion which every country had undergone since 
Jesus of Nazareth first broached his doctrines in the 
village synagogue, the site of which was then before 
me. The feelings these reflections inspired were 
intense." — Travels in the East. 

Note 40, Page 495, Column 1. 

And while dumb Glories of creation give 
Their daily witness, man alone is mute. 

" The miracles of Nature are exposed to our eyes 
long before we have reason enough to derive any light 
from them. If we entered the world with the same 
reason which we carry with us to an opera, the first 
time we enter a theatre, — and if the curtain of the 
universe were to be rapidly drawn up,— struck with 
the grandeur of everything which we saw, and all the 
obvious contrivances exhibited, we should not be 
capable of refusing our homage to the Eternal Power 
which had prepared for us such a spectacle. But 
who thinks of marvelling at what he has seen for 
fifty years ? What multitudes are there, who, wholly 
occupied with the care of obtaining subsistence, have 
no time for speculation ! The rise of the sun is only 
that which calls them to toil, and the finest night, in 
all its softness, is mute to them, or tells them only 
that it is the hour of repose. " — Diderot, tome i. p. 100. 

How deeply did Foster feel this deadness of human 
mind to those fine appeals coming from a glorious 
universe, when he penned the following passage : — 
" It is unfortunate, I have thought within these few 
minutes, while looking out on one of the most en- 



chanting nights of the most interesting season of the 
year, and hearing the voices of a company of persons, 
to whom I can perceive that this soft, solemn shade 
over the earth, the calm sky, the beautiful stripes of 
cloud, the stars, and waning moon just risen, are 
things not in the least more interesting than the 
walls, ceiling, and candle-light of a room." — Poster's 
Essays, vol. i. pp. 26, 27. 



Note 41, Page 497, Column 2. 

Delightedly to Youth's enamour' d ear 
The Festival unfolds. 

" Now Judas celebrated the festival of the restora- 
tion of the sacrifices of the temple for eight days, and 
omitted no sort of pleasure thereon ; but he feasted 
them on very rich and splendid sacrifices ; and he 
honoured God, and delighted them by hymns and 
psalms. Nay, they were so very glad at the revival 
of their customs, that they made it a law for their 
posterity that they should keep a festival, on account 
of the restoration of their temple-worship, for eight 
days. And from that time to this, we celebrate this 
festival, and call it Lights." — Josephus, Antiq., lib. xii. 
c. viii. s. vii. 



Note 42, Page 498, Column 1. 
A shade of sadness mellow 'd not destroy 'd 
TJie mirth and beauty of surrounding day. 

The poet Young was devotedly attached to the 
quiet loveliness of a garden-walk, and its attendant 
associations. In his " Essay on Pleasure " occurs the 
following passage : — 

" A garden has ever had the praise and affection of 
the wise. "What is requisite to make a wise and happy 
man, but reflection and peace? And both are the 
natural growth of a garden. Nor is a garden a 
promoter only of a good man's happiness, but a pic- 
ture of it ; and in some sort shows him to himself. 
Its culture, order, fruitfulness, and seclusion from the 
world, compared to the weeds, wildness, and exposure 
of a common field, is no bad emblem of a good man 
compared to the multitude. A garden weeds the 
mind; it weeds it of worldly thoughts, and sows 
celestial seed in their stead. — Who cannot look on a 
flower, till he frightens himself out of infidelity?" 



Note 43, Page 500, Column 1. 



And men were Demons with a robe of flesh 
Enveloped, banqueting on human blood? 

The capture of Jerusalem forms the most terrific 
tale which the records of history unfold. Human 
nature seems to have gone out of itself, and to have 
become a demonised and savage thing, amid the 
horrors and devastations of a besieged capital. Yet 
everything that was done, suffered, or displayed, in 
this dreadful scene, had been predicted by the 
Saviour ; and those who will compare the descriptions 
of Josephus with the prophetic denunciation delivered 
nearly forty years before the event, cannot escape the 
conviction, that "never man spake like this Man ! " 
A few of the most fearful and illustrative passages 
from the Jewish historian are here selected. The 
classical reader will not fail to detect in them an oc- 
casional resemblance to the condensed and vehement 
style that distinguishes the pages of Tacitus, who was 
contemporary with Josephus. 



528 



THE MESSIAH. 



" Famine was too hard for all other passions ; 
children pulled the very morsels their fathers were 
eating out of their very mouths, and what was still 
more to be pitied, so did the mothers do as to their 
infants : the old men who held their food were beaten, 
and if the women hid what they had within their 
hands, their hair was torn for so doing ; nor was there 
any commiseration showed either to the aged or to 
infants, but they lifted up children from the ground, 
as they hung upon the morsels they had gotten, and 
shook them down upon the floor. 

"All hope of escaping was now cut off, together 
with their liberty of going out of the city. Then did 
the famine widen its progress, and devoured the 
people by whole houses and families : the upper 
rooms were full of women and children that were 
dying by famine, and the lanes of the city were full of 
the dead bodies of the aged ; the children also and 
the young men wandered about the market-place like 
shadows, all swelled with the famine, and fell down 
dead wheresoever their misery seized them ! Many 
died as they were burying others, and many went to 
their coffins before that fatal hour was come ! Nor 
was there any lamentation made under these 
calamities, nor were heard any mournful complaints ; 
those who were just going to die looked upon those 
who were gone to their rest before them with dry 
eyes and open mouths. A deep silence also, and a 
kind of deadly night, had seized upon the city ; while 
the robbers were yet more terrible than these miseries 
were themselves, for those who entreated them 
their sword to dispatch them, they were too froward 
to grant their requests, and left them to be consumed 
by their famine. Now every one of these died with 
their eyes fixed upon the temple, and left the sedi- 
tious alive behind them. When Titus, on going his 
rounds along those valleys, saw them full of dead 
bodies, he gave a groan, and spreading out his hands 
to heaven, called God to witness that this was not his 
doing. 

" The multitude of carcasses that lay in heaps, one 
upon another, was a horrible sight ; but as those were 
to go in battle-array, who had been already to ten 
thousand murders, and must tread on those dead 
bodies as they marched along, so were they not 
terrified, nor did they pity men as they marched over 
them." 

Then succeeds the more than horrible description of 
a woman who fed on her own infant, and when the 
seditious came, uncovered what was left of her son, 
and exclaimed, "This is mine own son, and what 
hath been done is mine own doing. Come, eat of this 
food ; for I have eaten of it myself. Do not you pre- 
tend to be either more tender than a woman, or com- 
passionate than a mother ! " 

A description of the temple on fire shall conclude 
these extracts. Pindar and iEschylus, with a volcano 
to inspire the fury of their verse, are vapid, compared 
with the calm terror of the following passage : — 

"While the house was on fire, everything was 
plundered that came to hand, and ten thousand of 
those that were caught were slain ; nor was there a 
commiseration of any age or any reverence of gravity, 
but children, and old men, and priests, were all slain 
in the same manner. The flame was also carried a 
long way, and made an echo together with the groans 
of those that were slain ; and because the hill was 
high, and the works at the temple were veiy great, 
one would have thought that the whole city had been 
on fire. Nor can we imagine or conceive any greater 
or more terrible than this noise, for there was at 



once a shout of the Roman legions, who were marching 
all together, and a sad clamour of the seditious who 
were now surrounded by fire and sword. The peoplo 
made sad moans, at the calamity they were under ; 
the multitude also that were ia the city joined in this 
outcry with those that were on the hill ; and besides 
many of those that were almost worn away by 
famine, and their mouths almost closed, when they 
saw the fire of the Holy House, they exerted their 
utmost strength, and brake out into groans and out- 
cries again. Perea did also return the echo as well 
as the mountains round about the city, and aug- 
mented the force of the entire noise ! yet was the 
misery itself more terrible than this disorder ; for one 
would have thought the hill itself on which the 
temple stood was seething hot, as full of fire in every 
part of it, that the. blood was larger in quantity than 
the fire, and those that were slain more in number 
than those who slew them ; for the ground did no- 
where appear visible, for the dead bodies that lay 
on it ; but the soldiers went over heaps of these 
bodies, as they ran upon such as fled from them ! As 
for the priests, some of them plucked up from the 
holy house the spikes that were upon it, with their 
bases, which were made of lead, and shot them at the 
Romans instead of darts. But then, as they gained 
nothing by so doing, and as the fire burst out upon 
them, they retired to the wall that was eight cubits 
broad, and there they tarried. The soldiers were in 
such a rage, that they set the cloister on fire, by which 
means it came to pass that some of these were de- 
stroyed by throwing themselves down headlong, and 
some were burnt in the cloisters themselves. Nor 
did any one of them escape with his life." 



BOOK VI. 
Note 45, Page 501, Column 2. 

As Parables, where conscience is instinctive judge, 
And to the mind celestial truth commends ? 

" Our Saviour, in all his parables, puts the case on 
the charitable side, and makes the most favourable 
representation of things which the matter will bear. 
In the parable of the ten virgins, he supposes the 
number of the wise to be equal to that of the foolish. 
In the parable of the lost sheep, he supposes but one 
in a hundred to go astray ; and yet the Good Shepherd 
is content to leave all the rest, and go in quest of 
the single straggler. In the third place, there is an 
exact decorum observed in all Christ's parables, and 
everything that is spoken is fitted to the character 
of the person who speaks it, — a beauty which the 
critics look upon as the greatest ornament of a poem, 
and which of itself is sufficient to make it heard or 
read with delight and admiration ; and therefore I 
hope it may recommend our Saviour's parables to the 
nice and delicate taste of our modern wits, who 
are apt to think everything in Scripture so mean 
and flat, as not to be worth their reading. " — Lowth, 
Div., p. 185. 



Note 46, Page 501, Column 1. 

By pure magnificence of spirit raised 
Above whate'er Platonic vision shaped. 

' ' When Plato described his imaginary good man with 
all the shame of guilt, yet meriting the high reward 



THE MESSIAH. 



529 



of virtue, he describes exactly the character of Jesus 
Christ. The resemblance is so striking that all the 
Christian Fathers describe it." — Rous. 



Note 47, Page 504, Column 1 . 

Convulsed within Him, hark, the Human cries. 

" There was present before his ej^es in that fearful 
hour, on the one side, God's heavy indignation and 
wrath towards mankind — as yet unappeased, death 
as yet in full strength, hell as yet never mastered by 
any that came within the confines and bounds thereof, 
somewhat also, peradventure, more than is either 
possible or needful for the wit of man to find out ; 
finally, himself, flesh and blood, left alone to enter 
into conflict with all these. Secondly, on the other 
side, a world to be saved by One, a pacification of 
wrath through the dignity of that sacrifice which 
should be offered, a conquest over death, through 
the power of that Deity which would not suffer 
the tabernacle thereof to see corruption, and an 
utter disappointment of all the forces of infernal 
powers, through the purity of that soul which they 
should have in their hands, and not be able to touch." 
— Hooker, Eccles. Pol. vol. ii. p. 1S7. 



Note 48, Page 504, Column 2. 

there, aloft upraised, 
Their holy Victim in the upper hall 
His trial icaiteth. 

" St. Luke is the only Evangelist who has preserved 
this beautiful circumstance of Christ's turning and 
looking on Peter. The members of the council, who 
sat in judgment on Jesus, were placed at the upper 
end of the hall ; in the other were the servants with 
Peter, at the fire ; so that Jesus, being probably 
placed on some eminence, that his judges, who were 
numerous, might see and hear him, could easily look 
towards Peter, and observe him denying Him, and 
in passionate terms, loud enough to be heard, perhaps, 
over all the place." — Milner's Life and History of 
Christ, p. 294. 



Note 49, Page 505, Column 1. 

But His hour had come ! 

"In all this we observe a remarkable display of a 
particular providence. It had been foretold that the 
Messiah should be crucified; but this could never 
have happened, if he had died by the hands of the Jews, 
or for any offence against their law ; for crucifixion 
was a mode of punishment customary with the 
Romans, but not with the Jews." — Dean Stanhope. 



Note 50, Page 505, Column 2. 

and crown 
Of platted thorns, upon His temples press 'd. 

" There still exists a plant in Palestine, known 
among botanists by the name of the ' spina Christi, ' 
or . thorn of Christ, and supposed to be the shrub 
which afforded the crown worn by our Saviour before 
his crucifixion. It must have been very fit for the 
purpose, for it has many sharp prickles, well adapted 
to give pain ; and as the leaves greatly resemble 
those of ivy, it is not improbable that the enemies 



of the Messiah chose it from its similarity to the 
plant with which emperors and generals are accus- 
tomed to be crowned ; and hence that there might 
be calumny, insult, and derision meditated in the 
very act of punishment." — Russell's Palestine, p. 448. 



Note 51, Page 505, Column 2. 

When list'ning worlds were over-awed to hear 
A creature his incarnate God condemn ! 

"A kind of structure was erected, adjoining the 
palace, which served instead of a tribunal or judg- 
ment-seat. This building, called in the Hebrew 
'Gabbatha,' was finely paved with small pieces of 
marble, of different colours ; being always exposed to 
the weather, perhaps it resembled a stage, but larger, 
open on all sides, and on one part of it a throne was 
placed, whereon the governor sat to hear causes. 
One side of this structure joined to the palace, and a 
door was made in the wall, through which the 
governor passed to the tribunal. By this contrivance 
the people might stand around the tribunal, in the 
open air, hear and see the governor when he spoke 
to them from the pavement, and observed the admi- 
nistration of justice without the danger of being 
defiled. " — Milner. 



Note 52, Page 506, Column 1. 

and down the dizzy steep 
Sunk into darkness, and was seen no more! 

"After he had thus returned the wages of iniquity, 
he retired to some lonely place, not far, perhaps, from 
the scene of Peter's repentance, and in the frenzy of 
despair, and at the instigation of the devil, hanged 
himself; crowning with suicide the murder of his 
master and his friend ; rejecting his compassionate 
Saviour, and plunging his own soul into perdition ! 
In another place it is said, that 'falling headlong, 
he burst asunder, and all his bowels gushed out.' 
— (Acts i. 18.) Both these accounts might be true; 
he might first have hanged himself from some tree 
on the edge of a precipice, and the rope or branch 
breaking, he might be dashed to pieces by the fall." 
— Hale's New Analysis of Chronology, vol. ii. book ii. 
p. 878. 

Lightfoot's surmise is very eccentric on the manner 
of Judas's death: — ''The devil, who dwelt in him, 
caught him up on high, strangled him, and threw 
him down headlong, so that, dashing upon the ground, 
he burst in the midst." — Talmudical Exercitation on 
St. Matthew. 



Note 53, Page 506, Column 1. 

With His cross 
To Calvary the lacerated. Christ 
Is now ascending. 

' ' The form, then, of the cross on which our Saviour 
suffered, was not a simple but a compound figure, 
according to the custom of the Romans, by whose 
procurator he was condemned to die ; in which there 
was not only a straight and erected piece of wood 
fixed in the earth, but also a transverse beam fas- 
tened into that towards the top thereof : and besides 
these two, cutting each other transversely at right 
angles, there was also another piece of wood infixed 
into, and standing out from, that which was erected, 



530 



THE MESSIAH. 



and stood straight up. To that erected piece was 
His body, being lifted up, applied, as Moses* serpent 
to the pole ; and to the transverse beam his hands 
were nailed ; upon the lower part, coming out from 
the erected piece, his sacred body rested, and his 
feet were transfixed and fastened with nails ; his 
head, being pressed with a crown of thorns, was 
applied to that part of the erect which stood above 
the transverse beam ; and above his head, to that 
was fastened the table, on which was written, in 
Hebrew, Greek, and Latin characters, the accusation, 
according to the Roman custom. The writing was — 
1 Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews. ' " — Pearson 
OTi the Creed, fol. ed., pp. 203, 4. 

Note 54, Page 507, Column I. 

in a shape of light 
Triumphant over Powers and TJirones of Hell. 

"As the souls at the hour of death are really sepa- 
rated from the bodies, so the place where they are 
at rest or misery after death is certainly distinct 
from the place in which they lived. They continue 
not where they were at that instant when the body 
was left without life ; they do not go together with 
the body to the grave; but as the sepulchre is 
appointed for our flesh, so there is another receptacle, 
or habitation, or mansion, for our spirits. From 
whence it followeth, that the soul doth certainly 
pass by a real motion from that place in which it 
did inform the body, and is translated to that place, 
and unto that society, which God of his mercy or 
justice allotted it. And, not at present to inquire 
into the difference and distance of these several 
habitations, it will appear to have been the general 
judgment of the Church, that the soul of Christ, 
contradistinguished from his body, that better and 
moi-e noble part of his humanity, his rational and 
intellectual soul, after a true and proper separation 
from his flesh, was really and truly carried into those 
parts below where the souls of men before departed 
were detained ; and that by such a real translation of 
his souL he was truly said to have descended into hell. 
Many have been the interpretations of the opinions of 
the fathers made of late. The persons to whom, and 
end for which, He descended, they differ in ; ' but 
as to a local descent into the infernal parts, they all 
agree.' And this leads me to the end which I conceive 
most conformable to the words of the prophet, and 
least liable to question or objection — that He might 
undergo the condition of a dead man as well as of a 
living. He appeared here, that we might never come 
into those torments, which are these : — By his descent 
he freed us from our fears, and by his ascension he 
secured us of our hopes. He passed to those habi- 
tations where Satan hath taken up possession, and 
exerciseth his dominion ; that, having no power over 
him, we might be assured that he should never exer- 
cise any over our souls departed, as belonging unto 
them. " — Pearson. 



Note 55, Page 509, Column I. 

Lo ! again He came 
Inaudibly, within a chamber barr'd. 

"The circumstance of the doors being shut is very 
happily mentioned by St. John ; because it suggests 
a reason why the disciples took their Master for a 
spirit, notwithstanding many of them were convinced 
he was really risen from the dead." — Milner. 



Note 56, Page 510, Column 1. 

Baptising Nations in the Name triune 
Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! 

" Among the Jews, the controversy was about the 
true Messiah ; among the Gentiles, about the true 
God : it was, therefore, proper among the Jews to 
baptise in the name of Jesus, that he might be vindi- 
cated to be the true Messias : among the Gentiles, 
in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
that they might be hereby instructed in the doctrine 
of the true God. " — Lightfoot's Talmudical Exercit. 

In the earlier part of his life, the sublime Milton 
thus apostrophises the Trinity : — 

"Thou, therefore, that sittest in light and glory 
unapproachable, Parent of angels and men ! Next 
Thee I implore, Omnipotent King, Redeemer of that 
lost remnant, whose nature thou didst assume, inef- 
fable and everlasting Love! And Thou, the third 
subsistence of Divine infinitude, illumining Sphit, 
the joy and solace of created things ! one Tripersonal 
Godhead, look upon this thy poor and almost spent 
and expiring Church." — Milton, Prose Works, vol. i. 
p. 57. 

Note 57, Page 510, Column 2. 

And then, is trackless, — in celestial depths 
Bvanish'd, soaring back to God again ! 

"Ascension into heaven is a plain local translation of 
Christ, according to his manhood, from the lower to 
the higher parts of the world. Session at the right 
hand of God is the actual exercise of that regency 
and dominion, wherein the manhood of Christ is 
joined and matched with the deity of the Son of God. 
Not that his manhood was before without the posses- 
sion of the same power, but because the full use 
thereof was suspended till that humility, which had 
been before as a veil to hide and conceal majesty, 
were laid aside." — Hooker's Bed. Pol. vol. ii. p. 225. 



Note 58, Page 511, Column 2. 

Or creatures, such as once the mental eye 
Of seraph-haunted Milton saw descend. 

Symmons has finely remarked of Milton (Vide Life, 
p. 526), that he was "a man who, if he had been 
delegated as the representative of his species to one 
of the superior worlds, would have suggested a grand 
idea of the human race." In tracing the history of 
his mighty spirit, we cannot but observe the majestic 
view which he entertained of the poetical character. 
With him poetry was something more than amusement 
or pleasure, —it was a high and consecrated energy, to 
be devoted to the mental elevation of mankind. From 
dawning manhood, through all the progressive years 
of his life, the master-dream within was that which 
prefigured poetical greatness. In a "Vacation Exer- 
cise," he confesses a desire to 



Above the wheeling poles, and at heaven's door 

Look in, and see each blissful deity, 

How he before the thund'rous throne doth lie." 

And in a letter to Deodati, he says : — "For a moment 
let me talk proudly to you ; — Do you ask me what is in 
my thought — So may God prosper me, as it is nothing 
less than immortality ! " — And how often, in the barren 



THE MESSIAH. 



531 



■wilds of political controversy, do paragraphs of sur- 
passing beauty and loveliness flower forth, and evince 
the ruliDg purpose of the soul.— Never did he forget 
the "destiny divine" which awaited him in the 
completion of a work. "Not to be obtained by the 
invocation of Dame Memory and her stern daughters, 
but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit, who can 
enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends 
out His Seraphim with the hallowed fire of His altar, 
to touch and purify the lips of whom He pleases : — 
then, amidst the hymns and hallelujahs of saints, 
some one, perhaps, may be heard offering at high 
strains, in new and lofty measures, to sing and 
celebrate the divine mercies and marvellous judg- 
ments in this land throughout all ages."* 



Note 59, Page 511, Column 2. 

But oh ! dark Spirit, whose unquiet shade 
Our fancy visions in reflected gloom. 



The reader is referred to one of Chalmers's sermons 
for some noble remarks on the sadness and darkness 
of the human soul; and the gloomy atmosphere in 
which our spirits so often delight to shape their 
fancies, and converse with futurity. "Was not Young 
sincere when he penned the following passage, that 
resembles the mighty and mysterious anguish which 
the Greek choruses develop ? — "The numberless pains 
of body and mind ; the dark solemn approaches to, or 
dismal vestibules of the grave, as well as opening 
graves themselves, are so thickly scattered over the 
face of the earth, that an unpetrified heart cannot 
look round without feeling an inevitable damp, and 
general disconsolation ; and venting a sigh universal 
for the whole family of Adam. Nothing but strong 
faith in eternal life could hinder tears from bursting 
over it : nor are tears too much, for sympathy is the 
chief duty of human life. " 

Schlegel has philosophically analysed this propensity 
to sadness in the human mind, which neither the 
brightness of the world nor the scorn of affected 
stoicism can entirely overcome. 

"Toman alone, of all animals with which we are 
acquainted, is it permitted to look back towards the 
past, and forward into futurity ; and he has purchased 
this noble privilege at a dear rate. — The desire for 
what is infinite which dwells in our being, is thwarted 
by the limits of the finite by which we are fettered. 
All that we do, all that we effect, is vain and 
pei'ishable ; death stands everywhere in the back- 
ground, and every good or ill spent moment brings 
us in closer contact with him. There is no bond of 
love without repentance, no enjoyment without grief 
for its loss ! When we contemplate, however, the 
relations of our existence to the extreme limit of 
possibilities ; when we consider that we are exposed, 
in our weak, helpless state, to struggle with the 
immeasurable powers of Nature, with conflicting 
desires on the shores of an unknown world, and in 
danger of shipwreck at our very birth : — that in our 
passions we carry our enemy in our bosom ; that 



* How minute are the links in that chain of events 
which compose a life, and yet how important ! — If the 
act of oblivion (on the accession of Charles II.) had 
excepted Milton, or if he had not been concealed in 
St. Bartholomew's Close, we could not have boasted 
a "Paradise Lost." Sir W. Davenant was the means 
of saving Milton by his interposition. 



every moment demands from us the sacrifice of 
our dearest inclinations, in the name of our most 
sacred duties; — then every mind which is not 
dead to feeling must be overpowered by an inex- 
pressible melancholy, against which there is no 
other protection than the consciousness of a destiny 
soaring above this earthly life." — "W. Schlegel's 
Lectures, p. 42. 



Note 60, Page 511, Column 2. 

For Self has overshadow 'd Love divine 
With dread oblivion. 

" What is wanting at the present era is, an insur- 
rection against egotism ; for the moral virtue of each 
individual is found to centre in his own personal 
interest." — De Stael. 

May we not subscribe also to the truth of another 
observation by the same illustrious thinker — " Tous 
les vices se coalisent, tous les talens devraient se 
rapprocher ! " 



Note 61, Page 512, Column 1. 

Thy glorious aim 
Like trv.e religion's, is to lead us back 
From recreant darkness to primeval bliss. 

Lord Bacon relates, that a noble somebody, on 
being asked his opinion of poets, replied, that "next 
to prose writers, they were the best going ! " — But the 
philosopher himself took a high view of poetry, and 
has thus recorded it: — "The use of this feigned 
history* hath been to give some satisfaction to the 
mind of man in those points wherein the nature of 
things doth deny it, the world being, in proportion, 
inferior to the soul ; by reason whereof there is, 
agreeable to the spirit of man, a more ample great- 
ness, a more exact goodness, and a more absolute 
variety, than can be found in the nature of things. 
Therefore, because the acts or events of true history 
have not that magnitude which satisfieth the mind 
of man, poesy feigneth acts and events greater and 
more heroical : — so it appeareth that poesy serveth to 
and conferreth to magnanimity, morality, and delec- 
tation. And, therefore, it was ever thought to have 
some participation of divineness, because it doth raise 
and erect the mind, by submitting the shows of 
things to the desires of the mind, whereas reason 
doth buckle and bow the mind unto the nature of 
things ; to ascribe unto it that which is due for the 
expression of affections, passions, corruptions, and 
customs, we are beholden to poets' more than to 
philosophers' works ; and for wit and eloquence, not 
much less than to orators' harangues." — Advancement 
of Learning, p. S8 — 91. 



* II y a toujours dans les fictions poe"tiques une 
sorte de logique cache's : elles doivent etre en accord 
avec elles-memes ; le beau est l'image du vrai ; la 
coordination des iddes precede et prepare leur 
analyse. Les conceptions poe"tiques exercent au plus 
haut degre" les forces actives de l'esprit; elles le 
dirigent a la recherche de cet ideal qui est aussi a 
plusieurs €gards le type des speculations philo- 
sophiques. — Degerando's Systemes de Philosophic, 
vol. i. p. 380, 2nd edit. 



31 M 2 



Note 62, Page 512, Column 2. 

And since the spirit with the flesh doth war, 
And Life is oft an agonising thirst 
Which nothing visible can tame, or cool. 

" Among the Greeks, human nature was in itself 
all-sufficient ; they were conscious of no wants, and 
aspired at no higher perfection than that which they 
could actually obtain by the exercise of their own 
faculties. We, however, are taught by superior 
wisdom, that man, through a high offence, forfeited 
the place for which he was originally destined. The 
religion of the senses had only in view the possession 
of outward and perishable blessings. The very 
reverse of all this is the case with the Christian ; 
every finite and mortal object is lost in the contem- 
plation of infinity; life has become shadow and 
darkness, and the first dawning of our real existence 
opens in a world beyond the grave. The soul, resting, 
as it were, under the willows of exile, breathes out 
its longing for its distant home. Hence, the poetry 
of the ancients was the poetry of enjoyment, and 
ours that of desire ; the former has its foundation in 
the scene which is present, while the latter hovers 
betwixt recollection and hope." — W. Schlegel. 



Note 63, Page 512, Column 2. 

And though that hour, for resurrection doora'd, 
Be hidden, shrouded from angelic mind. 

"For aught we know, the soul may remain combined 
with a portion of matter less than the ten-thousandth 
part of the minutest particle that was ever perceived 
by our senses ; since great or small is only relative. 
All that we can be sure of is, that if the soul be 
wholly disengaged from matter, and yet shall enjoy 
consciousness and activity, it must be in some quite 
different manner from that in which we now enjoy 
them ; if, on the other hand, the soul remains inert 
and unconscious (as it does with respect to the seeing 
faculty — for instance, when the eyes are closed, or 
blinded), till its re-union with matter, the moment 
of our sinking into this state of unconsciousness will 
appear to us to be instantly succeeded by that of our 
awaking from it, even though twenty centuries may 
have intervened — of which one may convince himself 
by a few moments' reflection." — Whateley's Essay on 
a Future State, Note B, page 29. 



WELLINGTON: 

OR, 

THE HEEO'S FUNEKAL. 



TO HER 

WHO NUMBERS MORE 

THAN TWENTY RELATIONS 

THAT HAVE FOUGHT AND SERVED 
UNDER 

ARTHUE, DUKE OF WELLINGTON, 

THE FOLLOWING ATTEMPT 
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY 

HER HUSBAND. 



" The mighty Man, and the Man of "War, 
The Judge and the Prophet, and the Prudent 
And the Ancient and the Honourable Man." 

Is. iii. 2, 3. 

The King lifted up his voice and wept at the grave 
of Abner, and all the people wept. And the 
King said unto his servants, Know ye not that 
there is a Prince and a great man fallen this day 
in Israel."— 2 Sam. iii. 32—38. 



"satis diu vixisse dicito.' 



INTRODUCTION. 

Through England's capital no rest to- 
night ! 
Where sleepless myriads watch for morning 

light, 
Whose hearts concentre in one vast regret 
To feel the fullness of that awful debt 
A shielded Empire to her saviour owes, 
When grey-hair'd Glory finds its last repose 
Under the crypt; where storied banners wave 
Their drooping pageant o'er some public grave. 

With a fev'rish awe opprest, 
And a something in the breast 
Neither tones nor tears explain, 
Like a mute and mighty pain, 



Or a pulse of voiceless grief 

Too august for word-relief, 

Millions now are slumberless ; 

And in thinking loneliness 
Are brooding o'er the unbreath'd thought, — 
To-morrow down to dust is brought 

That hoary Chief, whose high career 

Will range half Europe round his bier; 

Who fifteen battles fought and won 

Nor left nor lost a British gun, 
But took three thousand cannon from the foe 
The thunder of his charge had laid in battle low ! 



A COMPARISON. 

But while the riband, star, and coronet 
With mingled radiance in one warrior met, 
Austerely simple to the last he stood, 

A hero great by being good ! 
In unity of heart and mind 
Thus he and Nelson are combined 
For prowess, deeds, and all we prize 
When perils round a nation rise : 
The first became the Nelson of all lands, 

The second proved our Wellington by sea ; 
And both were weapon'd by Almighty hands 

To guard the island-fortress of the free : 
Nor when the bomb-shell blazed, and roll'd 

the culverin 
From iron lips of death its thunder and its din, 
From Tagus to the Thames 

From Sambre to the Seine 
Is there a brand that shames 

The spot where he hath been ! — 
The Man was never in the Hero lost 
Nor Valour glorified at "Virtue's cost. 



n. 
NIGHT-SCENES ON NOVEMBER 17. 

November's night is harsh and cold ; 
Like banners seem the clouds up-roll'd 
Sable and dusk, in starless heaven, 
And, here and there, by night-gales driven; 



536 



WELLINGTON. 



Fiercely and fast the loud-toned rain 

Battles against the window-pane ; 

But neither wet nor winter's chill 
The mingled rush* becalm of myriads coming 

still :— 
Through dusky lane, and street, or lighted 

square 
London is moved, and motion everywhere ! 



MIDNIGHT. 

But at last, there seems a lull 
Making night more beautiful. 
Chariot, steed, and rapid car 
With fainter cadence roll afar ; 
Till a deeper hush is come, 
And the wide and wakeful hum 
Ebbs and falls, and dies away 
Like a dream-tone's melting play. 
Through their rent and riven shrouds 
Planets beam from yonder clouds ; 
Pallid stars patrol the sky, 
And arrest some musing eye, 
While yon weak and wat'ry moon, 
Like a soft and silver noon 
On the turret gleams awhile 
With a pale and placid smile. 

Soon o'er the varied City's vast extent 
A deep'ning stillness from the night is sent ; 
And the calmer few who can 
Master all the scenes of man, 
Keeping down the pulse of life 
When it throbs in storm or strife, — 
Feel the balm of slumber now 
Brooding over cheek and brow ; 
Those that work, and they who weep, 
Woo the mercy of mild sleep ; 
And in soft innocence of sacred rest 
The babe lies pillow'd on maternal breast. 



DAWN. 
But the cloudy dawn is waking 
And the day-blush dimly breaking : 
Again the fevers of excitement roll 
Tides of emotion through that public soul 
Which heaves vast London, while 'mid hearts 

that mourn, 
A dead Immortal to his tomb is borne. • 
A thrilling freshness in the bracing air 
Gives sudden token that the wind is fair ; 
Or the blue forehead of the Sky afar 
Glows like a gem of lustre one lone star, 
Whose quiv'ring radiance, exquisitely bright, 
Throbs through the ah*, and fascinates the sight. 
Eelenting Winter hath subdued her rain, 
And, lo! the clearing heavens are calm again : — 



A beaming change of blessed weather 
To welcome hearts convened together, 
As though the conscious Atmosphere would pay 
Some genial homage to this glorious day. 



MORNING. 
And now go forth ! — a spectacle to see 
Eternalized in mind and memory. 
Yet, when the Muse of History records 
The pomp we celebrate, in deathless words, 
She will not pause o'er car and cavalcade, 
Or mailed hosts in banner'd pomp array'd ; 
But this will be the truth, to tell, — 
That Empires loved one Man so well, 
A million and a half of mourners came 
Whose hearts were motto'd with his cherish'd 
name ! 
The People make the pageant then ; 
His monument is living men ; 
And never in the past of hero-crowded time 
Look'd Hannibal so great, or Pompey so 
sublime ! 
And why 1 because the Chief of Waterloo 
Teaches all ages what firm Will can do 
When, all intol'rant of the mean and low, 
Yirtue his friend, and Vice his only foe, 
Each baser passion from the bosom hurl'd, — 
The vanquisher of Self is victor of the World ! 
Career and character, where thus combined, 
Both make and move the hist'ry of mankind, 
When perill'd Crisis and o'erwhelming Power 
Need more than strategy to front the hour. 



On window, roof, and balcony, 
Where foot can stand, or eye can see ; 
By churchyard-gate, or garden-wall, 
Near porch and palace, hut and hall 
Crowd human forms, like clust'ring bees 
That swarm at noon on summer-trees ; 
While, clashing with incessant jar, 
Push chariot-wheels and rolling car; 
Horse and horsemen then combine, 
Clear the way, and close the line : — 
Still, the trooping thousands come ! 
Deeper yet the distant hum ; 
Ev'ry form and ev'ry face 
Apparell'd with emotion's trace; 
Each for each, and all on all 
For succour in loud chorus call, 
Till the whirling air around 
Surges like a sea of sound ! 



THE PROCESSION FORMS. 
'Tis eight o'clock by matin-chime ; 
And signal -guns announce the time, 




While countless numbers, mute with breathless 

trance, 
Seem melted into one, to view the Pomp 

advance. 

With lingering preludes, long and low, 
Comes marching on, serene and slow, 
'Mid symphonies of solemn woe 

Yon Cavalcade of Death ! 
With mourning trump and muffled drum 
Behold the vast procession come, 

And hold your pausing breath ! 

Cornet, flute, and clarion pour 
Mingled death-wails more and more; 
Bannerets and blazonry 
With plumes of tow'ring pageantry, 
Mingled with the harness'd gun, 
Streaming Flag and Gonfalon, 
Colours out of carnage won, 
Eifles, Horse, and Fusileer, 
Dragoon, Marine, and Grenadier, 
And scar-worn Pensioners, with sable wands' 
That faintly quiver'd in their feeble hands, 
Steed and soldiers' measured pace, 
Wearing each some mourning-trace, 
While sob and sigh intensely show 
The heavings of the heart below, 

All this, with heavy tramp, and hollow 

tread, 
To symbolise they mourn the dead, — 
Concentre, if thou can, the harmonising 

whole, 
And treasure it with tears of sympathy and 
soul! 



THE CHARGER. 

But yet awaits a tearful Sight, 
Though not with martial splendour dight. 
As some lone bugle, when the fight is done, 
That wails a death-note, while the dying sun 
Goes down on carnage-cover'd fields, 
O'er sad imagination wields 
A spell more potent than the cannon-roar, 
So, yon last steed which bears its Chief no more, 
Pierces the heart with pathos all its own 
And moves each chord with some responsive 

tone; 
Where now, the last to close the cavalcade 
That through three miles its winding pomp 
display'd, 
A groom-led Charger riderless 
Comes drooping in its loneliness, 
As though the meek-eyed Creature felt 
Funereal sorrow through it melt. 
And, who that saw the boot and spur, 
. And did not feel his life-blood stir, 



When that denuded Steed a type was made to be 
That glory is the garb earth puts on vanity I 



MILITARY -SCENE. 
Hark ! again the muffled drum, 
While the plumed Battalions come 
Timing deep their measured tread 
To the March surnamed the Dead, 
Six in file, in single rank, 
Einging out a hollow clank : — 
Mingle with the martial scene 
Mailed Guard and red Marine, 
Foot and Horse-Artillery, 
And brigades of Infantry : 
For thus, each Eegiment sent its type to show 
Some fitting token of funereal woe ; 
And when, to end the vast array, 
Hussar and Lancer lined the way, 
The wailing Piper, next, a pibroch blew 
And coronach that thrill'd the soul of Feeling 
through ! 

IX. 
FUNERAL-CAR. 

But lo ! with gloomy scutcheons glorious 
Each telling of the Past victorious, 
Engraved by heraldry of war, 
Comes rolling on the laurell'd Car 
Under the shade of whose triumphant pall 
Imagination dreams the earthly all 

Of Arthur, Duke of Wellington ! — 
The greatest Hero Time has gazed upon. 
And never since bereaved patriots met 
In solemn anguish and sublime regret 
Eound the mourn'd bier of warrior, saint or 

king, 
Could grateful Mem'ry into action bring 
Such impulses of thrilling awe 
As sanctified the scene I saw, 
Drawn by twelve steeds of sable hue 
When first the Death-car roll'd in view. 



• x. 
A LIVING SPECTACLE. 

'Twas not the pomp, the banner, nor the 

plume, 
E"or all which glorifies a Warrior's tomb, 
That touch'd with superhuman power 
The awful pathos of that deathless hour. 
'Twas moral Grandeur! 'twas the true 

sublime 
Of sacred Nature soaring out of time, 
And drinking in from worlds which faith 

can see 
The inspirations of eternity. 



538 



WELLINGTON. 



And one such moment grasps an age of life, 
With more than poetry and passion rife ; 
Making us feel immortal instincts rise 
And claim celestial kinship with the Skies. 



XL 

Round that high Car though countless hosts 

assembled, 
And under pawing steeds the pathways 
trembled, 
You might have heard your heart-pulse 

beat, 
So hush'd became the o'eraw'd Street ! 
And pale, as if with inward prayer, 
The living Mass stood gazing there, 
With heads uncover'd and with moisten'd 

eyes, 
Whose silence utter'd, " There a Hero lies ! 
From whom, when call'd to bid the earth 

farewell, 
The truncheons of eight laurell'd Armies 
fell; 

The pillar of our Church and State, 
By self-renouncement nobly great ; 
Who in the storm of public danger stood 
Bold as the rock that baffles ocean's flood, 
And when the lion-flag of warfare was unfurl'd 
Bade Vict'ry rear it high, and wave it round 
the world ! " 



XII. 

EUROPEAN HOMAGE. 

Upon his honour'd Bier, attendant, 
With nodding plume and waving 
pendant, 
Alone not Britain sent the bearers of his pall ; 
But, moved by gallant chivalry 
That breathed of heart-nobility, 
Seven Marshals graced with Heraldry, 
From foreign lands, spontaneously from 
all, 
Have come to tell of his career 
Whose prowess friend and foe revere, 
Each bearing in the crape-bound hand 
Some baton of extinct command 
Monarchs or princes had in life bestow'd 
On that brave Chief, to whom their Kingdoms 

owed 
A vaster debt than peerless Eank can pay, 
Or golden Orders in their gemm'd array. 
Belgium and Prussia, Portugal and Spain, 
And distant Russia, from her ice-bound plain, 
With Hanover, and England too, 
Eemember'd mighty Waterloo ! 
But Austria sent no warrior-chief 
Her own to blend with British grief; 



Coldly apart from those united kings 
Who each their homage to a Hero 

brings, 
Preferr'dto stand, and gracelessly forget 
The Past she burdens with an unpaid 

debt, 
Because a woman-scourger in his bodv 

felt 
A Nemesis for that vile blow he dealt ; * 
Alas ! that in an hour like this, the pride 
Of less than Littleness was gratified ! 
And caused a Kingdom thus to stand alone, 
Nor honour Him who saved her shaken 
throne. 

XIII. 

VETERANS AND MOURNERS. 

But turn we to a nobler theme. 
How mournful, then, their martial dream 
Who, while around them tramp and stir 
The Herald, Troop, and Trumpeter, 
Were haunted with a blent array 
Of scenes which ne'er dissolve away ; 
And imaged forth with mind's creative eye 
The Man who taught them how to dare, and die, 
As, trench'd with many a battle-scar, 
The white-hair'd Veterans of war 
Gather and group beside yon bier, 
And scarce can hide the welling tear ! 

Past sharers in dread fields of blood 
Full oft with him these comrades stood, 
W hen valour beam'd from that victorious brow 
Which cold in coffin'd death lay plumeless 

now ! 
And could they view those guns, whose 

dauntless roar 
Thunder'd proud Albion's name from shore 

to shore, 
Or on the steed, array'd in boot and spur, 
Fix their sad eyes, nor feel the dead Past stir 
Within them, like a living thought 
With years of resurrection fraught ] 
On Torres Vedras' bulwark'd lines 
Again the flag of England shines ! 
Yimiera's field, and Salamanca's fight, 
And Talavera's, when it roused the night, 
Sebastian's siege, and Badajos' return, 
And Albuera, with its conflict stern : 
Yisions of battle and campaign arise 
And flash before their unforgetting eyes ! — 
From the first laurel gain'd at dread 

Assaye, 
To the red carnage on that thrilling day 



* These lines allude to a summary act of popular 
vengeance executed by an English mob on an Austrian, 
who had disgraced himself by cruelty to women. 



WELLINGTON. 



539 



Embalm'd for ever in sublime renown, 
When England struck the Gallic Eagle 

down, 
And the War-Fiend,* who half a world 

had won, 
Sank wither d by the blast of Wellington ! 

Thus, round the coffin of th' heroic Dead 
A living atmosphere of love is spread 
That glows with hist'ry, till the plumed 

bier 
Is almost hidden by a warrior's tear. 
The shock of Armies, and the battle-shout 
Of charging Valour, when it put to rout 
Column and cavalry in fierce attack, 
Ring through his brain, and bring the 

dead Years back : 
Till fancy hears the loud " Hurrah !" 
That Picton raised at Quatre-Bras 
Where royal Brunswick closed his eye, 
While, bivouack'd beneath the sky, 

Some bleeding sentinel who watch'd the 
night 

Heard the last bugle that bewail'd the fight. 

XIV. 
PROCESSION TO THE CATHEDRAL. 
Again we listen ! for the cornet's wail 
Pours on the wind its melancholy tale. 
Upward, o'er the troop -lined way 
Flank'd in full and firm array, 
Still the banner'd Pomp proceedeth, 
Horse and horseman onward leadeth ; 
Mourning hearts with inward chime 
To the Dead March beating time ; 
Near and nearer still they come 
To the Hero's burial-home, 
Under the arching shade of yon cathedral- 
dome. 

xv. 

FAREWELL. 
Ere between the church-yard gate 

Car and cavalcade have enter'd, 
Still for thoughtful eyes await 

Such a scene and sight concenter'd, 
As all the pomps which fascinate the gaze, 
The wreaths of conquest, and the palms of 
praise 

Can rival not, » 

But sink forgot, 



* Have you forgotten that the bones of our children, 
of our brothers, flperywhere attest our fidelity — in 
the sands of Africa, on the shores of the Guadalquivir 
and the Tagus, on the banks of the Vistula, and in 
the frozen deserts of Muscovy ? — During more than 
ten years, three millions of Frenchmen have perished 
for a man who wishes still to struggle against all 
Europe.— La Fayette. 



When England's sworded Prince appears ; 

And, marching by him, touch'd with manly 
tears, 
Saluting warriors slowly move, 
And shadow forth the signs of love 
On face and feature, which betoken 
What quiv'ring words could not have 

spoken, 
But now with tearful eloquence they tell, — 
The British army bid their Chief farewell ! 



XVI. 
ST. PAUL'S. 

'Mid radiant masses of reposing light 
Yon Temple seems dilated to the sight, 
While vast perspectives of cathedral-gloom 
Whose drap'ry serves to symbolise the tomb, 
Entrance the gazer with absorbing spell 
As though some Yision on the spirit fell. 
Thoughts of earth and thrills from 

heaven 
Thus to each and all are given, 
And accost the inner-sense 
With a dumb, deep eloquence, 
Such as Faith and Conscience hear 
When they bend around the bier. 

Now enter there ! survey that vaulted Dome 

Encircled o'er with beads of golden light, 
As though a supernat'ral noon had come 

To glorify the realms of night. 
Round the curved base a wreath of lustre 

glances, 
High o'er its many-pictured roof advances, 
And lights, as if with living play, 
Gigantic forms in war-array : 
From capital to capital 
Through transept and pilaster'd 
wall 
Down nave and aisle the line of lustre 
streams 
O'er circled tiers of dome-ascending seats, 
Till the last row some closing pillar meets, 
Where soft effulgence tremulously 
gleams. 

But not by picture-words of poetry 

Yon mass of concentrated human kind 
In hues of language can reflected be, 
As e'er to fascinate and fill the mind, 
And realise what they beheld, 
With voiceless wonder inly 
quell'd, 
Whose spell-bound eyes o'ergazed the 

mighty Whole, 
And caught the magic of the mind 
and soul 



540 



WELLINGTON. 



Which beam'd from ev'ry face in that 

funereal throng-, 
Beyond the painter's hue, above the poet's 
song ! 
Throne and Altar, Bench and State, 
Brave and wise, and good and great, 
All Britain welcomes with revering eye, 
Fill'd the hush'd Fane where buried heroes 

lie, 
And ocean's warrior, in his tomb sublime, 
Waits the last trump which rings the knell 

of Time.* 
Another gaze ! while amber'd sunbeams fall 
And through the lofty dome-light 
streaming, 
Come slanting downward on the concave 
wall 
With more than earth-born radiance 
gleaming, — 
On tinted robes in tremulous array 
Pulses of painted lustre seem to play. 
But, hark ! before the western-gate 

A solemn Dead-March sounds ; 
And, moving in sepulchral state, 
Approaches to its hallow'd bounds 
The last Procession ; while the booming 

knell 
Blends its deep cadence with the organ- 
swell. 
Planted by each bearer's hand, 
Flag and Guidon take their stand ; 
In glitt'ring column, robed with gorgeous vest, 
A double file of grouping warriors rest 

Around yon hidden burial-place ; 
While Choir and Clergy up the nave 
Marshal and move, and gleam and wave 

Their priestly robes, as on they 
pace. 
And mark, along the living mass 
Electrical emotions pass ! — 
Profound, unreason' d, an instinctive awe 
Of something deeper than mere Yision saw, 
Thrills the mute concourse, till they meekly 

rise 
With all the patriot glist'ning in their eyes : 
And feelings not of this world clothe each 

brow, 
As on, with measured tread, advances now 
The choir-procession, while the burial-chant 
With resurrection-tones so jubilant, 
Peals the dead Warrior on his plumed bier, 
'Mid sigh, and sob, and many a martial tear, 
Onward to his long, last home 
Underneath th' illumined Dome ! 
But as the wind-bow'd plumes were 

bending^ 
High o'er his coffin-lid depending, 



Nelson is buried in Hi. Paul's. 



IIow life and death together seem'd to be 
And awed the gazer like a Mystery ! 



Thus amidst the boom of bells 
Tolling their funereal-knells, 
The organ-peal, and cannon-roar 
lie-echoed round the temple-door, 
With all due pomp of heraldry, 
With each befitting pageantry, 
'Mid waving banners to his tomb is borne 
Great Wellington ! — and soon shall wailing 
horn 

And cadence of the muffled drum 
Tell the awed Soul the last is come ! 
For, ducal crown and scutcheon'd bier 
Will be engulph'd, and disappear ; 
Down the chasm, dark and deep 
Yearning eyes will strain and weep ; 
Then, the staff of office broken 
Will reveal its sign and token ; 
And the Garter-King proclaim 
More than ever earth-wide fame 
Gave heroic Man before, 
Or the brightest patriot bore. 



THE BURIAL. 

Like dream-heard music when it melts away 

Serenely dying, sad and slow, 
Thus from the living air and light of day 

Adown the vaulted crypt below 
The coffm'd frame of Wellington 
Descends, — recedes, — and all is gone ! 
And o'er it deepens with expressive gloom 

The yawning darkness of that open 
Tomb, 
Where Nelson sleeps, but now, where two 
are laid 

In death's cold slumber, side by side ; 
Of whom hereafter 'twill be nobly said, 

Millions were mourners when they died ! 

And in the Temple, where he lies 
Entomb'd with martial obsequies, 
Oh ! never since that Shrine of prayer 
Lifted its cross in sun and air, 
Or choral praise with chanted swell 
Upon the ears of Godhead fell,* 
Have quiring voices breathed an anthem- 
tone, 
From sixteen thousand i^elted into one, 
The diapason of whose deep Amen 
To earth seem eclio'd back from glory-realms 
again ! 

* "Thou that nearest prayer. "—Ps. lxv. 2. 



XVIII. 
CONCLUSION. 

The booming echoes of the minute-gun 
Hark ! how they roll from London's castle- 
towers, 
Proclaiming the sepulchral rites are done : 
Yet, ere the World resume its wonted 
powers, 
While dying notes from many a distant knell 
Sink into silence with a sad farewell, 
A moralising gloom on man descends 
And not unfitly with the Pageant blends. 



NATURE'S ANALOGY. 

In red magnificence of evening-dyes, 

Oft like a paradise of cloud there lies 

A pomp aerial, such as poets love, 

When beauty consecrates the heavens above. 

There, musing on some breezy height, 

Enthroned in loveliness and light, 

A lone spectator stands to view 

The day-god wear his parting hue, 

When gliding down the crimson'd west 

He wraps him in his regal vest. — 

How exquisite awhile to be 

Surrender'd up to Sky and Sea ! 

As drinking in the splendid whole 

He mingles with Creation's soul, 

While lisping waves, with pensive lull, 

And cadence faintly-beautiful, 

Chime with the hour, till earth and air 

An elemental magic wear, 

And so entrance impassion'd Hearts, 

The soul forgets, the Scene departs. — 

But while they dream, the cloud-pomp dies 

A beauteous death along the skies ; 

The pallid dews of night descend, 

And dimness and dejection end 

Those witching spells of sunset-hour 

Which give to poesy its power. 



MORAL CONTRAST. 

So would it be when this great Day shall 

close 
Which bore the Warrior to his dead repose, 
If tinsell'd pageantry or painted scene 
Gave the true, witness which the day hath 

been. 
But when the blazonry of public Woe 
Fades from our vision, like an air-born show. 
The deep significance which underlies 
All outer-forms is one that never dies, 
But melts into the moral life within 
And prompts that spirit where those Aims 

begin 



Which soar beyond a passion for renown, 
And learn from Duty how to win the 

crown. 
For England's people, from the humblest clan 
Of working poor and toil-worn artisan, 
From town, from hamlet, and the hawthorn- 
side 
Where the lone cotters in contentment bide, 
Have each received within responsive mind 
Ennobling thoughts which elevate mankind. 
And thus, perchance, when other palms are 

won, 
Time will reveal how much this day hath 

done 
To form the patriot in the public heart ; 
Or, teach the warrior his predestined part, 
And sow, as far as pure Example can, 
Those seeds, whose harvest is — heroic Man ! 

Mere vulgar Heroes of the vicious stamp 
Whose names suggest a carnage, or a camp, 
Meteors of Crime, the monsters of the past 
W T ho sweep the world with desolating blast, 
And when they perish in their dread career 
Leave Time to track them by the widow's 

tear, — 
May point the moral of some future page : 
But, when the Warrior, Senator, and Sage 
Meet in one man, like Him we mourn to-day, 
Conscience predicts, what unborn years will 

say, — 
That he had pass'd into the Nation's heart 
Of which he grew a principal and part • 
And when he died, far more than boundless 

Grief 
Sought in the burial-pomp a fit relief, — 
Each for himself put fun'ral raiment on, 
And wept a friend in mourning Wellington. 



xx. 

PATRIOTISM. 
And Thou, environ'd with thy zone of waves, 
Nursling of waters ! whom old Ocean laves 
As though He loved to hear his billow-roar 
Champion the rocks which sentinel thy shore ; 
Intrepid Isle ! whose amaranthine bays 
Bloom in the light of Heaven's approving 
gaze; 
Defender of the Faith in Christendom's great 

heart ! 
Well may we proudly think on this day what 
Thou art, 
And, pond'ring o'er th' imperishable past, 
See Glory's halo round thy hist'ry cast ! 

Let Patriots boast of thine and thee, 
Of Commerce, Arms, and Chivalry, 



542 



WELLINGTON. 



Of princely homes, of palace-halls, 
Of Culture, and whate'er recals 
How lofty Will can dare, and lion-heart can do, 
When Trafalgar became an ocean- Waterloo : 
'Tis right to let such feeling reign, 
And when dead Ages breathe again, 
O'er the harp-string of the soul 
Like a lyric rapture roll. 

And their proud boast is purer still 
If Thou thy mission-work fulfil, 
As dauntless champion of the Truth to stand 
And brighten Europe like a beacon-land, 
By teaching tyrants who would crush the 

mind, 
'Tis sacrilege ! — for God is there enshrined. 
Thus sacred law and liberty unite 
A Prince's sceptre with the People's right, 
And in the thunder of a bold-voiced Press 
Nations can utter forth their nobleness, 
Who find in scripture, when it frees the soul, 
A Magna Charta which sublimes the whole ! 



THE PEOPLE. 

Yet bounds the heart with patriotic bliss 
Through all excitements of a morn like this, 
To think, how nobly have the People proved 
They well can honour whom they wisely 

loved ! 
For while they paid to peerless Wellington 
A homage Alexander never won, 
The lofty and the low, our peasants and our 

peers 
Have met and mingled here, unchill'd by 

frowns or fears, 
In this metropolis of varied Man 
Where Nature musters every type she can ; 
And yet, no impious Wrong hath once 

profaned 
The sabbath-peace of sentiment which 

reign'd ; 
But all was just, magnanimous, sincere ; 
And, heralded by many a votive tear, 
The sun went down with no recorded crime 
And left the British character sublime 1 



XXI. 
THE HERO. 

With parting homage let these lines conclude, 
And consecrate a poet's gratitude 
To him, the paragon of English praise, 
In whom Posterity's admiring gaze 
Will mark a Hero, who adorn'd the Earth 
And made the World a debtor to his worth : 
Best of the best, and greatest of the great 
In all which guards a throne, or guides a 
state ; 



The massive grandeur of whose balanced 

mind 
Was so adjusted, that the Will inclined 
Where Conscience led, and not where 

Fortune threw 
Her fleeting radiance o'er some distant 

view. — 
His frame was iron ; and with sleepless force 
Through half a cent'ry traced his hero-course : 
Abroad, at home, in Senate-house, or Field, 
Friendship and Hate alike to his firm 

counsels yield, 
Whose glance, by mental intuition, ran 
Through each dark maze of policy and plan, 
And reached conclusions whose results 

contain 
Maxims and morals, which will rule and 

reign 
As long as Treason, Stratagem, and War 
Endanger thrones, or threaten from afar. 

Just as the Law, inflexible as Truth, 
Thus lived great Wellington in age and 

youth ; 
And when hoar'd years had bow'd that classic 

head 
With silver-locks so venerably spread, 
How did we greet him in the public Square 
And rouse the stranger with re-echo'd 

" There ! 
u There comes The Duke ! whose very- 
shadow throws 
A light on England, wheresoe'er he goes (* 
While pausing Childhood with entranced 

eye 
Beheld him in his glory moving by : 
And though the winter of declining age 
Touch'd form and feature with a sad presage, 
In list'ning reverence how the Senate hung 
On the plain Saxon of that pithy tongue ! — 
The smiting earnestness of honest speech 
Which taught more wisdom than mere 
words can reach. 

And hence, the Arbiter of Empires, he 
Reign'd on his throne of true simplicity, 
And by the firmness of unflinching will 
Rallied around him trusting Empires still : — 
A Kingly Subject, whose unscepter'd hand 
Was more than Armies, when it waved 

command. 
And this, by virtue of that noble Creed 
That helm'd each movement in the hour of 

need, 
The master-spell which rein'd emotion 

down — 
That danger must be met by duty to The 

Crown ! 



WELLINGTON. 



543 



XXII. 

FINAL APOSTROPHE. 

Since God descends through history to Man 
Whose dark vicissitudes but veil His plan, 
And mortal Agents, while they do and dare 
Are but the Organs of His purpose there, 
Oh, Thou ! to whom the shields* of earth 

belong, 
The everlasting StroDger than the Strong ;f 
Divine Upholder of heroic souls 
Whom prowess arms, or purity controls, 
Bulwark'd with blessings which reveal Thy 

Hand 
Long may the charter'd State of England 

stand ; 
That peerless growth of patriotic mind, 
The great, eternal Wonder of mankind ! 
Lodge in our British hearts true love of Thee 
And cause Thine Image on this earth to be, 
Whose varied destinies of weal and woe 
Preach the vast truth a creedless world 

should know, — 



* Ps. xlvii. 90. t Luke xi. 22. 

J Every reader who can appreciate the homage of 
intellect to the illustrious dead, will be gratified by the 
perusal of two masterpieces of eulogy which appeared 
when the great Duke died. The first is an article 
from "The Times," and the second, Mr. D'Israeli's 
speech, delivered in the House of Commons. 

" If aught can lessen this day the grief of England 
upon the death of her greatest son, it is the recollection 
that the life which has just closed leaves no duty 
incomplete, and no honour unbestowed. The Duke 
of Wellington had exhausted nature and exhausted 
glory. His career was one unclouded longest day, 
filled from dawn to nightfal with renowned actions, 
animated by unfailing energy in the public service, 
guided by unswerving principles of conduct and of 
statesmanship. He rose by a rapid series of achieve- 
ments which none had surpassed to a position which 
no other man in this nation ever enjoyed. The place 
occupied by the Duke of "Wellington in the councils of 
the country and in the life of England can no more be 
filled. There is none left in the army or the Senate 
to act and speak with like authority. There is none 
with whom the valour and the worth of this nation 
were so incorporate. Yet, when we consider the 
fulness of his years and the abundance of his incessant 
services, we may learn to say with the Roman orator, 
' Satis diu vixisse dicito,' since, being mortal, nothing 
could be added either to our veneration or to his 
fame. Nature herself had seemed for a time to 
expand her inexorable limits, and the infirmities of 
age to lay a lighter burden on that honoured head. 
Generations of men had passed away between the 
first exploits of his arms and the last counsels of his 
age, until by a lot unexampled in history, the man 
who had played the most conspicuous part in the 
annals of more than half a century became the last 
survivor of his contemporaries, and carries with him 
to the grave all living memory of his own achieve- 
ments. To what a century, to what a country, to 
what achievements was that life successfully dedicated ! 
For its prodigious duration — for the multiplicity of 



The life of Nations is a god-like thing 
Beyond mere Laureates of the world to sing; 
Nursed and ennobled not by wealth and 

power 
Nor all the pageants which bemock the hour, 
But ruled by reason, and by faith sublimed 
To loftier heights than Glory ever climb'd. 

Celestial Lord of uncreated Love ! 
Waft to our souls pure wisdom from above, 
And teach the secret of Thy moral plan, — 
The source of freedom is God's will in man, 
When sainted hearts have meekly understood 
That perfect greatness is a power for good ; 
Typing the Godhead, Who Himself is great 
Not by the thunders of enthroned state ; 
Yet in the majesty of boundless might 
Wills what is law, but in that law wills 

right; 
That Saints and Seraphim alike may see 
Their archetypes in His eternity, 
And while they anthem an almighty Throne 
Eeflect His glories, and increase their own.* 



contemporary changes and events, far outnumbering 
the course of its days and years — for the invariable 
and unbroken stream of success which attended it 
from its commencement to its close, from the first 
flash of triumphant valour in Indian war to that 
senatorial wisdom on which the Sovereign and the 
nation hung for counsel to its latest hour — for the 
unbending firmness of character which bore alike all 
labour and all prosperity— and for unalterable attach- 
ment to r the same objects, the same principles, the 
same duties, undisturbed by the passions of youth and 
unrelaxed by the honours and enjoyments of peace 
and of age — the life of the Duke of Wellington stands 
alone in history. In him, at least, posterity will 
trace a character superior to the highest and most 
abundant gifts of fortune. If the word ' heroism ' 
can be not unfairly applied to him, it is because he 
remained greater than his own prosperity, and rose 
above the temptations by which other men of equal 
genius, but less self-government, have fallen below 
their destinies. His life has nothing to gain from the 
language of panegyric, which would compare his 
military exploits or his civil statesmanship with the 
prowess of an Alexander or a Caesar, or with the 
astonishing career of him who saw his empire over- 
thrown by the British General at Waterloo. They 
were the offspring of passion and of genius, flung 
from the volcanic depths of revolutions and of civil 
war to sweep with meteoric splendour across the earth, 
and to collapse in darkness before half the work of 
life was done. Their violence, their ambition, their 
romantic existence, their reverses, and their crimes 
will for ever fascinate the interest of mankind, and 
constitute the secret of their fame, if not of their 
greatness. To such attractions the life and character 
of the Duke of Wellington present no analogy. If he 
rose to scarce inferior renown, it was by none of the 
passions or the arts which they indulged or employed. 
Unvanquished in the field, his sword was never drawn 
for territorial conquest, but for the inderjendence of 
Europe and the salvation of his country. Raised by 
the universal gratitude of Europe and of this nation 



544 



WELLINGTON. 



to the highest point of rank and power which a 
subject of the British monarchy could attain, he wore 
those dignities and he used that influence within the 
strictest limits of a subject's duty. No law was ever 
twisted to his will, no right was ever sacrificed by 
one hair's breadth for his aggrandizement. There 
lived not a man either among his countrymen or his 
antagonists who could say that this great Duke had 
wronged him ; for his entire existence was devoted to 
the cause of legal authority and regulated power. 
You seek in it in vain for those strokes of audacious 
enterprise which in other great captains, his rivals in 
fame, have sometimes won the prize of crowns or 
turned the fate of nations. But his whole career 
shines with the steady light of day. It has nothing 
to conceal, it has nothing to interpret by the flexible 
organs of history. Everything in it is manly, com- 
pact, and clear ; shaped to one rule of public duty, 
animated by one passion — the love of England, and 
the service of the Crown. 

' ' The Duke of Wellington lived, commanded, and 
governed in unconscious indifference or disdainful 
aversion to those common incentives of human action 
which are derived from the powers of imagination 
and of sentiment. He held them cheap, both in 
their weakness and in their strength. The force and 
weight of his character stooped to no such adven- 
titious influences. He might have kindled more 
enthusiasm, especially in the early and doubtful days 
of his Peninsular career ; but in his successful and 
triumphant pursuit of glory her name never passed 
his lips even in his addresses to his soldiers. His 
entire nature and character were moulded on reality. 
He lived to see things as they were. His acute glance 
and cool judgment pierced at once through the 
surface which entangles the imagination or kindles 
the sympathy of the feelings. Truth, as he loved her, 
is to be reached by a rougher path and by sterner 
minds. In war, in politics, and in the common 
transactions of life, the Duke of "Wellington adhered 
inflexibly to the most precise correctness in word 
and deed. His temperament abhorred disguises and 
despised exaggerations. The fearlessness of his actions 
was never the result of speculative confidence or 
foolhardy presumption, but it lay mainly in a just 
perception of the true relation in which he stood to his 
great antagonists in the field or in the Senate. The 
greatest exploits of his life, such as the passage of 
the Douro, followed by the march on Madrid, the 
battle of Waterloo, and the passing the Catholic 
Relief BilL were performed under no circumstances 
that could inspire enthusiasm. Nothing but the 
coolness of the player could have won the mighty 
stakes upon a [cast apparently so adverse to his 
success.. Other commanders have attained the 
highest pitch of glory when they disposed of the 
colossal resources of empires, and headed armies 
already flushed with the conquest of the world. The 
Duke of Wellington found no such encouragement in 
any part of his career. At no time were the means 
at his disposal adequate to the ready and certain 
execution of his designs. His steady progress in the 
Peninsular campaigns went on against the current 
of fortune, till that current was itself turned by 
perseverance and resolution. He had a clear and 
complete perception of the dangers he encountered, 
but he saw and grasped the latent power which 
baffled those dangers and surmounted resistances 
apparently invincible. That is precisely the highest 
degree of courage, for it is courage conscious, enlight- 
ened, and determined. 



" Clearness of discernment, correctness of judgment, 
and rectitude in action were, without doubt, the 
principal elements of the Duke's brilliant achieve- 
ments in war, and of his vast authority in the councils 
of his country, as well as in the conferences of 
Europe. They gave to his determinations an originality 
and vigour akin to that of genius, and sometimes 
imparted to his language in debate a pith and 
significance at which more brilliant orators failed to 
arrive. His mind, equally careless of obstacles and 
of effect, travelled by the shortest road to its end ; 
and he retained, even in his latest years, all the 
precision with which he was wont to handle the 
subjects that came before him, or had at any time 
engrossed his attention. This was the secret of that 
untaught manliness and simplicity of style that 
pervades the vast collection of his despatches, 
written as they were amidst the varied cares and 
emotions of war ; and of that lucid and appropriate 
mode of exposition which never failed to leave a 
clear impression on the minds of those whom he 
addressed. Other men have enjoyed, even in this 
age, more vivid faculties of invention and contrivance, 
a more extended range of foresight, a more subtle 
comprehension of the changing laws of society and 
the world. But the value of these finer perceptions, 
and of the policy founded upon them, has never been 
more assured than when it was tried and admitted 
by the wisdom and patriotism of that venerable mind. 
His superiority over other men consisted rather in 
the perfection of those qualities which he pre- 
eminently possessed, than in the variety or extent of 
his other faculties. 

' ' These powers, which were unerring when applied 
to definite and certain facts, sometimes failed in the 
appreciation of causes which had not hitherto come 
under their observation. It is, perhaps, less to be 
wondered at that the soldier and the statesman of 
1815, born and bred in the highest school of Tory 
politics, should have miscarried in his opinion of those 
eventful times which followed the accession of 
William IV. , than that the defeated opponent of Reform 
in 1831 should have risen into the patriot senator of 
1846 and 1851. Yet the Administration of 1828, in 
which the Duke of Wellington occupied the first and 
most responsible place, passed the Catholic Emanci- 
pation Act, and thereby gave the signal of a rupture 
in the Tory party, never afterwards entirely healed, 
and struck the heaviest blow on a system which the 
growing energies of the nation resented and con- 
demned. Resolute to oppose what he conceived to be 
popular clamour, no man ever recognised with more 
fidelity the claims of a free nation to the gradual 
development of its interest and its rights ; nor were 
his services to the cause of liberty and improvement 
the less great because they usually consisted in 
bending the will or disarming the prejudices of their 
fiercest opponents. Attached by birth, by character, 
and by opinion to the order and the cause of the 
British aristocracy, the Duke of Wellington knew that 
the true power of that race of nobles lies, in this age 
of the world, in their inviolable attachment to con- 
stitutional principles, and their honest recognition of 
popular rights. Although his personal resolution and 
his military experience qualified him better than 
other men to be the champion of resistance to popular 
turbulence and sedition, as he showed by his prepa- 
rations in May, 1832, and in April, 1848, yet wisdom 
and forbearance were ever the handmaidens of his 
courage, and, while most firmly determined to defend, 
if necessary, the authority of the State, he was the 



WELLINGTOK 



545 



first to set an example of conciliatory sacrifice to the 
reasonable claims of the nation. He was the Catulus 
of our Senate, after having been our Caesar in the 
field; and, if the commonwealth of England had 
ever saluted one of her citizens with the Roman title 
of Parens Patriae, that touching honour would have 
been added to the peerage and the baton of Arthur 
"Wellesley by the respectful gratitude and faith of the 
people. 

"Though singularly free from every trace of cant, 
his mind was no stranger to the sublime influence 
of religious truth, and he was assiduous in the 
observances of the public ritual of the church of 
England. At times, even in the extreme period of 
his age, some accident would betray the deep current 
of feeling which he never ceased to entertain towards 
all that was chivalrous and benevolent. His charities 
were unostentatious but extensive, and he bestowed 
his interest throughout life upon an incredible 
number of persons and things which claimed his 
notice and solicited his aid. Every social duty, 
every solemnity, every ceremony, every merry- 
making, found him ready to take his part in it. He 
had a smile for the youngest child, a compliment for 
the prettiest face, an answer to the readiest tongue, 
and a lively interest in every incident of life, which 
it seemed beyond the power of age to chill. When 
time had somewhat relaxed the sterner mould of his 
manhood, its effects were chiefly indicated by an 
unabated taste for the amusements of fashionable 
society, incongruous at times with the dignity of 
extreme old age, and the recollections of so virile a 
career. But it seemed a part of the Duke's character 
that everything that presented itself was equally 
welcome, for he had become a part of everything, and 
it was foreign to his nature to stand aloof from any 
occurrence to which his presence could contribute. 
He seems never to have felt the flagging spirit or the 
reluctant step of indolence or ennui, or to have 
recoiled from anything that remained to be done; 
and this complete performance of every duty, how- 
ever small, as long as life remained, was the same 
quality which had carried him in triumph through 
his campaigns, and raised him to be one of the chief 
Ministers of England and an arbiter of the fate of 
Europe. It has been said that in the most active and 
illustrious lives there comes at last some inevitable 
hour of melancholy and of satiety. Upon the Duke 
of Wellington that hour left no impression, and 
probably it never shed its influence over him ; for he 
never rested on his former achievements or his length 
of days, but marched onwards to the end, still heading 
the youthful generations which had sprung into life 
around him, and scarcely less intent on their pursuits 
than they are themselves. It was a finely balanced 
mind to have worn so bravely and so well. When 
men in after times shall look back to the annals of 
England for examples of energy and public virtue 
among those who have raised this country to her 
station on the earth, no name will remain more 
conspicuous or more unsullied than that of Arthur 
Wellesley, the Great Duke of Wellington. The actions 
of his life were extraordinary, but his character was 
equal to his actions. He was the very type and 
model of an Englishman ; and, though men are prone 
to invest the worthies of former ages with a dignity 
and merit they commonly withhold from their 
contemporaries, we can select none from the long 
array of our captains and our nobles who, taken 
for all in all, can claim a rivalry with him who is gone 
from amongst us, an inheritor of imperishable fame." 



DISRAELI'S SPEECH. 

"The House of Commons is called upon to-night to 
fulfil a sorrowful, but a noble duty. It has to recog- 
nise, in the face of the country and the civilised 
world, the loss of the most illustrious of our citizens, 
and to offer to the ashes of the great departed the 
solemn anguish of a bereaved nation. The princely 
personage who has left us was born in an age more 
fertile of great events than any period of recorded 
time. Of those vast incidents the most conspicuous 
were his own deeds, and those were performed with 
the smallest means, and in defiance of the greatest 
obstacles. He was therefore not only a great man, 
but the greatest man of a great age. Amid the chaos 
and conflagration which attended the end of the last 
century there rose one of those beings who seem born 
to master mankind. It is not too much to say that 
Napoleon combined the imperial ardour of Alexander 
with the strategy of Hannibal. The kings of the earth 
fell before his fiery and subtle genius, and at the head 
of all the power of Europe he denounced destruction 
to the only land which dared to be free. The Pro- 
vidential superintendence of this world seems seldom 
more manifest than in the dispensation which or- 
dained that the French Emperor and Wellesley should 
be born in the same year ; that in the same year they 
should have embraced the same profession ; and that, 
natives of distant islands, they should both have 
sought their military education in that illustrious 
land which each in his turn was destined to subjugate. 
During the long struggle for our freedom, our glory, 
I may say our existence, Wellesley fought and won 
fifteen pitched battles, all of the highest class, con- 
cluding with one of those crowning victories which 
give a colour and aspect to history. During this 
period that can be said of him which can be said of 
no other captain — that he captured 3, 000 cannon from 
the enemy, and never lost a single gun. The great- 
ness of his exploits was only equalled by the dif- 
ficulties he overcame. He had to encounter at the 
same time a feeble government, a factious opposition, 
and a distrustful people, scandalous allies, and the 
most powerful enemy in the world. He gained 
victories with starving troops, and carried on sieges 
without tools ; and, as if to complete the fatality 
which in this sense always awaited him, when he had 
succeeded in creating an army worthy of Roman 
legions and of himself, this invincible host was broken 
up on the eve of the greatest conjuncture of his life, 
and he entered the field of Waterloo with raw levies 
and discomfited allies. But the star of Wellesley 
never failed. He has been called fortunate, for For- 
tune is a divinity that ever favours those who are 
alike sagacious and intrepid, inventive and patient. 
It was his character that created his career. This 
alike achieved his exploits and guarded him from 
vicissitudes. It was his sublime self-control that 
regulated his lofty fate. It has been the fashion of 
late years to disparage the military character. Forty 
years of peace have hardly qualified us to be aware 
how considerable and how complex are the qualities 
which are necessary for the formation of a great 
general. It is not enough to say that he must be an 
engineer, a geographer, learned in human nature, 
adroit in managing mankind ; that he must be able 
to perform the highest duties of a Minister of State, 
and sink to the humblest offices of a commissary and 
a clerk ; but he has to display all his knowledge, and 
he must do all these things at the same time and 
under extraordinary circumstances. At the same 



546 



WKLLTNGTON. 



moment he must think of the eve and the morrow — 
of his flanks and of his reserve ; he must carry with 
him ammunition, provisions, hospitals ; he must 
calculate at the same time the state of the weather 
and the moral qualities of man ; and all these 
elements which are perpetually changing, he must 
combine amid overwhelming cold or overpowering 
heat ; sometimes amid famine, often amid the 
thunder of artillery. Behind all this, too, is the 
ever-present image of his country, and the dreadful 
alternative whether that country is to receive him 
with cypress or with laurel. But all these conflicting 
ideas must be driven from the mind of the military 
leader, for he must think — and not only think — he 
must think with the rapidity of lightning, for on a 
moment more or less depends the fate of the finest 
combination, and on a moment more or less depends 
glory or shame. Doubtless all this may be done in 
an ordinary manner by an ordinary man ; as we see 
every day of our lives ordinary men making successful 
ministers of state, successful speakers, successful 
authors. But to do all this with genius is sublime. 
Doubtless, to think deeply and clearly in the recess 
of a cabinet is a fine intellectual demonstration, but 
to think with equal depth and equal clearness amid 
bullets is the most complete exercise of the human 
faculties. Although the military career of the Duke 
of Wellington fills so large a space in history, it was 
only a comparatively small section of his prolonged 
and illustrious life. Only eight years elapsed from 
Vimiera to Waterloo, and from the date of his first 
commission to the last cannon-shot on the field of 
battle scarcely twenty years can be counted. After 
all his triumphs, he was destined for another career ; 
and, if not in the prime, certainly in the perfection of 
manhood, he commenced a civil career scarcely less 
eminent than those military achievements which will 
live for ever in history. Thrice was he ambassador of 
his sovereign to those great historic congresses that 
settled the affairs of Em-ope ; twice was he Secretary 
of State ; twice was he Commander-in-Chief; and 
once he was Prime Minister of England. His labours 
for his country lasted to the end. A few months ago 
he favoured the present advisers of the Crown with 
his thoughts on the Burmese war, expressed in a 
State paper, characterised by all his sagacity and ex- 
perience ; and he died the active chieftain of that 
|amous army to which he has left the tradition of his 
glory. There was one passage in the life of the Duke 
of Wellington which should hardly be passed un- 
noticed on such an occasion, and in such a scene, as 
this. It is our pride that he was one of ourselves ; it 
is our pride that Sir Arthur Wellesley sat upon these 
benches. Tested by the ambition and the success of 
ordinary men, his career, though brief was distin- 
guished. He entered royal councils and held a high 
ministerial post. But his House of Commons must 
not be measured by his seat at the Privy Council and 
his Irish Secretaryship. He achieved a success here 
which the greatest Ministers and the most brilliant 
orators can never hope to rival. That was a parlia- 
mentary success unequalled when he rose in his seat 
to receive the thanks of Mr. Speaker for a glorious 
victory ; or, later still, when he appeared at the bar 
of this House and received, Sir, from one of your pre- 



decessors, in memorable language, the thanks of a 
grateful country for accumulated triumphs. There 
is one consolation which all Englishmen must feel 
under this bereavement. It is, that they were so well 
and so completely acquainted with this great man. 
Never did a person of such mark live so long, and so 
much in the public eye. I would be bound to say 
that there is not a gentleman in this House who has 
not seen him ; many there are who have conversed 
with him ; some there are who have touched his 
hand. His countenance, his form, his manner, his 
voice are impressed on every memory, and sound 
almost in every ear. In the golden saloon, and in 
the busy market-place, he might be alike observed. 
The rising generation will often recal his words of 
kindness, and the people followed him in the streets 
with a lingering gaze of reverent admiration. Who 
indeed, can ever forget that classic and venerable 
head, white with time, and radiant, as it were, with 
glory?— 

" Stilichonis apex, et cognita fulsit. 

Canities. " 

' ' To complete all, that we might have a perfect idea 
of this sovereign master of duty in all his manifold 
offices, he himself gave us a collection of administra- 
tive and military literature which no age and no 
country can rival ; and, fortunate in all things, 
Wellesley found in his lifetime an historian whose 
immortal page already ranks with the classics of that 
land which Wellesley saved. The Duke of Wellington 
left to his countrymen a great legacy— greater even than 
his glory. He left them the contemplation of his cha- 
racter. I will not say his conduct revived the sense of 
duty in England. I would not say that of our country. 
But that his conduct inspired public life with a purer 
and more masculine tone I cannot doubt. His career 
rebukes restless vanity, and reprimands the irregular 
ebullitions of a morbid egotism. I doubt not that, 
among all orders of Englishmen, from those with the 
highest responsibilities of our society to those who 
perform the humblest duties, I dare say there is not a 
man who in his toil and his perplexity has not some- 
times thought of the Duke, and found in his example 
support and solace. Though he lived so much in the 
hearts and minds of his countrymen — though he 
occupied such eminent posts and fulfilled such august 
duties — it was not till he died that we felt what a 
space he filled in the feelings and thoughts of the 
people of England. Never was the influence of real 
greatness more completely asserted than on his 
decease. In an age whose boast of intellectual equality 
flatters all our self-complacencies, the world suddenly 
acknowledged that it had lost the greatest of men ; 
in an age of utility the most industrious and common- 
sense people in the world could find no vent for their 
woe and no representative for their sorrow but the 
solemnity of a pageant ; and we — we who have met 
here for such different purposes — to investigate the 
sources of the wealth of nations, to enter into statis- 
tical research, and to encounter each other in fiscal 
controversy— we present the world the most sublime 
and touching spectacle that human circumstances can 
well produce — the spectacle of a Senate mourning a 
hero ! " 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 

(1829.) 



Darest thou die." — Shakspeare. 



VISION-SCENES. 



Throned in a vault where sleep departed 
kings 
Behold the Tyrant of the world ! Around 
His shadowy head he waves a sceptre, made 
Of monumental dust ; and as it moves, 
Before him glide a visionary throng 
Of ministers, that do his deadly will. 

First, Murder, with an eye of wolfish glare, 
And brow of adamantine sternness, frowns, 
His brooding visage blanch'd with guilt, and 

cold 
As dead revenge ; then Madness, with her locks 
Of graceless beauty, crowding o'er a face 
Terrifically wild : her cheeks are shrunk 
As wither'd flowers, and in her fixed eye 
A lustre, meaningless yet mournful, dwells ; 
Like a pale cloud she glides along, and looks 
Upon her lean-worn palms, before her spread 
As tablets, where her idiot thoughts are traced ! 

Next Melancholy, with a downward brow, 
Slow-paced, and solemn in her aspect, comes ; 
Behind, Intemperance, with degraded face, 
Complexion'd like the redden'd clouds, which 

clasp 
The dying sun ; then Anger, with a storm 
Of meaning hung upon her blacken'd front, 
And Terror, eloquently dumb, appear. 

With step as noiseless as the slumbering air, 
Who comes, in beautiful decay ] — her eyes 
Dissolving with a feverish glow of light, 
Her pallid nostrils delicately closed, 
Her ringlets gathered in a languid wreath, 
And on that cheek, once round with health's 

rich bloom, 
A hectic tinge, as if the fairy tip 
Of Beauty's finger faintly press'd it there : 
Alas ! Consumption is her fatal name. 
But lo, a contrast ! fierce with shining mail, 
Sublime in aspect and supreme in gait, 
Waving a crimson banner o'er his head, 



With giant pace, stalks by terrific War ! 
His task] — To shatter thrones, and 
kings. 



sully 



To these sad ministers of Death, succeed 
Of Maladies a hideous crew ; not least 
Appalling, Pestilence, with eyes aghast, 
And Famine, withered to a woful form. 

Next, Phantoms round the Lord of human 
dust 
In pallid indistinctness rise and move 
For mental slaughter fearfully predoom'd ! 
Despair, with hollow, dim, sepulchral eyes ; 
And Love, the martyr of his own fix'd stake : 
Ambition, with a canker-eaten soul ; 
And Genius, proud and pale, the self-consumed, 
Whose gaze Infinity with spirit-light 
Hath kindled, while the pining form decays 
Like colour from a fainting cloud of eve ! 



CONTRASTS. 

Such are thy delegates, disastrous Power ! 
Which make the martyr'd world thy prey, and 

seize 
Their victims when and where they please. 

Alike 
To thee the palace or the hut, the hall 
Of Pleasure or the house of Wo. — A king 
Mounts his high throne, with starry robes 

begirt ; 
Each look commands, and bright that royal 

brow 
Beneath the burden of his jewell'd crown; 
Before him princely courtiers bow their heads, 
And on their fawning cheeks his smiles 

reflect, 
And hover round him like a human god ! 
Thy bow is bent, thy dooming arrow shot, 
And like a cloud-shade by the sun destroyed 
Melts the great monarch from his pride and 

power ! 
The pale companion of the speechless earth, 
A vault his palace, like his brother clay 
Corrupted — bid his Court adore him now ! 



N N 2 



548 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



ANTICIPATIONS. 

To die ! — this gorgeous world of life and love 
Forsake, and fleet beyond the bounds of 

thought ; 
To feel the death-dews creeping o'er each limb, 
Our life-stream curdle, and the heart grow cold ; 
To be the flesh-worm's feast ; to mould away 
And blend our being with embracing dust ; 
All this, together with imagined wails 
Of friends, whose tearful eyes attend our bier, — 
Calls a chill horror round the name of death, 
Which daunts the good, and makes the bad 

despair. 



ANALOGIES. 

All that we love and feel in nature's world 
Bears dim relations to our common doom. 
The clouds that blush, and die an airy death, 
Or melt in weeping showers; the pensive 

streams 
Whose tones are dying music ; leaves new-born, 
Which fade unpitied in the frosty arms 
Of Winter, there to mingle with dead flowers, 
Are all prophetic of our own decay. 
And who, when hung enchanted o'er some page 
Where genius flashes from each living line — 
Hath never wander'd to the tomb, to see 
The hand that penn'd it or the head that 

thought 2 

Dark feelings, coloured by the cloud of death, 
With grand oppression thus the mind o'erflow, 
As when some warm adorer of the dead 
Who live, along the dim and banner'd aisle 
Of arch'd cathedral, frames a dream sublime, 
And learns how eloquent a tomb can be : 
Or roams at twilight, where the Deep resounds, 
To watch the ever-rolling waves converge 
To where faint ocean weds the sky, and 

think, 
Thus roll the restless hours of time along ! 



ASSOCIATIONS. 

In banquet-halls, where queenly pleasures 

bloom, 
And bright-faced Joy and young-eyed Beauty 

meet, 
To them the shadows of the grave extend. 
How oft, as unregarded on a throng 
Of lovely creatures, in whose liquid eyes 
The heart-warm feelings bathe, I've fondly 

look'd 
With all a Poet's passion, and have wish'd 
That years might never mar those perfect 

smiles, — 



How often Death, as with a viewless wand 
Has touched the scene, and witch'd it to a 

tomb, 
Where beauty dwindled to a ghastly wreck 
While moaning spirits of the Future cried, 
Thus will it be when Time has work'd revenge ! 



LIFE A GRADUAL DEATH. 

Our Yesterday is dead ; our Morrow dies ; 
This hour is pining, and the breath we draw 
So carelessly, our souls may waft — to where ? 
Our ages are but periodic tombs 
Of those that went before : for childhood seems 
The death of infancy ; and childhood dies 
When youth commences, which itself departs 
In daring manhood ; then old age begins, 
Whose wrinkle deepens into manhood's grave : 
Thus death is imaged by our very life ! 
And hope and pleasure, feeling, action, fame, 
Have each their sepulchre : our visions melt 
To dimness in Reality's chill tomb ; 
Creation's self a burning death must die, 
And in eternity shall Time expire ! 



STREET FUNERAL. 

And o'er the laughing holiday of life 
When men are cheerful as the dancing beam 
How often death's terrific darkness frowns ! 
See ! where they come, the black-robed funeral 

train, 
Solemn as silent thunder-clouds athwart 
The noon-day sky : from heaven a radiance 

dies 
The flowing pall with hues of mocking light ; 
Around Life moves his mighty throng, and 

deep 
The death-bells wail along the ebbing air : 
But one poor week hath vanish'd, — and that 

form, 
Now clay-cold in the narrow coffin stretch'd, 
Stalk'd o'er the street which takes him to his 

tomb! 
On with the mourning train ! — the crowd divide 
Before them with a busy hum, then close 
Behind, like billows by a prow dispersed 
That sever but to clash and roar again ! 



ANGEL OF DEATH. 

Angel of Darkness ! out of hell evoked, 
With dread the bosom of Creation thrill'd 
When fell thy shadow over Eden's bower, 
Whose beauty wither'd like the spirit's bloom 
When the rich breath of young affection dies. 
Look back ! appall'd Imagination ! gaze 
Thine eye to dimness, o'er the track of time 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



549 



Scathed by his fury ! mark the demon- 
wing' d, 

'Tis Death ! the Uncontrollable ! his flight 

Begins, whose path wears Desolation's smile ! 

And how eternity its gate unbars 

To let them in, those fleet and countless dead, 

While myriads melt and vanish, like the 
gleams 

That flash from fever's eye ! 



HIS TRIUMPH. 

Thy spell hath work'd, 
Thou King of woes! thy wand hath been 

obey'd ; 
Destruction saw it, and Her deeds reply ! 
The sea hath buried in her floating tomb, 
The fire devour'd, the blighting pest consumed, 
The rocking earthquake into atoms crush' d, 
And conflagration, havoc, siege, and war, 
And malady which like a fiend-breath acts, 
Have martyr'd, — what an unimagined host 
Since the first grave for Adam's corpse 

unclosed ! 
And, oh, let mother, maid, and orphan tell, 
Let parent, friend, whate'er affection clasps 
Or sweet relationship of soul implies, — 
How tears have rain'd from lids that watch'd 

and wept 
As each beloved one, like a featured Shade 
Melted in mute eternity ! For Death 
Hath cull'd his victims from the choicest 

bowers 
And gardens of Existence : fair as bright 
And pure as paradise before the Fall 
Have babes departed, ere one smiling look 
Hath travers'd earth, or seen the life of 

things : 
And voiceless as the uncomplaining dews 
That wither on the dusky cheek of Night, 
The silent victims of the heart's decay 
Have perish'd ! while within the dart was fix'd 
And rankling ; not a sigh their secret told : 
For pure and proud, and delicate as light 
Their being faded : 'twas the blight of soul, 
The mildew of the mind, that check'd and 

chill'd 
Their health of spirit : friend and parent 

yearn'd 
Around them, wondering where the venom 

lurk'd 
Which thus with cruel stealth defaced and 

marr'd 
That earth-born seraph, Beauty robed for 

heaven ! 
But still they faded with a calm decline 
Serene as twilight ; leaving early death 
A lovely secret, by th' Almighty known. 



DEATH'S PROGRESS. 

What is the Past 1 — The sepulchre of time 
Where lies the dust which once form'd living 

man. 
By thousands oft, or one by one, decay 
Hath reap'd mankind for thy dread harvest, 

Death ! 
Thus in the forest, where a leafy host 
Hangs on the mercy of autumnal winds 
In withering tremor, when a howling gust 
Havocs the branches, throngs of leaves 

descend 
Countless and quick as human glances fall ; 
But when the air is tranced, with thrilling tone 
A leaflet drops, — how awfully distinct ! 
To him whose moralising dream surveys 
A hue of death on each consumptive bough. 



DEATH HAS NO HISTORIAN. 

And Thou ! pale Chronicler of perish'd years, 
Whose page is studded with the dyes of sin 
And blood, or brighten'd with deceptive 

gleams 
Of miscall'd glory, what can thy dark book 
Of History teach] — but half what Truth has 

been ! 
The heat, the struggle, the majestic toils 
Of high contention, which colossal Minds 
Exhibit on the stage of human dreams, 
By thee are traced with emulative glow ; 
But hadst Thou, by omniscient aid inspired, 
The dread instruction from each dying lip 
Recorded, — what a page for conscience thine ! 
A thrilling sermon for the soul to read 
Whose text would be, eternity unveil'd ! 



IDEAL VIEWS. 

Around thee, for awhile, the den recal, 
The shore, the blood, the battle-wasted fields, 
The dungeon, rock, or sickly chamber dim 
Where nature gasp'd or groan'd its last 

farewell ! 
From death-beds back the curtain draw, and 

see 
How Clay and Spirit to the last contend. 
Advance, and view a haughty sinner die ! 
Behold the brow where thought satanic 

reign'd, 
The glance which threaten'd to appal the tomb, 
The hand whose motion made a tempest rise 
In hearts and empires ! — hark ! the voice 
That once created valour by its sound, 
How fruitless all, how infantile and vain ! 
He dies, as underneath our foot the dews, 



550 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



Gone at a touch of death ! Or mark the 

bed 
Where he whose spirit had his God unthroned, 
Annihilated Heaven, Hereafter mock'd, 
A nd call'd. the world a fatherless Unknown, 
Lies wild and restless as the moaning wave : 
His guilt hath set eternity on fire 
And shuddering, like a shrivell'd leaf, — he 

dies! 

DYING SAINTS. 

But Death has often been by faith uncrown'd 
And daunted, till his dim and icy gaze 
Forewent its terror ; and his summons rang 
Like fairy preludes from seraphic lyres 
Heaven-wafted, on the parting Spirit's ear. 
And if that Volume, where pure Angels keep 
A soul's bright history, could unfolded be, 
Pilgrims of earth ! who seek the better land, 
How would ye burn with apostolic love 
And in the ashes of the tomb discern 
A Spark immortal, kindling for the skies 
What adorations, warm as incense-fire, 
What bursts of faith, what notes of speechless 
joy, 

What gleams of Christ in glorified array, 
What tones and tears of overwhelming love 
Around the couch of dying virtue throng'd 
Ere rushed the spirit from its house of clay ! 

Oh ! beautiful beyond depicting words 
To paint, the hour that wafts to heaven a soul ! 
The world grows dim ; the scenes of time 

depart ; 
The hour of peace, the walk of social joy, 
The mild companion, and the deep-soul'd 

friend. 
The loved and lovely, see his face no more : 
The mingling spell of sun, of sea, and air, 
Is broken ; voice, and gaze, and smiles which 



Must perish ; parents take their hush'd adieu ; 
A wife, a child, a daughter half divine 
Or son which never drew a father's tear, 
Approach him, and his dying tones receive 
In God's own language ! — 'tis an hour of 

awe 
Yet terrorless, when revelations flow 
From faith immortal; view that pale-worn 

Brow, 
It gleams with glory ! in his eye there dawns 
A dazzling earnest of unutter'd joy : 
Each pang subdued, his longing soul respires 
The gales of glorified eternity ; 
And round him, hues ethereal, harps of light, 
And lineaments of earthless beauty throng, 
As, wing'd on melody, the saint departs 
While Heaven in miniature before him shines. 



DEATH NEVER PAUSES. 

The thought ] how dread, that not a moment 

fleets 
But with it many a soul hath sunk away 
To that untraced Abyss, within whose womb 
Six thousand Years have buried all they 

bore! 
Yes, while around unvalued pleasures throng 
In the soft atmosphere of human smiles 
We play with time, as infants do with toys, 
And rarely think, how Death is heaping fast 
The new-dug graves ; exulting o'er a wreck ; 
Or counting victims frOm the corpse-strewn 

sea, 
Or laughing where the thunder-bolt has dash'd 
Some lord of earth to nothing ! Then the 

flood 
And blast, the conflagration dire, disease 
And danger, death-bed horrors, broken hearts, 
And exiles in their damp-wall'd dungeons 

chain'd, — 
Oh ! each and all would melt a moral tear 
If known or felt, from Pleasure's sated eye. 

Thert come, poetic Spirit ! plume thy 

strength, 
Thy wings expand, Imagination, wake ! 
Traverse the troubled world from shore to 

shore, 
That with a panoramic glance my soul 
May vision forth dark tragedies of Death ! 2 



STORM. 



Listen ! for, hear ye not the startled Winds 
Invisibly are coming from their caves ? 
Fierce as avenging fiends from hell evoked, 
They march, and madden with a mingled 

howl; 
Creation shudders at the waking Storm, 
Or darkens, by prophetic tremors thrill'd. 
Again, again, the congregated Winds 
Unroll their voices ! they have roused the Sea, 
And on her back ten thousand thousand 

waves 
Like wings of wrath are swelling as they rise ! 

Above, the rocky clouds are wildly clash'd, 
Till darkness quickens into light ! and fierce 
And far, as though the universe obey'd, 
Monarch of sound, the Thunder's mandate 

rings 
Rattling the heavens with long-repeated roar ! 
While ever and anon pale lightnings gleam 
And flash like armoury of waving fire : 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



551 



SHIPWRECK. 

Alone upon the leaping billows, lo ! 
"What fearful Image works its way 1 A ship, 
Shapeless and wild, as by the Storm begot ; 
Her sails dishevell'd, and. her massy form 
Disfigured, yet tremendously sublime : 
Prowless and helmless through the waves she 

rocks, 
And writhes, as if in drowning agony : 
Like valour when amid o'erwhelming foes 
The vessel combats with the battling waves, 
Then fiercely dives below : — the Thunders roll 
A requiem, and the Whirlwinds howl for joy. 



THE CREW. 

And where are they, who from the breezy 

deck 
Beheld the sun in orient glory rise 
Like a divinity, and breathed a prayer 
O'er the fresh promise of a placid sea 1 
Float they in lifeless masses through the deep? 
Look ! where a flash of lightning stripes the 

sea, 
Like straw upon the wind a bark is whiii'd 
From wave to wave : within, a pale-faced crew 
Sit dumb as phantoms; with their eyes 

bedimm'd, 
Their locks foam-sprinkled, and their lips 

unclosed ; 
And when the clouds their fires unsheath, 

against 
The wizard glare their upturn'd faces gleam 
In one despairing row ! Their doom is seal'd 
Above : Death howls in every wolfish blast 
And rides on each gigantic wave : the sea 
Their sepulchre shall make ; their coffins be 
Her caves, until the summon'd Ocean hear 
The death-trump, and her tombless dead arise. 



CADM AND LANDSCAPE. 

Wave, wind, and thunder have departed: 
shrunk 
The vision'd ocean from our mental view, 
And lo ! a landscape, green as Painting loves, 
Or sunshine veil'd when Milton's spirit-gaze 
Saw Paradise around him wave her flowers 
While glorious Adam with his Maker walk'd, 
Or Eve her shadow on the lake admired. 
On yonder vernal mead, a cherub boy 
Is bounding, playful as a breeze new-born, 
Light as the beam which dances by his side. 
Phantom of Beauty ! with his golden locks 
Gleaming like water-wreaths,— a flower of Life 
To whom the fairy world is fresh, the sky 



A glory, and the Earth one huge delight ! 
His brow makes joy; his eyes are Pleasure's 

own ; 
While Innocence, from out the budding lip 
Darts her young smiles along his rounded 

cheek : 
Grief hath not dimm'd the brightness of his 

form; 
Love and affection o'er him spread their wings, 
And Nature, like a nurse, with sweetest look 
Her child attends. The humming bee will 

bound 
From out the flower, nor sting his baby-hand ; 
The birds address him from the blossom' d 

trees, 
And suppliantly the fierce-eyed mastiff fawn, 
Come when he may, to court his playful touch. 



INFANCY. 

To rise all rosy from the arms of Sleep, 
And, like the sky-bird, hail the bright-cheek'd 

Morn 
With trills of song ; then o'er the cowslipp'd 

mead 
The blue-wing'd butterfly to chase, or play 
With curly streams ; or, led by watchful Love, 
Admire the chorus of the trooping waves, 
When the young breezes laugh them into life ; 
Or listen to the mimic ocean-roar 
That waves have buried in a sea-shell's depth ; 
From sight and sound to catch intense delight 
And frolic meaning from each happy face, — 
Make his fond round of infantile romance. 
And when at length dejected Evening comes 
Joy-worn he nestles in the welcome couch 
With kisses warm upon his cheek, of heaven 
To dream, till morning wakes him to the 

world. 

THE DEAD INFANT. 

Into a curtain'd room the Scene hath 

changed, 
Where a wan semblance of the mournful sun 
Lies dreaming on the walls. Dim-eyed and 

sad, 
And dumb with agony, two parents bend 
O'er a pale Image in a coffin laid, 
More exquisite than Death in marble looks, — 
Their infant once, the laughing, leaping boy, 
The bud of life, the nursling of their souls ! 
Pain touch'd him, aDd the life-glow fled away 
Swift as a gay hour's fancy : fresh and cold 
As Winter's shadow, with his eyelids seal'd 
Like violet lips at eve, he lies enrobed 
An offering for the Grave ; but, bright and 

pure 
The infant martyr hath to heaven been call'd, 



552 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



Lisping soft hallelujahs with the choir 
Of sinless babes, imparadised above. 



CHURCHYARD. 

A glimmering churchyard, heap'd with 
countless graves 
Like hosts of billows couch'd upon the deep, 
Dawns into vision now. The dormant air 
Is hush'd, and on that rich-leaf d file of elms, 
The choral wind hath sung itself to sleep. 

And here, where Meditation loves to dream 
While noon a burning stillness breathes 

around, 
From out yon mouldering cells let Fancy cite 
A heart- wreck'd Being, whom the savage world 
Deserted, and repentance wore to death. 



BETRAYED AFFECTION. 

In beauty moulded like a shape of love 
From the damp earth behold her meekly rise, 
As delicate as when the worshipp'd form 
Bade Envy stand abash'd, while youth and 

grace 
Round her fair mien a faultless magic threw. 
Light of her home, impassion'd forth she 

came 
And where she moved a thousand Hearts 

were drawn ! 
But he who won her warm in virgin-truth, 
Belied his homage and betray'd her trust ; 
Then, like a haunted tomb the erring maid 
By the cold World was shunn'd, nor found one 

spot 
Of shelter, from th' accusing eye of Scorn : 
Till far away, from all her scene of wo 
The unlamented mourner came, with griefs 
Like thunder-scars upon her soul engraved ! 



SECLUSION AND DEJECTION. 

In a lone hamlet all retired she dwelt 
In meekness and remorse : but Sorrow taught 
Her kindliness to bloom ; and by the Poor 
A heaven-born Lady was she rightly deem'd, 
Whose smile made every peasant-cottage 

bright 
And took from Poverty the sting of shame. 
Among the hermit-walks, and ancient woods 
When mantled with the melancholy glow 
Of eve, she wander'd oft ; and when the wind 
Like a stray infant down autumnal dales 
Koam'd wailingly, she loved to mourn and 

muse ; 
To commune with the lonely orphan-flowers 
And through sweet nature's ruin trace her own. 



PARTING HOUR. 

But through the quiet churchyard's elmy 

range 
Unwatch'd she loved to roam ; and there was 

seen 
Like a pale Statue o'er some weed-grown tomb 
To bend, and look as if she wept the dead ; 
And when the day-gleam faded o'er far hills 
She gazed with such deep look, as Love would 

mark 
Some parting smile, to treasure it when gone ! 
But when the yellow moonlight clad the air, 
How from the window she the heavens would 

watch, 
Till in her eye an adoration shone : 
Sad Lady ! then her thoughts in tears arose 
And every tear ran burning from her heart ! 

Thus day by day her unpartaken grief 
Was nursed, till sorrow grew a sleepless fire 
That parch'd her soul. One evening while 

she mused, 
And from her lattice read that starry lore 
Which mourning Fancy half believes, her face 
Grew lily-white ; a languid murmur came ; 
Her head, hung drooping like a laden flower, 
And soft as sound her spirit fled to heaven ! 



YOUTHFUL GENIUS. 

Upon the mountain, with Thy hectic cheek 
And soul outlooking from the lifted eye 
As if the beauty of some thought were seen, 
Why, who art Thou, undaunted by the storm 
In rolling anthems round thee gather'd] 

Clouds 
Swell back ; and underneath wild Ocean roars 
As though her waves were all to whirlpools 

lash'd : 
Yet canopied with thunder, there thou stand'st 
Till feeling like a storm of music wakes 
And trembles through thy being ! Art thou 

there 
A Spirit tempest-born, and on the rock 
Enthroned, to parley with the thunder-peals 1 



INSPIRATIONS. 

Thou wert not moulded for the selfish world; 
Too lofty and too full of heavenly fire 
E'er to be measured by ungifted minds 
Whom Glory hath not raised. Ambition 

rock'd 
Thy cradle ; Genius all thine infant soul 
Etherealised, and in the rich-orb'd eye 
The rays of thought and inspiration pour'd : 
Before the tongue a budding thought reveal'd 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



553 



Imagination dallied with thy mind, 
And sent it playing through her airy realms : 
But when the man upon thy forehead beam'd, 
Impassioned Creature ! then thy race began : 
Feelings of beauty and of rich delight 
Flow'd from the countenance of this fair Earth 
Full on thy soul, wherein a second world 
Was shrined : for thee inspiring Nature glow'd, 
And warm'd thy fancy bike a dream from 

heaven. 
Thou lov'st her mightiness, her glorious mien ! 
Whether she loose her ocean-zone, and let 
The waves abroad, or hang the sky with 

storms, 
Or hail thee in her thunders ; or at eve 
When sunshine like a beauteous memory dies 
And the breeze anthems like a bird of air, 
Call thee to witness, how in deck'd array 
The marshall'd clouds attend th' imperial Sun 
Before his throne of waves, — alike divine 
She seems. And not alone does Nature 

charm 
Thy senses into wondering awe ; but all 
Which men admire, by genius or by art 
Created, bids thy soul with homage swells ; 
Eich music, like a warbling seraph, flings 
Entrancement round thee, till emotions melt 
As yielding darkness when by light subdued ; 
A living picture, like a passion pours 
Delight into thine eye; and Poesy, — 
Is stamp'd thy mind, and colours all thy 

thoughts i 

To have thy glory on the chart of Time 
Recorded, mapp'd in deep and dazzling lines, 
And thus be deathless in the fame the power 
And offspring of creative soul ; to build 
A monument of Mind, on which the good 
May gaze, while future Ages round it bend 
With homage nobler than a king commands, — 
Desire so godlike is for ever warm 
And panting in thy breast ; and oft, methinks, 
When darkness like the death of light begins 
Beneath the lone magnificence of heaven, 
While planets glow oracularly bright, 
Ambition dreams, and Hope the charmer 
smiles ! 



PENALTIES AND PAINS. 

But, oh ! thou Victim of a mental curse, 
The fire and fever of the soul are thine 
Which burn within, like Desolation's breath ! 
Body and mind, before they bloom, decay ; 
And ere upon the rock of high renown 
The banner of thy fame exulting waves 
Lost in the tomb thy buried hopes will lie 
And o'er thy name Oblivion's pall descend ! 
The path to glory is a path of death 



To feeling hearts, all gifted though they be 

And martyrs to the Genius they adore : 

The wear of passion, and the waste of thought, 

The glow of inspiration, and the gloom 

That like a night-shade mars the brightest 

hour, 
And that fierce rack on which a faithless World 
Will make thee writhe — all these ennerving 

pangs, 
With agonies which mock the might of words, 
Thou canst not bear : thy temple is a tomb ! 



PESTILENCE. 

The Scene hath vanish'd ! swelling like a 

mist 
From out a marshy vale at morn, behold ! 
A City, dimly -vision' d : on the view 
It grows, till full in vast perfection seen. 
There all is mute and motionless; no spires 
Hallow the air with heavenly chime ; no flags 
Or banners shiver in the suppling breeze ; 
No eager steps sound pattering through the 

streets ; 
No life seems in it, — silent as a shade ! 
Look up ! the sickly clouds like corpses lie 
Along the heavens ; and yonder dark canal 
Flags bike a monstrous serpent stretch'd in 

death ; 
The houses shed a monumental gloom : 
The Pestilence is there ! 



CITY OF THE PLAGUE. 

Young Morn beheld 
A beauteous City, with the floods of life 
Billowing loudly through her million paths : 
Her Temples bathed their heads in azure sheen ; 
Her rivers spread themselves along in joy ; 
The spirit of the world within her walls 
Inspiring walk'd ; by noon the sun grew red 
And glared his fierceness through the sky, till 

forth 
From out the lurid deeps of heaven, the 

Plague 
Her breath exhaled, that with a viewless spread 
Itself suffused through all the living town, 
Which, sudden as an ocean chained, grew 

dumb! 

The old man faded like a blasted tree, 
And dropp'd into the dust I and he whose 

cheeks 
Were round and fair, with eyes of lustrous 

youth, 
From beauty wither'd to a yellow wreck 
Distorted and decay'd, till Madness came, 
And shrieking, shuddering, writhed herself to 

death ! 



551 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



Along each river crept the Plague ; then 
hush'd 
The grinding cables ! and the barges lay 
Like dead sea-monsters on the ocean stretch'd; 
E'en on the mead with emerald verdure clad, 
Where the gay urchin drove the whirling ball 
Fleet as a bird along the sunny air, 
The Pestilence her burning vapour breathed ; 
Each limb relax'd, upturn'd his darken'd lids, 
And from his ghastly eyeballs glared the Pest ! 

From house to house the hot infection stole ; 
To gloom all gladness changed, and not a 

smile 
In the whole city lived ! Within the fane 
Amid the pillar'd aisle, while lowly knelt 
In all the holiness of virgin love 
The fair-zoned bride of Beauty, came the 

Pest ! 
She coil'd, and shiver'd like a wounded dove ; 
Her form grew wild ; and as the bridegroom 

watch'd 
The heaven reflected from her face depart, 
Contagion clasp'd him in her fiery arms, 
His spirit whirl'd within him, and he fell 
And o'er his loved one yelled his life away ! 

But in the tomb-fill'd churchyard, what a 

howl 
From the parch'd throats of mourners came ! 

for there 
The graves were brimm'd with corses; and 

around 
Unburied dead lay blackening in the air, 
While Shades of being stagger'd by the heaps 
Of friends and relatives together piled : 
Such was the revelry of horrid Death ; 
And when at last by God himself recall'd, 
The Sun of health arose, his eye beheld 
Yon City hush'd as one enormous tomb ! 



MOONLIGHT SCENE. 

Turn to a vision of contrasted joy : 
Ne'er since creation out Of chaos roll'd 
With the mild bloom of young existence fresh 
Around it, hath more glorious night bedecked 
The World, than that which beautifies her now. 
The stars like ruminating spirits walk 
The mellow sky, from whence the queenly moon 
With a maternal aspect eyes the earth, 
Tranced into dreamy stillness by her smile. 
No! not a breeze, nor bird is on the wing ; 
The shy sweet flowers have shut their dewy 

lids, 
And distant trees, upon the dark-brow'd hills, 
Like shadowy sentinels are ranged. And now 
The reign of heart-romance ! the lulling hour 



When aspirations from the mystic heaven 
Effused, the high-toned mind awake with 

thoughts 
Which angels love : but see ! beneath 
Yon hill, down where the wrinkled brooklets 

flash 
In liquid revelry, the silver'd Deep 
Lies bare unto the moon ; and on her breast, 
In swan-like glory, glides a white-wing'd boat 
Calm as a cloud along its blue career. 



LOVERS. 



Within, like Beings from a purer sphere 
A youth and his confiding maiden sit, 
Her yielding waist environ'd with his arm : 
Above them, beautiful the starry dome ! 
Beneath, the sighing of romantic waves 
Woke from their slumber, or melodious heave 
Of tide, the panting of the World's great 

heart — 
Breaks on the pleasing calm : oh, lovely pair ! 
Warm is the gush of young affection ; sweet 
The overflowing of affianced hearts 
Each into each with holy rapture pour'd ; 
Now is the spring-time of the soul, whose bloom 
Is love, but once ne'er felt, and ne'er but once 
Enjoy 'd ! On would ye float for ever thus 
O'er moonlight seas, in one immortal bliss — 
Silence ! the language of delighted hearts. 



CONSUMPTION. 

And hast thou, Curse of the primeval crime! 
On one of these Thy vulture-glances fixed ? 
Shall knells of death moan heavy on the wind 
When marriage peals should merrily resound 
In tuneful rapture o'er the village spire 1 
Alas ! for every age Death finds a grave, 
And youthful forms as oft as hoary heads 
Are pillow'd there. Thou loved and loving 

One! 
From the dark languish of thy liquid eye 
So exquisitely rounded, darts a ray 
Of truth, prophetic of thine early doom ; 
And on thy placid cheek there is a flush 
Of Death, — the beauty of Consumption there ! 

Few note that fatal bloom ; for bless'd by all 
Thou movest through thy noiseless sphere, the 

life 
Of one, — the darling of a myriad hearts ! 
Yet in thy chamber, o'er some graceful task 
W T hen delicately bending, oft unseen 
Thy mother looks with telescopic glance 
Down the dim world of Time, and sees thee 

robed 
A pallid martyr, shrouded for the tomb ! 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



555 



THE LOVED ONE DIES. 

A year hath travell'd to eternity ; 
And now, the shadows of the grave grow dark 
Upon the maiden ; yet no fruitless wish 
Or word abrupt, unlovely thoughts betrays 
Of gloom and discontent within ; she fades 
As gentlv as the flower declines, — not false 
To living claims, and yet for death prepared. 
Beautiful resignation, and the hopes 
From the rich fountain of her faith derived, 
Around her a seraphic air have breathed 
Of wither'd loveliness. The gloss of life 
And worldly dreams are o'er ; but dewy Morn, 
And dim-eyed Eve, and all the mental gleams 
Of rapture, darted from regretted joys, 
Delight her still ; and oft when Twilight comes, 
She gazes on the damask glow of heaven 
With all the truth of happier days, until 
A sunny fancy wreathes her faded cheek ; 
'Tis but a pleasing echo of the Past, 
A music rolling from remember'd hours ! 
The day is come, by Death led gently on ; 
With pillow'd head all gracefully reclined 
And glossy curls in languid clusters wreath'd, 
Within a cottage-room she sits to die : 
Where from the window, in a western view, 
Majestic Ocean rolls. A summer-eve 
Veils the calm earth, and all the glowing air 
Stirs faintly, like a pulse ; against the shore 
The waves advance with undulating joy, 
While o'er the midway-deep her eye-glance 

roams, 
Where like a sea-god glares the travell'd Sun 
O'er troops of billows marching in his beam. 
From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth 

her eyes 
Are lifted, bright with wonder and with awe, 
Till through each vein reanimation rolls ! — 
'Tis past ; and now her filmy glance is fix'd 
On the rich heavens, as though her spirit gazed 
On that immortal World, to which 'tis bound : 
But sunset, like a burning palace fades, 
In hues of visionary pomp destroy 'd : 
And Day and Beauty have together died : 
For there like sculptured Death the maiden lies, 
More exquisite than Love's embodied dream ! 



WAE. 



The smoke, the thunder, and the din of War ! 
Loud as an ocean leaping into life 
I hear the storm of battle swell. Advance ; 
And listen to the cloud-ascending peals 
Of Cannon, from whose lips a lightning glares ! 
Hark ! how the bugle-echoes beat the air, 
And how the deep-roll'd drums their wrath 
resound, 



While on the throbbing Earth the Sun looks 

down 
Like a dread war-fiend, with a fierce delight. 
Death ! here thou art ■ and here the flashing 

swords 
Shall reap thy harvest, and devoted souls 
By thousands rush into the hands of God ! 



FIELD OF DEATH. 

Noon into eve, and eve to night hath roll'd ; 
The heavens with starry eyes are set : but, see ! 
No wafted banners, flapping like the wings 
Of eagles in their glorious strength ; no steeds 
Pawing and prancing with erected manes ; 
No warriors hand to hand, ; no sword to sword 
Confronted, till from out some bloody gap 
Their spirits bound into eternity ! — 
But heaps of corses, lines of dead laid out, 
Unhelmeted, or gash'd and gory ; men 
Whose morning-beauty shamed the risen sun, 
With glassy eyeballs gleaming on the moon ! 
A living host hath deadend into clay : — 
No more ! away, Death ! and count thy dead. 



THE CAPTIVE. 

Now from the hoof-worn plains of war, where 

blood 
Makes glory, to a scene of stagnant gloom 
Avert thy fancy. Lo, a dungeon, roof 'd 
By one erected arch of blacken'd stone ; 
'Tis Freedom's tomb ! The all-reviving air 
Of heaven those mildew'd walls has never 

fann'd, 
The light hath shed no lustrous beauty there ; 
But shade, and damp night-breath, and noi- 
some slime 
Traced o'er its rocky vault, the clank of chains, 
With groans from wasted lungs exhaled, the 

laugh 
Of lean-faced Madness, and the fitful moan 
Of iron'd captives,— these have horrified 
This den of Darkness. Look ! a ray of eve 
Hath wander' d to it through a narrow chink, 
And stealthily it creeps along the wall 
Then quivers, like a smile upon the cheek 
Of what has been, — a miniature of Cod ! 
A free-born, free-bred spirit, bright and brave, 
Who loved the mountains and the sea adored, 
And call'd the wind a song of Liberty 
As loud it warbled o'er his fearless head ! 
By Pagans captured, here the chains have 

gall'd, 
And rusted on his limbs ; long years roll'd by 
And yet he gnash'd in fetters, till the flame 
Of anguish burn'd his being up ; he died, — 
With home and country pictured on his heart ! 



55G 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



That den within he was not tomb'd alone : 
For twice ten years another captive wretch 
Had withered there ; but long ere that, the soul 
Was quench'd, and Madness in her mightier wo 
Forgot to weep o'er thraldom ! Mark them both ; 
The one like marble on the earth reposed 
In rigid silence, coffinless and cold ; 
The other madly glaring o'er him : see ! 
How oft he twines the matted locks, and hoots 
With idiotic joy, then grinds his teeth 
And leers around him with a dumb delight, 
And babbles to the corse, till on his face 
A ray of pity dawns ; then down he kneels 
And howls a dirge, till voice within him dies ; 
His head droops o'er him ; dimly rolls the eye, 
And the last life-breath gurgles in his throat ; 
'Tis o'er : and Heaven hath open'd on his soul ! 



THE METROPOLIS AND DEATH. 

The grand arena, where insatiate Death 
Drags every day his hundreds to the tomb, 
London the huge, earth's capital and queen, 
In dim array magnificently spread 
Towers into vision now ! not sending forth 
The hum and clamour of her myriad streets, 
Made awful by the roar of life ; but stretch'd 
In mute immensity beneath a sky 
Of midnight, breathless with the summer glow. 
And now, within their curtain'd chambers lie 
What hosts of beings, of all age and clime ! 
Some laugh in dreams ; and some with laden 

hearts 
Mutter strange secrets; others quake and 

groan, 
And kindle darkness with a torch of hell ! 
Now steals the murderer from his den ; now 

hies 
The robber to his haunt ; and from their lanes 
And unfrequented walks the haggard Shapes 
Of Poverty and Crime come creeping forth 
Like Spectres, crawling out of dusky tombs. 

The heavens are visor'd; hark! the dreary 
howl 
Of Thunder challenging the Night ; or like 
An unseen monster, moaning as he prowls : 
Awhile 'tis hush'd ; then flash the riven clouds 
Asunder, and a lake of lightning gleams 
Like shining water through the cloven dark, 
While rain-drops hiss along the sultry air. 



THE DESERTED ONE. 

Wo to the houseless wanderer ! doom'd to 
walk 
Through the drench'd street barefooted, or 
bereft 



Of life's sweet charities, at such an hour : 
And yet, e'en such a martyr Anguish owns ! 
For down yon lane of gloom, upon the cold 
And dripping steps, with garments moistly 

clung 
Round her shrunk form, a lifeless woman lies 
With face upturn'd unto the flooding shower. 
The chain of life despair hath just unlink'd ; 
And on her cheek an agonising trace 
Of parting spirit, as it work'd and writhed 
And with the body wrestled, still remains. 
Approach ! and with the lamp-beam learn her 

fate, 
In mournful lines upon her visage mapp'd : 
A chronicle of sorrow and of sin 
And shame whose fountain is a brain of fire ; 
A heart for ever on the rack of care ; 
Oppression from without, and pangs within ; 
Despair, then death, the master-cure of wo, 
Survey her features, and you read them all ! 

Unhappy maiden! round whose days of 

bloom 
A father's prayers their holy influence cast, 
And from whose eyes a mother reap'd de- 
light, 
Death should have torn thee earlier to the 

tomb, 
And in thy native churchyard heap'd thy 

grave 
Of grassy mould : for once, along the mead 
Fleet as the fawn thou boundest ; bright and 

fair 
The beauty of the valleys o'er thy form 
And features breathed, while in each glance 

there shone 
The magic of an uncorrupted mind : 
And this is all that now of thee remains ! — 
In Heaven's dread book thy sorrow hath a 

page, 
And when 'tis open'd, who shall quail the most, 
The man who tempted, or the maid who fell 1 



THE UNDESCRIBED. 

These fearful visions of thy varied power - 
Appalling Death ! with dreader ones compared, 
Eeflect a shadow of thy murderous sway, — 
Thy ceaseless havoc through the realms of 

Life. 
Let otters paint thee on the desert-heath 
Where, melting into blood, with lukewarm 

limbs 
A gory wretch lies gasping and alone ; 
Or in the roofless and deserted homes, 
Where fires have blacken'd on the blister'd 

. walls; 
Or in the Suicide, — lo ! where he stands 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 



on" 



With visage colourless, with look aghast 
And spirit shivering through his guilty frame ! 



DEATH'S UNIVERSAL REIGN. 

Yes ! far or near, where'er the life-blood flows, 
By ruin, violence, or calm decay 
Death's ravages are felt : the very dust 
That in our daily walks we tread, hath once 
Some breathing mould of Beauty been. earth ! 
Thou grave, and mother ! in thy hollow breast 
What faded myriads are entomb'd ! Your dead 
Give back, departed Ages, and arise 
Ye spirits of the Past ! — they come, they come ! 
From mountain and from cave, from vault 

and tomb 
The Dead are darting into life again ! 
The generations that have been, from Earth's 
Young dawn, to moments on their very wing 
Behold them ! sumless as the ocean sand ; 
A world of Life walks o'er a world of Death ; 
Till all are buried in one deep Abyss, 
The tomb of passion, prejudice, and time ! 



WHAT ALL HAVE FELT. 

To die, is Nature's universal doom ; 
The Past hath braved it, and the.Future shall ; 
Though little deem we, as we laugh the hours 
Along like echoes dandled by the wind, 
How swift our path is verging to the grave. 
Terrific Power ! how often in the hush 
Of midnight, when the thoughtless learn to 

think, 3 
The gay grow solemn, and the foolish wise, 
Visions of thee come floating o'er the mind 
Like exhalations from a grave ! How oft 
We feel an awfulness the soul o'ershade 
As if 'twere soaring to the throne of God, 
Till in one thought of heaven we bury all 
The breathing universe of life and man ! 



HUMAN FATE. 

A death-cloud rises with the star of Life ; 
And ere upon the world our hearts expand, 
Like flower-buds opening to the kiss of Morn, 
With gay and guiltless love, the voice of doom 
Awakes; this sermon from the grave is 

preach'd ; 
We live to die, and die again to live 
A spirit-life in unimagined worlds ! 
First, Infancy, whose days are prattling 

dreams ; 
Next, Childhood, crown'd with beauty, health, 

and joy,— 
Those wizard three, which make the mind like 

spring, 



The breath, the bloom and sunshine of the 

soul ; — 
Then, Manhood, most majestic ; through the 

heavens 
Piercing with haughty eye, and printing earth 
With kingly steps ; ambition, love, and care, 
And energy, in wild and restless play 
For ever heaving like a wave of fire ; 
And then comes passionless and feeble Age 
That droops and drops into the silent grave ! 
Here ends the scene of life; one moment 

wept, 
The next forgotten ; let the curtain fall, 
Oblivion has our tale, — we lived, and died ! 



PAST AND FUTURE. 

Thousands of years beneath thy sway have 

groan'd 
Unwearied Death ! how many more shall bear 
The burden of the curse, no human tongue 
Can tell, for they are chronicled above ; 
Though ofttimes number'd by a guilty mind 
When thunders, like dread oracles, the world 
Awake. Yet, come it will, however late, 
That day foretold when Death himself shall 

die! 4 
And generations, now but dust and worms, 
Rise into being with an angel-shout 
And on the winds of glory soar to heaven ! 



PREPARATION. 

And yet, though Life enchant, and Death 
appal, 
How gently does the hand of Time unloose 
Those many links which chain us to the world ! 
The passions which inspirit youthful hearts 
And spread a lustre o'er the brow of life 
And bid the hopes of young Ambition bound, 
Decay and cool, as further down the vale 
Of twilight-years we wend, till, all resign'd, 
The time-worn spirit ponders o'er the tomb 
With elevating sadness ; and the night 
Of death is lit with those immortal stars 
By Revelation sphered in heaven. 

How pure 
The grace, the gentleness, of virtuous Age ! 
Though solemn, not austere ; though wisely 

dead 
To passion, and the wildering dreams of hope, 
Not un-alive to tenderness and truth, 
The good old Man is honour'd and revered, 
And breathes upon the young-limb'd race 

around 
A grey and venerable charm of years. 



558 



SHADOWS OF DEATH. 






ALLEVIATIONS. 

And, glory to the Power which brings the 

heart 
In sympathy with Time ! how much remains 
In the pure freshness of ideal life, 
For him who loves the bloom of Days no more ! 
A meditative walk by wood or mead, 
The lull of streams, and language of the 

stars 
Heard in the heart alone ; an inward view 
Of all which beautified or graced his youth, 
Is yet enjoy'd ; and with that bliss are found 
The feelings flowing from a better World. 



SPIRITUAL TRIUMPH. 

Then, melt, ye horrors ! which the grave 

begets, 
And turn to glory, by the spell of faith 
Transform'd ; for Christ hath overcome the 

tomb. — 
What though 'tis awful, when the pulse of Life 
Is bounding, and the blood seems liquid joy ; 
To look Corruption in its ghastly face, 
The mind is Man ! no sepulchre for souls 
Can dust and darkness frame ; like God apart 
In calm eternity they act and think : 
The shroud, the hearse, the life-alarming knell, 
The grave's cold silence, and the vision'd friends 
Whose dreams will hover round our chill 

decay, 
Harrow our living dust, and give to Death 
A sting that dwells not in his own dark power. 
We die in body, but in soul we live, 
When flesh and spirit sunder; then our chains 
Are riven, and celestial freedom dawns ! 
The fetter'd eagle whom a narrow cage 
Imprison'd, where so oft his haughty wings 
In wild unrest have beat his hated walls 
With blood-stain'd plumage, while his eyeballs 

glared 
Proudly along the blue and boundless sky 
Above him, — free and fetterless at last 
On plumes of ecstasy can soar away 
And mount, and mingle with the heaven he 

loves ! 

RETROSPECTIONS. 

Of Death I sing; yet soon may darkly sleep 
And press the pillow of the dreamless grave 
Forgetting and forgot ! But twenty years 
Have wither'd, since my pilgrimage began, 
And I look back upon my boyish days 



With mournful joy ; as musing wanderers do 
With eye reverted from some lofty hill 
Upon the bright and peaceful vale below. 
Oh ! let me live, until the fires which feed 
My soul, have work'd themselves away, and 

then 
Eternal Spirit ! take me to Thy home : 
For when a child, inspiring dreams I shaped, 
And nourish'd aspirations that awoke 
Beautiful feelings, flowing from the face 
Of Nature ; from a child I learn'd to reap 
A harvest of sweet thoughts for future years. 

How oft, be witness, Guardian of our days ! 
In noons of young delight, while o'er the 

down 
Humming like bees my happy playmates fled, 
I loved on high and hoary crag to muse 
And thread the landscape with delighted eye : 
The sky besprinkled o'er with rainbow-hues, 
As if angelic wings had wanton'd there ; 
The distant City capp'd with hazy towers ; 
And river, shyly roaming by its banks 
Of green repose, together with the play 
Of elfin-music on the fresh-wing'd air, — 
With these entranced, how often have I glow'd 
With thoughts which panted to be -eloquent, 
Yet only ventured forth in tears ! 



PARTING THOUGHTS. 

And now 
Though haply mellow'd by correcting time, 
I thank thee, Heaven ! that this bereaving 

World 
Hath not diminish'd the undaunted hopes 
Of youth, in manhood's more imposing cares. 
Nor titled pomp, nor princely mansions swell 
The cloud of envy o'er my heart ; for these 
Are oft delusive, though adored : but when 
The Holy and the Beautiful from God 
Descend into my being ; when I hear 
The oracles which from Creation-shrines, 
Roll their deep melody round listening hearts ; 
Or gaze on Yirtue, till her glory seems 
Emmanuel's shadow by a Saint expressed ; 
Then feel I envy for immortal words, 
And the full pulse of Poetry begins 
To waken in me, with exulting throb 
No language echoes ! then the spirit yearns 
To dash my feelings into deathless verse 
Which may administer to Time unborn, 
And tell some lofty Soul, how I have lived 
A worshipper of Nature, and of Thee. 



NOTES. 



Note 1, Page 550, Column 2. 
The thought how dread, &c. 

Note 2, same page and column. 

Dark tragedies of Death. 

The difference between the history of action and 
the history of mind is finely developed in the following 
extract from Jones's Preface to his Life of Bishop 
Home: — " I have heard it said that Dr. Home was 
a person whose life was not productive of events 
considerable enough to furnish matter for a histoiy. 
But they who judge thus have taken but a super- 
ficial view of human life, and do not rightly measure 
the importance of the different events which happen 
to different men. Dr. Home was no circumnavigator ; 
he neither sailed with Anson, Drake, nor Cook ; but 
he was a man whose mind surveyed the intellectual 
world, and brought home from thence many excellent 
observations for the benefit of his native country. 
He was no military commander : he took no cities ; 
he conquered no countries ; but he spent his life in 
subduing his passions, and teaching us how to do 
the same. He fought no battles by land or by sea ; 
but he opposed the enemies of God and his truth, 
and obtained some victories which are worthy to be 
recorded. He was no prime minister to any earthly 
potentate ; but he was a Minister to the King of 
heaven and earth — an office at least as useful to 
mankind, and in the administration of which no 
minister to any earthly king ever exceeded him in 
zeal and fidelity. He made no splendid discoveries 
in natural history ; but he did what was better ; he 
applied universal nature to the improvement of the 
mind, and the illustration of heavenly doctrines. 
I call these events ; not such as make a great noise 
and signify little, but such as are little celebrated 
and of great signification." — Epistle to William Steevens, 
Esq., p. 22. 

Note 3, Page 557, Column 1. 

How often in the hush 
Of midnight, when the thoughtless learn to think. 

" L'eclat du jour peut convenir a la joyeuse 
doctrine du paganisme ; mais le ciel e'toile' paroit le 
veritable temple du culte le plus pur. C'est dans 
l'obscurite - des nuits, dit un poete Allemande, que 
1'immortalite s'est revel ee a l'homme." — De Stael. 



Note 4, Page 557, Column 2. 

Death himself shall die ! 

In revising the poem entitled "Death," the author 
has not neglected a remark made by a critical friend, 
on the necessity of brightening his picture of the 
grave by allusions to the light which emanates from 
the hope of our immortality. " Futuri contempla- 
tione jam vivimus," is a deep truth, whether morally 
or religiously considered. Annihilate the doctrine 
of a hereafter, and the whole universe of things is 
involved in a mystery of darkness ; both man and 
mind are at once reduced to an inexplicable and 
unutterable despair. But conscience — reason — reve- 
lation — all blend their voices into the solemn harmony 
of truth on this point; even the visible creation is 
an emblematical witness of what religion asserts ; 
and while the pale leaves of autumn fall witheringly 
round us, Hope has connected with eveiy naked 
tree and desolated flower a dream of the future 
spring, sunshine, and bloom. There is indeed 
an exquisite analogy existing between the material 
and intellectual world ; and from this philosophical 
source, Poetry in all ages has drunk some of her 
richest draughs of inspiration. And where is the 
visionary madness in this creed of the imagination ? 
Both mind and matter are the productions of the 
Almighty, and therefore their mutual adaptation 
illustrates His wisdom. 

" How often we forget all time when lone, 
Admiring nature's universal throne : 
Her woods, her wilds, her waters — the intense 
Reply of hers to our intelligence ! " 

St. Clement, in his apostolical address to the 
Corinthians, alludes to the symbolical nature of day 
and night, as imaging forth the doctrine of man's 
resurrection. — 'Viuu-iv, oc¥oc.xy,toi, ry,v xotra, xxi^ov yivo- 
[Mvnp> it.va.trrix.triv X YifAsea net.) vj\ kvcttncuriv 'hu.lv hvjkovtrtv. 
Koi/u.S.ra.1 v\ vl>%, kvitnocrai vitx.i%<x., y Ytu.ioat a,TU<riv, vvg 
i<r£°Xtrtxi. — Clem. Epist. ad Corinth. Prim. The same 
ideal illustration of our renovated being is beautifully 
sketched in the following passage from Minutius 
Felix: — "Vide adeo quam in solatium nostri resur- 
rectionem futuram omnis natura meditetur. Sol 
demergit, et nascitur ; astra labuntur et redeunt ; 
flores occidunt et reviviscunt ; post senium arbusta 
frondescunt ; semina non nisi corrupta revirescunt ; 
ita corpus." — x. r. X. De Idolor. Vanitate. 



A VISION OF HEAVEN. 



A FRAGMENT.— 1S29. 



"The heavens were opened, and I saw visions." 

Ezekiel i. 1. 

"Juvat, quandoqne in animo, tanquam in tabula, 
majoris et melioris mundi iniaginem contemplari : 
ne mgns assuefacta hodiernse vitse minutiis se 
contrahat nimis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogi- 
tationes." — T. Bwnet. 

One summer-evening-, from the molten sky- 
When radiance came to beautify the world, 
By Fancy led, along a noiseless vale 
I roam'd, and trod the earth with deep delight, 
Felt in the soul, and in the eye reveal'd. 
'Twas one of those immortal hours, when man 
IJnheedful of the jarring world, feels thoughts 
Within him too sublime for words ; a sense 
Of that divinity o'er all which breathes, 
Making creation one vast temple seem, 
Where shadows of His glory are enshrined. 

Thus felt I at this balmy hour : Above 
Magnificently hung the dome of heaven ; 
Along the concave floated fairy isles ; 
And where the sun stood burning on the brim 
Of ocean, the horizon wound its curve 
Festoon'd with clouds of beauty, fresh and white 
As sea-foam in the sun. 

Beneath the span 
Of heaven, the Earth lay languishing in light ; 
Her streamlets with a bee-like murmur ran, 
And while the trees, like living creatures 

waved 
Their plumage on the wind, the bird and breeze 
Together hymn'd, and harmonised the air. 

Pensive, awhile along the placid vale 
I roam'd, then sat delighted on a mound 
Green-tress'd, and glittering in the dizzy rays 
Of eve, and heavenward turn'd my musing eye. 
Who ever gazed on heaven, nor dream'd of 

God, 
Of human destiny, and things divine? 
Oh that mine eye could pierce yon azure cope! — 
Thus stirr'd the daring thought ; and while it 
warm'd 



Within, a trance like heavenly music stole 
Round my hush'd spirit, weaning earthly sense, 
Till in a vision up the airy deep 
It darted, as a sky-bird to the clouds ! 

Thus disembodied, through the air it rose 
Till earth beneath me in a glassy depth 
Lay twinkling, like a star ; but all around 
Those burning mysteries which mortals view 
With wonder, floating o'er the face of night, 
Not gems of fire, but full and perfect orbs 
In congregations vast, as glorious,— beam'd. 
Aloft ! aloft ! still soared my spirit on 
Through hosts of worlds, self-balanced and 

secure, 
Till the bright atmosphere appear'd to bloom 
With rich suffusion, like a topaz-glow ; 
And here, enchanted by a spell divine 
My Spirit paused, became all eye and ear, 
And Heaven, the palace of the mighty God, 
Expanded into view : — Unbodied soul ! 
With o'erawed feeling enter where He dwells. 

An arch'd immensity of crystal sheen 
Rich with the glory of all glories rare * 
Before me lay : beneath this dazzling vault 
Splendour beyond the dreamings of the heart 
To vision, round interminably blazed : 
I felt, but cannot paint the magic there ! 

While, with permitted glance, the scene I 
mark'd, 
A thrilling tide of rich-toned music roll'd, 
Waking delicious echoes as it wound 
From Melody's divinest fount. All Heaven 
In glorious fascination heard, and drank 
The tones elysian : — Silence breathed again ; 
And where I gazed, a Throne of awful Fire 
Flamed ceaselessly : before it Thunders roll'd 
And veiling Darkness round about it hung. 
And here alone, in uncreated Bliss 
And Glory, reigns The One Eternal Power, 



* Vide the symbolic imagery of Heaven as unfolded 
in the Apocalypse, passim. 



A VISION OF HEAVEN. 



561 



Creator, Lord, and Life of All. Again 
Stillness ethereal reign'd ; and forth appear'd 
Ecstatic Creatures, clad in robes of light, 
Together nocking from celestial haunts 
And mansions of purpureal mould ; the Host 
Of heaven assembled, to adore with harp 
And hymn the First and Last, The Living 

God: 
They knelt, — an immaterial Choir, and glow'd 
More beauteous, while they breathed the chant 

divine ; 
And Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! peal'd, 
And thrill'd the concave with harmonious joy. 

The melody was hush'd ; and I beheld 
Cherubic Forms of unimagined grace 
And beauty walk o'er amaranthine meads, 
And soar on shining pinions : as they rose, 
A radiance quiver'd forth, and from each 

plume 
Soft as the breeze and silky as a cloud, 
A gleam play'd liquidly around their path. 

Of archangelic mien, upon the wing 
Two Shapes I watch'd, careering to the bound 
Of vision ; lighting there, they welcomed in 
Three happy Spirits, by The Lamb redeem'd : 
And Heaven they enter'd with triumphal shout ; 
Transfigured, into glory grew, and were 
Beatified for ever ! 

In a bower 
Kemote, whose em'rald leaves with liquid drops 
Of light were gemm'd, two Angels next I 

mark'd, 
In sympathetic converse sat. Amid 
Life's wilderness below, they had o'erwatch'd 
The errant beings just arrived : through dark 
And light, through sin and toil, their guardian 

power 
Presided, until Mercy came to crown 
Their doom, and they were saved and seal'd 

for Heaven. 
Seraphic sweetness from their lips exhaled 
As, rapt with angel love, th' immortal pair 
Their tale of heavenly triumph told. Oh, 

joy! 

Dream'd I, around us viewless Spirits dwell ; 
Our minds to tune, or consecrate our 

thoughts, 
And guard, relieve, and hallow souls for God. 

From these I turn'd, and saw a sumless host 
Of Cherubim, and bright pavilions rank'd 
In endless files; and then, Kemembrance 

warm'd 
Within me ; heavenly Intuition woke, 
And myriads who on earth erewhile had run 
The grand career of Life, were all reveal'd. 



I saw the Sages, whose immortal words 
Are truthful Oracles to man and mind ; 
I saw the pure, the patriotic bands 
Of Heroes, whose avenging swords had cut 
The fetters from their Land and bade the brave 
Be free ! the renovated forms I saw 
Of Martyrs, robed with glory, on their heads 
In wreathed crowns of life ; and they of old 
Whose names more eloquent than thunder 

sound 
On young Ambition's ear, — the good and great 
Of every cast and clime, were now reveal'd ; 
The Past was in the Present born again. 

For sainted Bards of earth I look'd ; a breath 
Of hymned music through the mellow air 
Came wafted, from beside a crystal fount 
That glitter'd like a living gush of light, — 
There sat our own Mseonides ! Around 
A throng of listening Angels stood, and glow'd 
Till rapture trembled o'er their sunny wings, 
While from his lyre the epic minstrel struck 
Pure inspiration, — sounds replete with soul ! 

Among the myriads of celestial Shapes 
Which mused and wander'd by the springs of 

Life, 
I mark'd the humble, the dejected sons 
Of Want and Wo, apparell'd bright as morn. 
On earth deem'd vile, their trampled hearts 

had bled 
With sorrows, never told ; their joyless eyes 
With tears had melted dim ; at wintry night 
They roam'd, and shiver'd in the bleak-wing' d 

wind, 
And often writhed beneath the glance of scorn, 
Yet fainted not : and now, unfading joys 
Beatitude and thrones in Heaven, were theirs ! 

Fairest of all fair Visions seen above, 
Remember'd Thrones and unforgotten Friends 
Were recognised again ! Along a mead 
Of bright immensity I saw them stray ; 
Not anguish-worn, nor rack'd with inward 

fears, 
But shining in the beauty of the blest. — 
Oh ! ye in life so loved, in death so mourn'd, 
How oft Affection through the desert-world 
Delights to track ye, where your feet have trod, 
Through fav'rite walks or fancy-haunted 

bowers ! 
Blend your calm voices with the twilight breeze 
In fairy music, fraught with infant years ? 
Are echoes woven from your hymns above ? 
In solemn days and melancholy hours 
Of you we think ! Love shrines ye in the stars, 
And recreates ye in celestial robes. 
But while at eve's poetic hour we watch 
The golden isles that glitter from the west, 



In lovelier climes ye live, and chaster skies ; 

By choral streams and aromatic walks 

Ye roam, rememb'ring heaven-like bowers on 

earth, 
And friends, whose mansions ye survey above. 

And such was Fancy's vision-moulded 

heaven 
Around me miniatured. Here God, enthroned 
In measureless perfection, truth, and power, 
His unimaginable Glory wields : 
And thus Eternal Love, from Him the fount 
Of Love, enlightens, lives, and flows through 

All. 
No tears, no trials, and no perils known, 
No sin-worn hearts, and shatter'd feelings here, 
But calm fruition of unfailing bliss : 
All which the beauty of creative Thought 
Hath pictured to Devotion's eye, is felt 
Ineffably more beauteous by the Blest : 
Wisdom and Virtue breathe their native air 
And Pleasures smiling on their steps attend. 

Nor is the vanish'd World forgot ; for oft 
In bowers of everlasting bloom retired, 
The Eansom'd, by the blood of Jesu bought, 
Think of the Fight their spirits fought below, 



Or sweetly muse o'er some terrestrial hour, 
While heart to heart with holy truth responds ; 
Still Sages feed on ever-fruitful thought ; 
And Poets sing and raptured Knowledge * 

mounts, 
From step to step for ever climbing up 
Yet never on the radiant summit throned ! 
Here, bliss and love Eternity embrace, 
And perfect Mind its perfect God adores. 



* A sentiment in harmony with that illustrated in 
the above lines occurs in an Essay on "Novelty," by 
Grove, which was pronounced by Dr. Johnson one of 
the finest which the English language contains — " I 
cannot think he detracts from the state of the blessed, 
who conceives them to be perpetually employed in 
fresh researches into nature and eternity, advancing 
into the fathomless depths of the divine perfections. 
In this thought there is nothing but what does 
honour to these glorified spirits ; provided still it be 
remembered that their desire for more proceeds not 
from their disrelishing what they possess, and that 
the pleasure of a new enjoyment is not with them 
measured by its novelty (which is a thing merely 
foreign and accidental), but by its real intrinsic value. 
After an acquaintance of many thousand years with 
the works of God, the beauty and magnificence of 
the creation fills them with the same pleasing wonder 
and profound awe which Adam felt himself seized 
with, as he first opened his eyes upon this glorious 
scene." — Spectator, No. 626. 



A VISION OF HELL. 



A FRAGMENT.— 1829. 



"Where peace 
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes 
That comes to all, but torture without end." — Milton. 



the 



No longer Death and Time remain'd 
doom 
Revokeless, by prophetic lips foretold, 
Was past ; the universe had disappear' d, 
And Chaos revell'd o'er demolished worlds. 



Apart, upon a throne of lurid fire 
The Fiend was seated ; in his eye there shone 



* As it has been said that in the " Vision of Hell " 
I have drawn the portraits of some individuals 
recently dead, I take the earliest opportunity of giving 
this assertion an unqualified denial. 

I do not think that any mortal is warranted in 
determining the final state of any fellow-creature, 
nor have I presumed to do so. But my purpose was, 
both for the moral and for the poetical effect, to sketch 
imaginary pictures of those classes of human cha- 
racters, whose actions or works may be supposed 
to have been pernicious to mankind, and who there- 
fore might be considered as having by their miscon- 
duct subjected themselves to be residents in the future 
kingdom of the Evil and of the Unhappy. Writing 
in modern times, it was necessary to invest 
these in modern drapery. On these principles, my 
first sketch was drawn as that of a great, ambitious 
Conqueror, desolating the world for his own gratifi- 
cation. I had not Napoleon more in my intention 
than Alexander, Caesar, or Ghengis Khan ; but as it 
was necessary to dress the imaginary being in modern 
costume, in some features he may appear to resemble 
the late French Emperor, because my visionary 
portrait is represented in modern imagery. The 
same remark is applicable to all the rest, and espe- 
cially to my second, which has also received a specific 
application ; though Lucretius, Lord Rochester, and 
some French atheists, may with equal consistency 
be applied. 

The reader will therefore be pleased to consider all 
the portraits as imaginary characters, presenting 
only a collective assemblage of features which, if 
applicable to any one person that has lived, are also 
applicable to many others,— and are exhibited by 
me as general pictures of those classes and characters 
of mind and conduct, which having been detrimental 
to human welfare, might be allowably placed in the 
region to which the " Vision" consigns them. 

1829. R. M. 



The look that dared Omnipotence ; the light 
Of sateless vengeance, and sublime despair ! 
Amid a burning world he sat, and saw 
Tormented myriads, whose blaspheming shrieks 
Were mingled with the howl of hidden floods 
And Acherontine groans ; of all the host 
The only dauntless he. As o'er the wild 
He gazed, the pride of agony endured 
Awoke, and writhed through all his giant frame, 
That redden'd, and dilated like a sun ! 

And then, as ever-vanish'd hours awoke 
The torment of wild memory, to feed 
The cravings of infernal wrath, he bade 
The roar of Hell be hush'd, — and Silence 

came ; 
He call'd the cursed, and they flash'd from 

cave 
And cell ; from dungeon a,nd from den they 

rose, 
And stood an unimaginable mass 
Of Spirits, agonised with burning pangs ! 
In silence stood they, while the Demon gazed 
On all, and ponder'd on dead Earth and Time, 
From whence his vengeance such a harvest 

reap'd. 

Before him, what a congregated host 
Of perish'd creatures ! — sumless as the waves 
Lash'd into life from out the wind-swept seas ; 
Long ages gone, and they were breathing airs 
Of heaven, with noble attributes endow'd, 
Sharing the beauty of the world, and led 
By Mercy through the round of being ; bliss 
And endless wo before them lay ; — the doom 
Of guilt they braved, and barter'd Heaven for 
Hell ! 

Famed Idols of the earth, around whose paths 
The blinding light of admiration blazed ; 
Despots, who bathed the battle-field in blood, 
And many, whose immortal names had fired 



o o 2 



564 



A VISION OF HELL. 



The page of history with a fearful glow, 
Were here, commingled with a nameless host. 

And one, among the legions of the lost, 
The wonder and the curse of Time ! there was ; 
The vial of almighty wrath, he held 
And pour'd it on the world ; or, with a frown 
O'erclouded nations, while his fearless sword 
Flash'd in defiance o'er th' astounded globe ! 
His word roll'd thunder to the haunted ear 
Of Kings ; and Empires quail'd, as from afar 
The darkness of his coming deeper grew ! 
Ambition was his God ; and to o'ersway 
Or chain the world to his triumphal car, 
The demon-passion of his soul. Though Man 
And Nature wail'd ; though Ocean storm'd, 
And mountains threaten'd an eternal bar, 
Still went he on, and battled with them all ! 
Nor paused, till on the tower of Conquest waved 
The planted banner which proclaim'd him lord. 
No wail of widows o'er the tombless dead ; 
No groan of orphans ; nor the hideous cry 
Of Havoc, through the vanquish'd city howl'd, 
E'er deafen'd him ; dominion was his heaven, 
Eebellion hail'd him with applausive roar, 
And slaughter'd millions swell'd his fame ! 

Beside 
This reprobate, another ruin'd Soul 
Stood haughty : one of those surpassing Minds 
It takes a century to create ! a man 
Whom Genius fill'd with her electric fires. — 
Oh ! genius is a great, but fearful gift, 
A double portion of the God within, 
A talent not our own ; but to entrance 
And elevate mankind with lofty thoughts, 
To shadow forth the Spirit that surrounds, 
Protects, adorns, and glorifies the world. — 
And Genius, nursed in Nature's mighty lap, 
For him work'd marvels. On his matchless 

page 
The vast creation lived ; both when the voice 
Of thunder with his music roll'd ; or war 
Of Ocean, when the deep-toned winds arose 
And whirl'd her into storms; or when he 

bade 
The heavens be sprinkled o'er with starry isles, 
Or damask'd with the crimson clouds of eve, 
His verse array, — magnificent the Muse 
Appear'd : around Her glowing form the light 
And breath of nature play'd. But, not to Him 
The Architect of all, was incense breathed ; 
An atheistic shade his lines eclipsed : 
High o'er each haughty page a spirit moved 
More changeful than a cloud ; now beaming 

forth 
Bright in the summer beauty of the soul ; 
Then, veil'd with darkness, and infernal gloom 
From whence the luridness of passion glared ! 



Yet, had he pleased, he miyht have hallow'd 

earth 
And human nature with immortal lines, 
Pure in their radiance, like prophetic gleams 
From heaven : but in his breast a storm there 

was, 
An anarchy of impious thoughts : he loved 
With minds to play, as whirlwinds do with 

waves. 
No God his genius own'd ; and man was deem'd 
A chance-begotten shape of dust, — his doom 
Annihilation ! Principles which nursed 
The soul of Ages, he would mine away, 
And laugh Religion from her hoary shrine. 
Thus sang a prostituted Muse, and taught 
The tongue of fools to be profanely wise : 
Till lo, a summons from th' Almighty came, 
And he was dust ! — his Mind the earth appall'd ; 
And men gazed upward on the burning sweep 
His genius circled o'er the heaven of fame, 
As though some meteor through the sky had 

whirl'd, 
And summon'd them to trace its dread career ! 

Another of the lost, who might have lived 
In joy's unclouded atmosphere, was he, 
The Suicide — the darkest of them all ! 
The lonely scion of an ancient line, 
A princely mansion, when his manhood bloom'd, 
Beheld him master. How augustly peer'd 
The turrets from the wooded park ! how proud 
The young fawn bounded o'er the breezy knolls, 
And down the vales, where interwinding 

streams 
Ran musical ; yet, what to him were trees 
With sun-smiles sparkling o'er their boughs, or 

song 
Of birds, and streams, and all the glory shed 
By morn and eve his hill-girt home around ] 
No natal ties he own'd ; benignant Heaven 
Had bless'd an ingrate ; soon the stranger held 
His ancient halls, — the City-queen for him ! 

Full in the prime of youth, to England's 

Rome 
He came, the meteor of his day to shine. 
What wonder, Admiration woo'd his eye 
Where'er the idol shone ? Devoted friends, 
Delightful women and officious hearts 
Were his ; the Capital beneath him crouch'd ; 
And when the glorious sun of noon beheld 
The city roaring like a sea of life, 
Who shot through street and square so fiercely 

swift 
As he 1 How paused the many-headed Crowd, 
When, rolling like a distant thunder-car, 
His chariot darted through the smoking dust 
And shook the glitt'ring windows ! In the park 
When proudly throned upon his warlike steed 



A VISION OF HELL. 



565 



What eyes devour'd him with adoring looks ! 
Thus pass'd the day ; then came the midnight 

Mask 
And ball, with every splendid thief of time : 
To crown his course, he blighted trusting hearts, 
Jeer'd Honour to her face, and out of tears, 
The fathers curse, and desolated home, 
A pleasure, such as Demons fancy, quaff 'd. 

Soon fled the glories of a fatal year, 
And left him an unpitied wreck of pride 
And dissipated hours. No more the smile, 
Shot from the heart, fiash'd o'er his happy face ; 
No more the soul-dear friend, and sumptuous 

dome, 
Where beauty, or the banquet, witch'd the hour 
With languishment and love; the sun of 

wealth 
Had set, and darken'd into joyless gloom ! 

One hope, the hope of Desperation left, 
He sought it, where the secret gamblers met 
And madden'd o'er their midnight-game. 

Amid 
The sickly glimmer of a silent room, 
Like Spectres, there they sat, and ventured 

all; 
Till Euin scared them, and some faded cheek 
Flinch' d from the gripe of agony within ! 
Night after night, from this infernal haunt 
He came, and felt the voice of Conscience rise 
Like hell-words sounding through his guilty 

soul ! 
One night, as homeward he return'd, and heard 
The death-knell of another buried Day, 
While far o'er street and lane the waning moon 
A wintry radiance shed, the past arose ; 
The frowning spectre of his murder'd Hours 
Appall'd the conscience ! then Despair began, 
And in him like a living hell-spark burn'd. 
Awhile, in chamber'd solitude he sat, 
Where through the riven wall the cold blast 

whined 
And mourn'd, and rioted in rueful dreams ; 
Till, with a laugh, deliriously he snapp'd 
The thread of life ! and sent his spirit — 

where 1 
Where are they all, who, cowards to themselves, 
Eob their Creator, cut existence short, 
And hurl their spirits back again to God, 
Of life disdainful, by His wisdom lent? 

Th' antipodes to this self-murder'd Wretch 
Stood by, in fellow-torment : once a man 
In face so meek, so honied in his tongue, 
A martyr to a sinful world he seem'd ! 
What holy passion work'd his eye, as oft 
With woful voice, and words of heavenly tune, 
He sermonised, and shook his head, and sigh'd ! 



But God unmask'd him ; and he stood 

condemn'd, 
A hypocrite, — a saint without a soul ! 
While others braved the censure of their crimes 
And to the world their sinful bosoms bared 
And sallied heedlessly to Hell, he plied 
His guilty pleasures in the dark, and did 
Unknown what millions dare, and die 

condemn'd : 
And yet, a living Sermon he appear'd ; 
Far nearer heaven than unassuming minds 
Where God was templed, and his truth adored. 
Such was the hypocrite ! and when his tomb 
Was piled, his epitaph Devotion read, 
And glow'd to think that such a man had been ! 
By saints anointed, — yet with devils leagued. 

And who, among the myriads of the cursed, 
Was yon red Shape of unconsuming fire ] 
A blighted Angel ! Never round a soul 
Did fairer prospects shine : before her moved 
The majesty of birth, the graces breathed 
From polish'd mode and princely scenes. 

And oh ! 
Who ever look'd upon that lovely face 
Where the soul sunn'd itself in smiles, or 

heard 
The prattled music of her tongue, nor dreamt 
She was a Seraph, born in heaven to beam ! 

Time roll'd her years along ; but with them 

came 
No saintly thoughts, which beautify the soul 
And tune the passions to their heavenly tone. 
Ne'er did the voice of pure Instruction charm 
Her willing ear ; nor meek-eyed Wisdom stoop 
With fond attention to each budding word 
And sweet demand. Unto the dew-bright 

stars 
Her finger pointed oft ; the sun and moon 
Were radiant wonders ; and the ocean-roar 
Like hidden rapture, ran through every vein 
Until her being throbb'd with joy ! — yet none 
Were by, to warm her wonder into praise, 
And stamp God's image brighter on the soul; 
In prayer none lock'd her little hands, or spoke 
Of Angels, who the growing child o'erwatch. 

But when, at length, the peerless woman 

dawn'd, 
Never did Mind a lovelier form create : 
She was a paragon, a poet's queen ! 
The starry lustre of her speaking eyes, 
Her brow, her hair of fascinating curl, 
And neck of swan-like grace, — all seem'd 

divine, 
When with the lightness of a cloud she walk'd 
Her chamber, or amid the ball-room shone : 
The form was heavenly, but the mind of earth, 



566 



A VISION OF HELL. 



A shrine for vain-born hopes, and sensual 

dreams, 
Without a thought, a sigh, or wish for Heaven ! 
E'en to the last, when on her pain-worn cheek 
Approach'd the tints of death, no tender lip 
The coming hour reveal'd ; nor in her heart 
Did Faith's sweet music roll : so mildly-good, 
In form so fair, and so adored below, 
Sure God would take her to his bowers of 

light ! 
So dream'd Compassion's unreflecting heart 
And form'd a heaven, how beautifully vain ! 

Not least deserveless of a nobler lot, 
Among the legions of assembled Souls 
Was he, the self-idolater : who made 
His mind a vortex for ingulphing all 
That worldly craft and sordid dreams inspire. 
To self unlink'd, — and earth a desert seem'd, 
A vacancy, where nothing glorious dwelt ; 
But, to administer to mean-bred pride, 
His wealth augment, and lend ambition wings, — 
For this mankind were fool'd with base 

applause ! 
For such a soul the very Devils long'd, 
So loveless, and with selfish dross defiled : 
And yet, no law he broke, no crime he dared, 
But in his pew devoutly pray'd ; and felt 
The pulse of reputation, with the pride 
Of specious virtue : Yet, tremendous God ! 
Before Thee, never could that Spirit stand 
And live ; a worldling could not breathe in 

Heaven ! 
When did he look upon the lofty sky 
Or round his temples hear the breezes hymn, 
And glory in his Being *? When did Morn 
The world to re-awake arise ; or Night 
Descend to beautify her brow with stars, 
And he admire them 1 Though the wrathful 

Deep 
Should thunder all her waves to foam ; or 



Like noiseless whirlwinds sweep half earth 

away, 
Still, tomb'd within himself, he would not weep, 
Or wonder; what to him were Nature's 

pranks 1 
Not Genius, crown'd with her celestial light ; 
Not glorious Art ; nor Beauty darting out 
The mental radiance of her meaning eye, 
One noble passion in his soul could plant : 
No renegade was he ! for when the beam 
Of life in death was languishing, and hell 
Before him sounding like a furnace-blast, 
A Thought look'd back, and wept the world 

behind ! 



Such were a few of all the dark undone. 
Among them, millions who were crowned, when 

Time 
Stalk'd o'er the earth, as demigods of fame, 
Were seen : Philosophers, whose rebel doubts 
Would, Titan-like, have disenthroned The God 
In heaven, were here; and hosts of every 

shade 
Of sin, from visor'd Crime, to daring Vice ; 
And those, whose coward-virtues only shone 
Untried, when happiness around them smiled ; 
Unlike the truly good, whose virtues were 
As stars, — unnoticed in the haughty glare 
Of day, but in their full effulgence seen 
And felt, when darkness overshrouds the world. 
Not least in number were of middle-stamp, 
Nor good, nor bad, and yet for heaven too base; 
Triflers, who gaily pass'd from life to death 
Like full-wing'd vessels o'er a gallant sea ! 

And did not meek-eyed Mercy stoop to 
save 1 ? — 
To Heaven she beckon'd every breathing soul ! 
By day, by night, she whisper'd to the heart, 
" A God ! Eternity ! A Day of Doom ! " 
By funeral-knells, and swiftly-dying friends ; 
In solemn hours, and serious moods ; by pangs 
Within, and perils from without ; by all 
The eloquence of love and truth divine 
She summon'd man to glory, and be saved. 
In vain ! — the tides of joy unebbing flow'd, 
And lightly tript the fairy Hours along : 
Eternity was all a cheat ! and Heaven, 
Some bright creation of a poet's dream ; 
And Hell, but burning in a priestly brain ! 

Men died ; and could they have their breath 
resumed, 
With one terrific shriek they would have thrill 'd 
Creation round, — " There is, there is a Hell ! " 
But now, for ever dungeon'd must they groan 
Where minutes hold eternities of pain ! 

The crowns in happier realms they might 
have worn 
In mocking dreams now only view'd, which 

make 
Damnation more severe ; their wasted hours, 
Corrupting pleasures and degraded joys, 
The sabbaths broken, and the God blas- 
phemed, — 
All, in one blended, burning mass of sin 
And mem'ry, round each guilty Soul revolve, 
Where self-conviction forms the deepest Hell. 



UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 



Almighty, True, Eternal, and Supreme, 
By Person Threefold and in Nature One, 
Jehovah dread, adorable I Am ! 
Through Christ alone accessibly reveal'd, 
In whom Thine attributes and counsels meet 
Become incarnate and the World redeem,— 
Look on our hearts, and lift them up to Thee, 
By prayer and praise for due ascension wing'd. 
Illume, expand, and purify the Soul 
With inward radiance, from Thyself derived ; 
The springs of mind unlock, and let them gush 
Heavenward to Thee in one commingled stream 
Of adoration, duteous as divine. 

Thou Infinite ! since first creation roll'd 
Of heaven thy mercy hath a shade reveal'd 
To Nature's heart ; in ev'ry age or clime, 
Heard in the wind, or by the tempest robed, 
Or in the parent-sun presumed to shine, 
Still has immortal soul been stamp'd with 
Thee ! 

Oh, all which thought can span, or eye per- 
ceive, 
Is but a part, a shadow of Thy Power 
Creating, filling, and upholding All ! 
The arch'd immensity above us spread, 
Where mystic worlds their silent march per- 
form, 
And Seasons live, and act ; the chainless Deep 
Belting the earth with majesty and might ; 
The mountains pinnacled with storms; the 

floods 
And streams, the meadows beautified with 

flowers, 
A God declare ! and in the thunder-peals 
Rattling from cloud to cloud their voices dire, 
Like Sinai, when the awe of sound convulsed 
Her cavern'd height, — a Deity is there ! 
But when dark whirlwinds o'er creation sweep 
Like rebel Spirits plunging from the sky, 
We dread Thee, wing'd upon each awful blast ! 

Fountain of Light and Love ! while Nature 
hymns 
Thy praise in wave or wind, from shore to shore, 
Thy miniature, immortal Man, the grace 
And glory of the earth, with brow erect 



Was made the world to walk in joy ; to share 
Thy goodness ; and adore the Hand divine. 
Then look, Thou Universal One ! Whose eye 
Alike on all is fix'd, with mercy view 
This wide and peopled World ; from east to 

west 
From north to south Thy guardian care extend : 
In Polar climes, in lands refined or rude, 
In isles remote, or deserts grimly vast, 
Where beats a heart within a human breast 
There be Thou present, and Thy power adored ! 
And oh, since all one common race are doom'd 
To run, and one Eternal Goal to reach, 
May Thy prime Attribute each bosom warm 
With tender sympathy and truth ; may Man 
To man be link'd, in fellowship of soul, 
Till one vast chain of Love the world embrace. 

Unsearchable ! before whose boundless gaze 
The Past the Present and the Future stand 
Submissive, we implore Thee to unshroud 
The Sun of truth ; His heavenly beam advance 
From pole to pole, till on His perfect face 
All earth shall gaze, one glorious Altar rise, 
And every soul unite to hail thee, God ! 

And, ah ! may those who fight the war of 

faith 
With weapons such as brave Apostles wore, 
In climes where Sin and Satan darkly rage 
Feel holy valour, from Thy shield derived : 
Defend them, Thou ! Whose cross their banner 

decks, 
When bleak with ice or burnt with torrid 

glow 
Deserts of gloom and death their eyes appal ; 
Or when at midnight, round their flapping 

tent 
The hurricane like a demon howls, 
Let Hope descend, their falt'ring hearts confirm, 
And free as morning let their faith arise 
Again for conquest, o'er the host of Hell ; 
While round them, daily may Redemption see 
Idolatry from thrones of darkness fall 
For ever, by the sword of Truth destroy'd. 

As o'er the treach'rous sea of human life 
We wander, till our anchor'd spirits rest 



568 



UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 



In the calm haven of eternity, 
Without a heart-deep sense, a wakeful dread 
Of Thee, felt in the mind, and by the act 
Reveal'd, we perish on the rock of sin : 
Lord of the Universe ! impress, we pray, 
Upon our minds Thy majesty, that breathes 
A holy freshness through the heart ; and raise 
And animate the soul to things sublime ; 
O'erawe the passions, and each thought arrest 
Which on the fiery wing of impulse roams 
Unheedful of the Voice within, where dwells 
The chronicler of virtue and of crime. 
Omnipotent ! in every Soul be shrined : 
So shall our deeds be echoes of good thoughts, 
And at Thy dreadful summons we shall stand 
Unharm'd, secure amid the shock of worlds ! 

And since to Thee the unveil'd heart be 
. known, 
Nor voiceless thought, nor wish can rise, but 

Thou 
Record' st it in Thine awful Book of Life, 
The tempted mind oh ! may we ever watch 
And keep it pure from each unhallow'd wish, 
From each depraved desire : so shall our days 
In beautiful declension fade ; and Hope 
And Faith triumphant o'er the world exult ; 
Till back recall'd, the renovated Soul 
Shall reap beatitude in realms of light. 

On each degree of men, benignant God ! 
Thy sleepless care we pray Thee to bestow ; 
Grave it on each adoring mind, that Heaven's 
Bright portals are to all unbarr'd, that high 
Nor mean, nor rich nor poor with Thee prevail 
By aught peculiar, save a perfect heart : 
The meanest orphan of the world may win 
A wreath in heaven; the humblest wear a 

crown 
Of life. And oh ! may those, the gifted few, 
Archangels of the earth, before whose thrones 
Mortality will bend, and half adore, 
Remember what to Thee and Man they owe : 
May Genius never stoop to pander vice, 
But fix her eye on heaven, and walk the earth 
A Spirit conscious of her native sphere. 

Prime Source of being ! let the richly- 
dower'd 
Forget not Him from whom their riches flow, 
And heaven-born Charity exult to be 
A bright reflection of Thy glorious Self! 
Her office 'tis, sweet Harbinger of love, 
To light the burden from oppressed hearts, 
To pluck the arrow from Affliction's breast, 
Nor leave a pang behind ; and where the sad 
And unobtrusive Virtues toil, to shed 
The balm of joy, and wreathe their cup of wo 
With smiles accorded by approving Heaven. 



To Thee, to Thee alone, pervading God, 
The sum of human agonies is known ! 
But wheresoe'er the race of sorrow dwell 
There may Thy dews of mercy fall ; refresh 
The wither'd heart, the languid eye of Want 
Relume, and bid Misfortune smile again : 
And since from Thee the breath of Life began 
And on each brow the seal of God is set, 
Oh, hear the bitter sighs of Thraldom, breathed 
Morn, noon, and night, from out ten thousands 

hearts 
Of agony, to Thee : Awake, arise, 
God of the slave and free !* and disenthral 
The World ; bid freedom shine, and like thy 

sun 
Illume and animate Creation round. 

And let the young, on whose delighted gaze 
In hopeful beauty dawns the dream of life, 
In their unspotted bosoms treasure thoughts 
Of Thee, to guide them through the cloudy 

years ; 
And may the Old, upon whose gray-worn 

heads 
An honourable crown past Time has placed, 
When earth grows dim, and worldly joys 

decay, 
Find heaven advancing as the world retires. 

Oh ! Thou that fathomest the guilty mind 
And canst interpret each debasing thought 
Untold, the erring soul arouse, by Sin 
From Thee withdrawn; the form of Vice 

unveil, 
And bare her hideous aspect to the eye 
Of Truth ; then, bid return the rebel heart, 
And blot its error with repentant tears. 

On him, whom Hope and Faith exalt, what 

dreams, 
What joys, and what diviner moods attend ! 
The world He walks, as Jesus walk'd the 

waves, 
Triumphant and secure. In every scene 
A love for Thee prevails ; Creation breathes 
Of heaven: the vaulted sky with stars 

bedropt ; 
The Ocean roll'd to rest, or sending up 
Tremendous paeans to her mighty Lord ; 
The field and flower ; whate'er in noontide 

walk 
Is sweet, to Him his wondering heart allure, 
The source and spirit of the moving Whole. 
All order, beauty, and perfection here 
Form but the shadows of more perfect Bliss 
Cast from a purer world ; he dwells in Thee, 



See Note, p. 570. 



UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 



569 



And Thou in him ; Heaven seems his native 

home 
And Immortality embowers him there. 

Not for the fleeting joys of Life alone 
We pray, and those by blood or truth allied : 
When Life'sfierce storms are hush'd, and Death 

that veil 
Undraws, beyond which never human glance 
Hath seen, oh, then be present, viewless Power ! 
And calm the pangs of Nature's closing scene : 
Let haunting fears, nor fiery dreams the past 
Recall ; but may the grave a future bed 
Of glory be ; around the dying couch 
May bands of sympathetic Angels watch, 
And waft the winged Spirit to its home. 

Omnipotent ! at Whose creative word 
Eternity a shining host sent forth 
Of worlds, to balance in the beauteous air, 
Still may the Sun upon his dazzling brow 
Thy smile of mercy o'er mankind reflect ; 
Still let abundance crown the year ; still roll 
The seasons o'er a prosperous land, and breeze 
And blast, and all the treasure of the clouds 
The pregnant earth enrich, and heap the load 
Of human gratitude to gracious heaven ! 

Incarnate King of kings, and Lord of lords ! 
Since at thy fiat empires rise and fall 
And melt like palaces of painted cloud, 
Mantle our cherish' d Country with Thy wings 
Of glory : may she prosper in the pride 
Of liberty ; Her ancient throne around 
Let all the kingly virtues throng ; and bid 
Thy delegate, the Monarch of our Land, 
Be graced with wisdom, and his sceptre wield 
The majesty of Justice and of Truth ; 
May he be great and good, and ever find 
A loving bulwark in the People's heart ! 

But with the prayer let boundless praise 

ascend 
On wings that never droop. We praise Thee, 

God! 
For life and limb ; we praise Thee, God ! for 

health 
And wisdom, hope divine, and deathless truth ; 
For each vast symbol of Thy power portray'd 
By this dread Universe, where Thou art seen, 
As ocean mirrors an imperial sun. 
In feeble infancy, when on the breast 
We hang in slumber, Thy protecting Hand 
O'ershades us ; on our steps Thine angels wait ; 
And day by day, Thou shap'st the formless 

mind, 
Teaching the thought to bud, the tongue to 

speak, 
And on the heart reflecting grace and truth, 



Which are the flashes that Thyself reveal. 
And thus, through all the ravell'd maze of life 
With viewless guidance Thou direct'st our feet, 
Till, lo ! upon that awful Brink we stand 
Where shines the light which leads to Heaven 
the soul. 

But Thine infinity of awful love 
Oh who can fathom, when th' Incarnate. 

came 
And bade the moral resurrection dawn 1 ? 
He look'd, — and in His glance grew bright 

the Earth ! 
Her slavish eye Idolatry unsealed, 
While Superstition from her gloom arose 
Burst from her bonds, and with an angel-shout 
From east to west the Hallelujah rang ! 

Victor of Death ! mysterious God and Man, 
Who bore the vial of almighty Wrath 
Upon His head outpour'd, the tomb unlock'd, 
Trampled on Hell, and oped the gates of 

Heaven 
To banish'd Man, hail Prince of Peace ! 

enthroned 
In glory, with Thy co-eternal Sire, 
Our prayer accept, the incense of the soul, 
And hallow it with Thy perfecting grace. 

Thou Light of Light ! by ancient seers fore- 
told, 
And by prophetic minstrels hymn'd, the sun 
And centre of our faith, redeeming Christ ! 
Look down, and consecrate thy Church below : 
Around it rally all thy faithful hearts, 
Pillars beyond the power of Hell to shake ! 
Reluctant time roll on ; and spread from land 
To land, from isle to isle, the Word of Truth 
Till Earth shall seem one universal soul. 

But all is fruitless, save Thy Spirit teach, 
Console, attract, illumine and adorn 
The penitential Mind. Can deaf men feel 
How Music wakens her enchanted might ; 
Or blind ones, when the lids of Morning ope, 
Greet the proud radiance of commencing 

day] 
So dull, and eyeless to the words and beams 
Of truth heaven-sanction'd, is the rocky heart, 
Before an unction of converting grace 
Descend, and bid the glorious change begin. 
Or, mark the body, when the soul is fled. 
How pale and powerless, how corrupt and cold 
It lies, and withers like a Dream of clay ! 
So dead to things transcendently divine 
In carnal trance the soul itself abides, 
Till comes Thy Spirit with celestial breath, 



The faded lineaments of God revives 

And quickens nature with transforming power : 

Then, Thou art all, and all in Thee resides. 

Eternity upon the Book of Life 

Reflected, how sublime the means of Grace ! 

In Christ what love immeasurably deep 

Embodied ! what a glory robes the Cross ! 

Each word, each promise, each divine appeal 

By Thee brought home, how vast redemption 

grows! 
Vile passions sink ; and low affections raised, 
No longer worm-like creep in dust and gloom, 
But, wing'd by faith, beyond the world ascend, 
Exulting round The Throne, and hearing oft 
Faint echoes of some archangelic hymn 
To Jesu chanted ; Who, as Lord of deed 
And life of thought, o'er all our being reigns ; 
And oft, by sacred fascination led, 



To Calvary our yearning Hearts retire, 
Kneel at the Cross, and see the Saviour die ! 

Be with us, Lord, till years of fadeless bloom 
Act the bright wonders which Isaiah sung, 
And Eden, lovelier far than Adam saw, 
Lit by the Sun of Righteousness, appear ! 
And when at length Thy gospel-Kingdom 

comes, 
When the last Trumpet wakes the trance of 

time 
And thunders roll creation's knell, Thine eye 
Shall beam with mercy; and Thy voice will 

sound 
A welcome to the Skies ; while, angel-wing'd, 
Myriads ascend to shine immortal there. 

London, 1829. 



Note to Page 568, Column 2. 
God of the slave and free/ and disenthral 

* As the awful question of human slavery is once 
more exciting th e deepest sympathies of Christian men, 
the author ventures to subjoin, in a note, a speech 
which he happens to retain, which refers to this 
subject. It was delivered by him, "At the First 
Public Meeting of the Glasgow Society for the 
Civilization of Africa, held in Hope Street, on 
Thursday, 24th September, 1840." He need scarcely 
preface it by the remark that his righteous abhorrence 
for this impious outrage on the body and soul of man, 
remains in all its unweakened intensity. (1853.) 

"My Lord, Ladies, and Gentlemen, — Although an 
introduction to a speech, like a preface to a book, is, 
for the most part, a gratuitous infliction which might 
well be avoided, I shall venture to brave the encounter 
of your taste, by assuring your Lordship that my 
appearance here to-day has originated in no desire 
for prominence on my part ; on the contrary, I was 
most anxious to commit the subject to abler hands 
and to more practised intellects. And, in addition to 
this felt incompetency, I was fully conscious that 
various professional engagements left me little time 
to consolidate my thoughts, to collect facts, or to 
embrace those scattered principles in alliance with 
the subject in that symmetric order, and that con- 
densed harmony of expression, which alone could 
render them suitable to be offered to an assembly 
like this. But, overcome by the Christian urgency 
of my Rev. Friend, the highly-respected Secretary of 
this Society, I yielded to his wish : and now, with a 
profound sense of my incompetencies in the unwonted 
atmosphere of a platform, I shall proceed to the high 
and holy cause before us. 

"And here, at the very outset, my Lord, allow me 
to congratulate this great assemblage that we have so 
far realised the cheering idea, which, we presume, all 
present indulged at the commencement of our pro- 
ceedings, viz., that whatever might be the politic 
bias of specific mind on this occasion — however 
varied might be our views on certain questions 
touching other departments and interests of human 
nature — we should be found united to a man here : 



and, though arithmetically numerous, morally one. 
And thus, my Lord, we have imitated the noble 
concord and graceful unity which inspired the first 
meeting of this Society, at which the illustrious 
Consort of oiu Queen presided ; and by placing 
himself in the front of freedom's sacred cause, added 
an additional throb of loyalty to the beating of that 
Empire's heart, in whose affections he had already 
begun to be enshrined. And here, my Lord, per- 
chance it will not be presumptuous should I venture 
to congratulate yourself also on this deeply interesting 
occasion. For justly as your Lordship may have 
endeared your memory to the minds of those distin- 
guished ' strangers whose presence has adorned, and 
whose genius has irradiated, our city during the past 
week, by presiding with dignified courtesy over their 
association of science ; you have now added a richer 
charm to your name, and a more abiding motive to 
our gratitude, by taking the chair at this great 
meeting of humanity. For without the remotest 
depreciation of the lofty claims and enduring trophies 
of science, may we not assert, that associations of a 
sublimer cast than ever encircled the cause of mere 
earthly science combine themselves around us now ? 
Our object, my Lord, in its upward aspect, connects 
itself with the moral perfections of the Almighty ; 
while in its downward reference, it applies to the 
most costly interests of humanity. In a word, we 
have to wing our thoughts to that far Continent of 
whirlwind and of gloom — to the sun-burnt soil of 
deserts and of slaves, where man is bartered by his 
brother man — where sacrilege is attempted on the 
Divine glory through the inalienable prerogatives of 
the [reasonable spirit ; — in fact, ours is the sad and 
solemn duty to surround the terrific altar of human 
suffering, heaped with the hecatomb of some four 
hundred years of outrage and wrong, and to offer 
there the sacrifice of noble sympathy and indignant 
remonstrance ! 

And here, let us ask, what is the nature of this 
tremendous curse against which we now meet to lift 
our righteous testimony ? — That curse is Slavery ! — 



1 An allusion to the meeting of the British Associa- 
tion, held in Glasgow. 



UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 



57] 



and what is that ? Let us answer this by considering 
what is freedom. Is it not the spring of thought, the 
source of conduct, the fountain of character — at once 
the centre of nearly all that is good, and, at the same 
time, the circumference of all that is great, in man ? 
And if so, then Slavery is the infernal opposite to all 
this ! — a system of stern and absolute vassalage, 
whereby one man becomes a mere excrescence to the 
existence of another — a mere appendix to his master's 
pleasure, — in fact, the slave is dwarfed down from 
the high majesty of being a person, to the low pros- 
tration of becoming a thing — a mere negation of 
humanity — a living machine of flesh and blood, to be 
worked and used at the mercy of his master. But 
after all, my Lord, I feel the inadequacy of my 
language here ; for, however deeply seated among the 
complexities of our nature, nothing, in fact, is more 
difficult to anatomise than moral instinct ; and, 
however big the impression of our horror, we cannot 
always break it up into luminous fragments, so as to 
explain in detail what in the compound our entire 
being feels to be just. But even as on beholding 
some masterpiece in art, we instinctively exclaim — 
beautiful ! — so must every rightly-constituted heart, 
on considering the Slave Trade, burst into the moral 
interjection, and say, — abominable ! And here, again, 
my Lord, we realise a blessed concord : for not more 
completely are all the warring varieties of Protes- 
tantism united into doctrinal fellowship when they 
meet round the harmony of the Everlasting Intellect, 
even the Bible, and pronounce it to be the standard 
of truth ; than are all the discords of political interest 
harmonised into one expressive indignation when they 
contemplate together the system of slavery, and 
declare it to be — the summit of their common detesta- 
tion ! And here, my Lord, had not the day so far 
advanced upon us, we might have attempted to 
analyse these elements of human corruption out of 
which the fell injustice of slavery has morally 
originated ; and appended to this view some remarks 
on the more immediate sources to which it owes its 
modem birth, — such as war, conquest and crime. 
But leaving this, and omitting also the dark traces of 
slavery as occurring in ancient history down to its 
milder form in feudal times — we would remind this 
assembly that it is in Africa, where slavery has been 
concentrated into the climax of all conceivable 
horrors ! There it is that, from the fifteenth century 
( when the West Indies first began to be possessed by 
Europeans), more than tongue can speak has been 
endured and done ! But, my Lord, I shrink from the 
ghastly detail — I recoil into mute helplessness before 
the abominations that mark the traffic in human 
flesh — I have no language sufficiently tragic to per- 
sonate the woes — I have no epithets sufficiently 
scathing in their fire and force to brand the atrocities 
connected with Afric's children; and, therefore, 
leave them to the expressive silence of imagination 
to conceive. If described, at all (I say it with awful 
reverence), the description must come from more 
than mortal Up ; for as God, in the mystery of His 
sovereignty, has permitted slavery to exist, so, I 
solemnly believe, He alone has language adequate to 
describe it ! And yet, — (can the powers of perversity 
exceed this?) — something like an apology has been 
feigned for this masterpiece of iniquity ! — from the 
whips and branding-iron, even down to that floating 
hell — the slave -ship — the excuse has dared to proceed ! 
And what is worse, not content with bringing all the 
vile urgencies of mere venality to bear on the subject, 
the Bible itself— that great Magna Charta of the soul ! 



— has been violated for arguments wherewith to 
defend the system of slavery ! Yes, my Lord, our 
ears have heard with dismay the assertion that slavery 
may be defended on the principles of Scripture ! — 
and thus has the ark of the Divine mystery been 
blasphemed by the touch of the infidel ; even thus 
has the cold-blooded worldling attempted to trans- 
mute that almighty volume — which was intended to 
quicken, to purify, and exalt the world, — into the 
hemlock of falsehood, which would terminate in the 
death of moral truth, and the destruction of all social 
principle. But, my Lord, we will not fatigue this 
assembly by details unrequired in order to prove 
what the majority of all sincere Christians already 
know — namely, that the endeavour to adduce scrip- 
tural authority for Slavery derives all its strength 
from confounding the permissive with the preceptive 
economy of God in the Old Testament ; and from an 
infidel determination to mistake what is barely 
recognised, regulated, and restrained in the judicial 
facts of the Mosaic dispensation, for that which has 
been actually ordained and directly approved by the 
moral Governor of the universe. Let us, however, 
turn from abstract argument to one fact, which 
includes more than mere logic can achieve — we 
allude to a circumstance in the history of that hero of 
the Apostles, St. Paul. Now while he, beyond all 
men, knew how to borrow from the splendours of 
eternity, in order to irradiate the darkness of time ; 
and, therefore, how to overcome the powers and 
persecutions of this evil word — whether he were 
fettered or free ; yet even he, when summoned to 
plead before the proud king and his pampered court, 
uttered these memorable words — 'I would to God, 
that not only thou, but all that hear me this day, 
were both almost and altogether such as I am ' — but 
here, my Lord, the chain clanked in his ear — the iron 
entered his soul — there was a parenthesis in his grief 
— for he added, with uplifted arm, 'except these 
bonds ! ' 

"And now, my Lord, permit me to direct the 
attention of this assembly to consider two points, 
most interestingly allied to the cause of this noble 
Society: — 1st, Let us ask what has been already 
accomplished towards the Abolition of Slavery ? To 
answer this, completely and correctly, would lead us 
far too extensively into the history of the abolitionists ; 
we must, therefore, content ourselves, by reminding 
your Lordship that those who have befriended the 
Slaves may be divided into three classes. The first 
comprehends all those who opposed the principle of 
Slavery ; 2nd, those who assailed the system ; and 
3rd, those who attacked the thing. Among the first 
of these philanthropists are found a series of writers, 
poetical, moral, philosophic, and historical — reaching 
from the time of Cardinal Ximenes (who composed the 
Polyglott Bible early in the sixteenth century), down 
to the times of Granville Sharp. Selection here is 
impossible; but amongst these moral pioneers to a 
great result, we cannot resist hearing the illustrious 
Montesquieu, who, in allusion to the negro, utters 
this pithy and profound sarcasm — 'We must take 
heed that the negroes do not discover they are men 
— or assuredly they will at the same time find out 
that we are no Christians ! ' In reference to the second 
class, those who assailed the system, we presume 
we may consider Granville Sharp in the present rank ; 
for it was owing to his righteous zeal and intrepid 
humanity that the judges, in 1772, gave their immortal 
decision, viz. : — ' That as soon as any slave set his 
foot upon English territory he became free ! ' A 



decision over which every attrihute in Godhead 
smiled, and for which angels round the throne might 
have given a cheer ! It was in allusion to this result 
that Cowper wrote those lines which concentrate as 
much of piety, poetry, and philanthropy as can be 
well condensed into a few syllables : — 

' Slaves cannot breathe in England : if their luugs 
Receive our air, that moment they are free ! 
They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, 
And let it circulate through every vein 
Of all your empire — that, where Britain's power 
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.' 

' ' In connexion with this period, however, we cannot 
forget the name of Thomas Clarkson. And here, my 
Lord, how deeply interesting it is to mark the ways 
in which the God of wonders often connects moral 
influences together. At the time to which we now 
allude, Clarkson carried off the Chancellor's Prize 
Essay, for that year in Cambridge; the subject of 
which was connected with Slavery. It was after 
reading this essay in the Senate House, while on his 
way to London, that the awful statements and 
appalling facts contained in his essay returned on his 
mind with double force ; and in one of those mournful 
reveries, in which the high mysteries of our nature 
come so strangely into action, he sat down on the 
green turf by the roadside, and pondered deeply and 
sadly on the wrongs of Africa ! — and there was 
formed, my Lord, that magnificent resolution, which, 
as a germ, contained all the energies and principles 
which he hereafter brought to bear on the cause of 
abolition. It occurred to him that if the essay were 
true, the case must be tremendous, and called for 
instant aid ; and to connect with this reverie the fact 
that, in a few years after this, the cause of slavery 
was rolled off from myriads of the human race ! But, 
my Lord, we now hasten, with many apologies for 
this protracted harangue, to introduce the venerated 
name of Clarkson's great coadjutor, even that ot 
William Wilberforce. And is it too imaginative, or 
rather is it not becoming this temple, dedicated to 
the sublime impressions of eternity, to think, that if 
the holy dead can recognise the conduct of the living, 
that patriarch of liberty, whose spirit now brightens 
before the throne, may be permitted to gaze on this 
assembly, and waft a blessing on that cause on earth, 
the trophies of which he remembers in heaven ! — But 
here, my Lord, we need not linger ; the character and 
conduct of Wilberforce require neither eulogy nor 
history ; they form part and parcel of our national 
sympathies. We would simply remind the meeting 
that although associated with Wilberforce were those 
giants of intellect, Pitt, Fox, and Burke, — it was only 
after innumerable delays, cabals, and conspiracies, 
that Wilberforce succeeded in carrying his glorious 
measure ; and that as the chime struck midnight in 
May, 1807, the last act of the Grenville administration 
was to sign and seal the ' Magna Charta for Africa in 
Britain.' 

"And now, my Lord, from this hurried retrospect 
of past exertions, we turn to the future, and ask, 
What remains to be done ? — and what is our corre- 
sponding duty? Our reply is, let the past instruct 
the present, and from the triumphs of what has been 
effected, let us reason hopefully to what may be 
achieved. And this suggests an allusion to Wilber- 
force in the way of encouragement. Now, what is it 



that demands our chief admiration in contemplating 
the career of this eminent man ? Why, my Lord, we 
do not hesitate to remark that while the result of his 
labours has been duly lauded, the moral process 
whereby that consummation was reached has scarcely 
yet been sufficiently admired. Here, just as in the 
history of struggling intellect, when the palms are 
won, and the laurel binds the fevered brow of trium- 
phant genius, the voice of fame is loud and long ; yet 
all the solitude and sorrows, all the waste of heart 
and wear of mind, all the toilsome days and sleepless 
nights, are seldom estimated. So in the career of 
Wilberforce's philanthropy — his success has been 
nobly congratulated; but the heroic self-denial and 
all the high elements of patience, zeal, and fortitude, 
which he evinced throughout his arduous and pro- 
tracted fight against the world's antagonism, are too 
often unremembered in an estimate of what is great 
and good in his history. With this great man, indeed, 
we may assert, that the energy of opposing circum- 
stance only served to draw forth the energy of 
victorious principle. So, my Lord, from some green 
eminence in this romantic land have I oft beheld 
with delighted gaze some gallant bark, contending 
nobly with the winds and waves around it — at times, 
amid the darkening heavens and the uprising billows, 
the bark would seem to sink and disappear, — but when 
the sunbeam came through the riven cloud, and flashed 
along the deep, there was the little bark, — bearing on 
to the harbour, where at length it arrived, and dried 
its dripping sails in the sun. So, amid all the clashing 
waves and contending winds of opposition, did 
Wilberforce, with never-failing heroism, carry forward 
the sacred cause of human freedom, and bear it finally 
unwrecked and uninjured into the haven of a nation's 
welcoming smiles ! My Lord, be it for us now, who 
are on the eve of following out his glorious precedent, 
to remember, that with Wilberforce success was 
neither the motive nor standard of duty ; and that 
(under the Divine blessing) he was indebted for his 
costly triumph in the cause of humanity to a fine 
combination of unquailing principles, set in motion 
by indomitable resolution. Be a spirit like this our 
inspiration now ! By combining prayer to God with 
exertion towards man, let us march forward to meet 
the holy cause that now demands all our energy, 
prudence and zeal. And, so may the period soon 
arrive, when the spirit of divinest freedom shall 
inspire the hearts, purify the homes, and exalt the 
characters of Africa's now degraded offspring : when 
not a limb that moves within her vast domain but 
shall be found as fetterless as man was made to be ! 
And then, my Lord, visions fairer than Christian 
patriot ever conceived, nobler than painting ever 
sketched, and richer than poetry ever drew, shall be 
realised and seen ; and the land where Tertullian 
penned his burning page, and Cyprian died the 
martyr's death, shall awake from the dark slumber 
of a thousand years of ignorance, slavery and crime, 
and more than rival what it once possessed, when 
Egypt was the cradle of science, the seminary of art, 
and the birth-place of literature. And why ? Because, 
my Lord, Africa may have that which imparts to 
science its ennobling strength, to art its presiding 
beauty, and to literature its sanctifying life and glory 
— even that which heightens the moral lustre round 
the throne, being, — 'glory to God in the highest,' — 
while at the same time it awakens ' peace on earth, 
and good- will to men ' — even the Gospel of our Lord 
and Saviour Jesus Christ. Yes, my Lord, it is because 
this Society recognises that great verity, for which we 



UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 



573 



should all be ready to bleed on the block, and to burn 
in the flame — viz., that Christianity, and Christianity 
alone is the conservatrix of liberty, and the true 
reformer of the world, — it is on this account, my 
Lord, pre-eminently, I would give this Society my 
very cordial, though insignificant, support. For if 
the Son shall make the Africans free, they shall be 
free indeed ! And now, where savage waters wind 
their lonely course — unwhitened by a single sail — 
there may Commerce lift her thousand signals, 
streaming in the gale ; instead of forest depths, where 
the tiger preys, and the lion howls, — there may the 
thronged city, the busy wharf, the crowded street, be 
hereafter seen, with all the glow of commercial life, 
and the grace of social advancement ; and instead of 
the war-whoop of contending tribes, the tyrant's 
lash, the clank of chains, and thraldom's bitter sigh — 
there may be heard the voice of prayer, the sound of 



praise, and the sweet music of the ' church-going ' 
bell. My Lord, the cold head and the calculating- 
heart may pronounce this to be mere poetry — but He 
who ruleth on high may in mercy render it predic- 
tion, ! And therefore, in conclusion, I most warmly 
anticipate the time when the energies of Scotland, 
England, and Ireland will be found condensed into 
one high, magnificent, and holy enterprise, for 
carrying out the principles of this Society, and for 
putting down that consummate treason against God 
and man — human slavery. Yes ! soon may that 
vessel be launched, from whose deck the voice of 
this united empire will proclaim the commencing 
jubilee of Afric's glorious freedom, and the termina- 
tion of her shameful wrongs — for 

' Thus saith Britannia, empress of the sea, 
Thy chains are broken— Africa ! be free.'" 



THE STAGE COACH. 

(1827.) 



-Jumenta vocant eundum est ; 



Nam mihi commota jam dudum mulio virga 
Adnuit. Juv. Sat. 3. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO FIRST EDITION. 

The following Poem was written when the 
writer was on the brink of boyhood, some two years 
before the " Omnipresence of the Deity" appeared. 
The reader will, of course, be candid enough to 
estimate it by a right standard ; nor expect a 
homely subject not to be treated in a homely 
style : " parvumparva decent." There is some- 
thing peculiarly national in the neatness, com- 
fort, and rapidity of our Stage-coaches ; and the 
Author thought many of the feeling reflections 
which a journey in England suggests, might not 
be inappropriately described in a poetical form. 
With this brief preface, he leaves this poetical 
trifle to the indulgence of his readers ; — happy 
will he be, if, when steam has rendered our 
present style of travelling almost extinct, an 
occasional passenger will be old-fashioned enough 
to patronise him, by taking a place in his " Stage - 
Coach." 

April 25th, 1834. 



ANALYSIS. 

Sunrise in an obscure Village — Woodland described — 
Curate's abode — Breakfast scene before the j ourney 
— Coach arrives — Its influence on the Villagers, &c. 
— A respectful apostrophe to the subject — Pleasure 
of a journey from town on a fine day, or of a visit 
to a secluded Friend — Schoolboy's love of travel — 
A Coachman sketched — a farewell at the Parsonage 
— Journey recommenced — Landscape Scenery — 
Park Mansions — Country Gentlemen — A homely 
Man's feelings on surveying their comforts — 
Moral scenery on the Road — Instruction often 
derived from a casual acquaintance with Passengers 
— Characters — Politician — Pleasure of a social 
Temper — The quiet demeanour of the Curate con- 
trasted with his loquacious Friend — A retrospect 
of the Author's — A sad but interesting Passenger 
is next described — then, two Schoolboys, and their 
pleasant glee — Its effect on a Sailor and an old 
Soldier, who each relate the story of their Lives — 
Arrival at a Town where the Coach stops for 
Dinner — Comforts of an Inn— Scene described — 
Journey recommenced — Evening Scenery — Delight 
of revisiting the Place of our Boyish days— Sailor's 
joy on his return Home after a long absence — 
Journey concluded— The Passengers part— And the 
Poem concludes with a moral comparison. 



The morn is up ; on Woodland's eastern sky 
Masses of cloud in rich confusion lie ; 
Awhile they mingle, then apart they glide 
Like painted isles upon a far-off tide : 
Till, orb'd with glory, see ! the sun appear 
To light the world, and lead the Day's career. 
Now from yon hamlet's moss-grown chimneys 

rise 
Wreaths of blue smoke which curl along the 

skies, 
And far the stir of village-life resounds 
And rings the morning air with merry sounds. 

Ask ye of Woodland, site of boyish days 1 
A village, such as Goldsmith's verse might 

praise : 
The grey church glimm'ring through the dark 

elm-trees, 
Whose pealing chimes oft harmonise the 

breeze ; 
A Gothic mansion on the green withdrawn, 
With freckled steps and smoothly-levell'd lawn, 
Where priest and parish sages oft retire 
And bow obsequious to the ruddy squire • 
An ocher'd inn behind a bench-girt tree, 
Where chatt'ring statesmen kindly disagree, — 
These are the noblest piles on Woodland's 

plain, 
To charm the pilgrim, or delight the swain. 

Though barren now, not so when summer- 
bloom 
Spreads a bright magic over winter's gloom, 
Fair Woodland looks, and every garden greets 
The way-worn traveller with exulting sweets. 
The gravel winding to the lilac-bower 
Where shaded friends beguile their sultry 

hour ; 
The guarded hive where humming bees 

abound, 
The well-rope creaking forth its homely sound, 
The fairy babble of a road-side stream 
Where the brown urchin shapes his infant 
dream, 



THE STAGE COACH. 



575 



With many a charm awake the wand'rer's 

smile, 
Tempting his eye to pause, and dream awhile. 

But to our scene ! — Beside yon beaten road 
Behold the village Curate's neat abode ; 
Time-worn, it stands in unobtrusive state 
Behind the circling pales and ivied gate, 
With pointed windows based by massy beams, 
Where orient Morn delights to shed her 

gleams : 
Xo fruits, or flower-parterres in spruce array ! 
The night-beads glisten on the leafless spray, 
And, safely housed within his pendent cote, 
The plaintiff pigeon coos his winter-note. 

But in yon parlor, where a window-blaze 
Now flickers redly o'er the white-frost haze, 
And the bold robin, fed by infant-zeal, 
Pecks from the scatter'd crumbs his morning 

meal, 
How merrily resounds the mingled din 
Of social love and life, awake within ! 
Bright on the pictured wall the fire-beams play ; 
There the loud tea-urn sings its bubbling lay, 
And on the glossy table-cloth are spread 
The glitt'ring china and the cottage-bread : 
The parting hour, like death itself to meet, 
Is come ! — the curate from his calm retreat, 
Doom'd by domestic care, awhile must roam 
And leave the heaven which Yirtue forms at 

home. 

Around him now a darling group is met 
With faithful looks of fondness and regret ; 
Yon fair-brow'd child, the gentle, loving, 

good, 
And budding sweetly into womanhood, 
Presidingly the breakfast-rite surveys 
While a meek sorrow dims her pensive gaze ; 
One prattling cherub, with infantine grace, 
Leaps on his knee, and pats his smiling face, 
While elder boys within their hearts receive 
The counsel pious fathers care to give. 
But, ah ! what lovely dews of feeling rise, 
Melt from the soul, and glitter in her eyes, 
As moves the mother with a placid mien 
And fondly hovers round this parting-scene ! 
Full well yon tender sire perceives the care, 
And smiles it off with many a winning air ; 
Talks of his quick return, the news he'll tell, 
And looks, what language could not speak so 
well! 

But, hark ! the merry bugle peals a sound 
Till the roused echoes ring the hills around ' 



While noisy urchins scour the village through, 
To hail the Stage-coach wheeling into view ! — 
That Thing of glory to a rustic throng 
Who shout and gambol as it whirls along ; 
Or, idly vent'rous, balance at its back 
Braving the guard, and whip's repeated smack ; 
While at the blacksmith's murky door preside, 
With solemn eyes, and mouths all gaping wide, 
A prying group — that pertinacious class 
Who quiz profoundly as the coaches pass ! 

Triumph of Art ! extemporaneous home ! 
For pain or pleasure unto all who roam ; 
Compactly fashion'd to a useful form, 
To poise the burden, and defy the storm, 
Let Life and Commerce, Love and Duty 

show 
What daily blessings to thy speed we owe : 
Sure of thy succour, see the Friend depart, 
To press the absent to his faithful heart ; 
Swift as thy speed, behold the Lover fly 
On Love's warm breast to breathe his welcome 

sigh ; 
The proud and mean, the hapless and the gay, 
Thou waft'st them all, along their varied way ! 

And pleasant 'tis when Winter's flooding 

rains 
Flash on the pools, and beat the rattling panes, 
Snug in a Coach's padded nook to lie, 
Stretch the free limb, and close the languid 

eye: 
But sweeter far, on some auspicious day 
When lovely clouds the crystal sky inlay, 
And choral breezes o'er the meadow spring 
Like uncaged birds exultant on the wing, 
Throned on a coach to leave the smoke-dimm'd 

town, 
And view the vernal mead and sloping down, 
The wood-crown'd hills, and laughing streams 

that glide 
While sunbeams gambol on their gurgling tide. 
How warms the spirit into young delight 
As views romantic greet the gladden'd sight ! 
While lip and brow partake the fresh-wing'd 

breeze, 
Till fancy echoes to the warbling trees ; 
'Tis now, as slow and soft some distant bell 
Dies on the air with solemnising spell, 
That worldly feelings faint off, one by one, 
Like ice-drops melted by the noontide sun ; 
Till, soften' d all, they mix in one soft sigh, 
Or bask delighted in the beaming eye ! 

On morn like this, to quiet hearts how sweet 
To leave the noise of life for some retreat. 



From doors half open'd peeps out many a face, i Where haply dwells in his Arcadian cot 
The grandam hobbles from her wonted place, j Far from the world and by the world forgot. 



576 



THE STAGE COACH. 



The friend of virtue, gentle, wise and good, 
In mental ease and classic solitude ; 
There, warm at heart, within his social room 
Where fragrant woodbines waft their mild 

perfume, 
At eve's soft hour, behold the vesper-star 
And talk of vanish'd scenes and friends afar; 
Renew the hours of rapture and of pain, 
The past create, and be the boy again ! 

By moonlight, too, when vale and coppice 
gleam 
Like landscapes pictured in a poet's dream, 
How charming from the coach, with half-closed 

eye 
To mark the glimm'ring meadows gliding by : 
The spectral valley, or the dark-brow'd hill, 
The woods in dewy slumber, dark and still, 
Or taper twinkling from some far abode, 
Or waggon winding up the lonesome road, 
While the meek night-bird's melancholy lay 
Melts like a wreath of woven sound away. 
Not least the coach's charm let schoolboys tell, 
When to their prison-walls they shout, fare- 
well! 
Then through the joy-wing'd night glib tongues 

display 
The fairy visions of their homeward way ; 
And oft the ceaseless tongue would fain relate 
What coach-wheels rattle at the school-yard 
gate ! 

But who, emburied in his coat's broad fold, 
With triple kerchief round his neck enroll'd, 
Stalks forth, with brindled waistcoat, full and 

free, 
And glossy boots, braced o'er his giant knee 1 
Our Coachman ! who, with smiling pomp and 

mien, 
Full-blown and square, directs the road- 
machine. 
Alike when winter wraps the world in snow, 
Or o'er it summer sheds her sleepy glow ; 
Not unimportant is his busy post, 
Or on the road, or parleying with my Host, 
Or when, with merry eye and mottled face, 
The whip he twirls, whose ev'ry turn is grace ! 

Happy the trav'ller who on coachey's throne 
May sit, and make the country round his own; 
Well pleased to hear him, with official pride, 
To asking strangers act the courteous guide ; 
Point with his whip to each patrician house, 
Portray the owner, or depict his spouse ; 
Or, fraught with whisper'd tales of sly import, 
Presume to paint a Baron for his sport ! 
Then, too, what puns and proverbs quaint he 

knows ! 
What ruddy humour on each feature glows, 



When, gazing round him with theatric leer, 
He tells the freaks of many a by-gone year ! 

But see, the fond farewells are said and o'er, 
And, lo ! the Curate, at the coach's door, 
Smiles on the red-cloak'd dames and hoary men 
Who humbly wish him safe return'd again : 
Up roll the steps, — the echoes of the horn 
Far on the breeze from hill to hill are borne ; 
And see, along the road's extended sweep, 
Loud as the billows lording o'er the deep, 
Again the bick'ring wheels their course renew, 
And Woodland fades amid the distant view. 

And now, while languid mists dissolve away 
And golden sun-tints o'er the landscape play, 
Look round ! the unpretending view admire ; 
From shady dingles peeps the taper spire, 
While far around yon richly-wooded green 
What still romance o'erveils the rural scene. 

But most the pilgrim eye delights to see 
My Country ! monarch of th' imperial Sea ! 
Those ancient mansions where thy Gentles 

dwell, 
And grace the homes their fathers built so 

well. 
Far on the lawn, amid the leafy shade, 
Behold the porch and pillar'd walls display'd : 
Hark ! round the Park, begirt with olden trees, 
The sheep-bells shake their echoes on the 

breeze ; 
Fleet on his fairy foot, the timid deer, 
With glancing eye pursues his wild career ; 
While browsing cattle crop the stunted food, 
And snuff the wind with conscious gratitude. 

And long, fair England ! may such homes 
be seen, 
In modest grandeur shadow'd o'er the green ; 
Long may the country-Gentleman be found 
The grateful lord of his paternal ground : 
Far from suburban toil, and meaner care, 
No midnight-brawls, no masquerading there, 
A bounteous fortune, and a feeling breast, 
Loved by the good, and by the humble blest, — 
How calm he marks the bloom of life decay, 
How breeze-like float the fleeting hours away ! 

And ah ! forgive the wand'rer, doom'd to 

roam 
O'er life's autumnal waste, without a home, 
If chance an unforbidden wish should swell 
For some dear haunt, where Love and Truth 

might dwell : 
How blithely would he hail the welcome dawn 
And stroll enamour'd round his dew-bright 

lawn ! 



THE STAGE COACH. 



577 



Or when pale twilight hued the garden-trees 
And the boughs twinkled in their vesper-breeze, 
Delighted stray, with heavenward feeling- 
fraught, 
And wind the mazes of immortal thought ! 

But from the road unnumber'd scenes 

transfuse* 
O'er the quick mind, reflection's moral hues ; 
Each, as it passes, claims a sigh or tear 
For Want, or Wo, and all their offspring, 

here. 
There, the blind beggar, led by faithful Tray, 
Bareheaded moans along his mournful way ; 
Here, a lean pedlar winds his wintry track 
With wallet strapp'd upon his weary back ; 
And far withdrawn on yonder coppice-green, 
Like wood-born regents of the lonely scene, 
The sun-brown gipsies o'er their caldron gaze 
And watch the faggots crackle as they blaze. 
But lo ! a livelier scene : beside the wheel, 
Wild urchins whirling round from head to 

heel; 
Around and round, and still around they turn, 
Till lip and eye with bright suffusion burn, 
Then mildly beg, with upward-looking face, 
Some poor reward to crown their wheel-side race. 
And oft to him, whose moral Eye hath been 
A quaint observer of Life's comic scene, 
Hath social Travel true instruction brought, 
Which form'd a theme for many an after 

thought. 
Abroad, our lines of character appear ; 
For who would crouch to affectation here, 
Where all are free, unknown, and unrestrain'd, 
And fashion profitless, however feign'd 1 
A rapid meeting (like the glad surprise 
Of nature, when a sun-burst brings the dyes 
Of verdure wood and water into life 
Each with a sudden power of freshness rife) 
Calls traits of mind and tones of feeling forth 
And bold opinion in its native worth ! 
Within the compass of a hundred miles, 
How vast a subject for our frowns, or smiles ! 
How much that opens like a scenic view 
Of Nature's drama, such as Shakspere drew ! 
The selfish, vain, the volatile, or proud, 
The pert, the spruce, the silent, and the loud, 
All, in their turn, some living truth impart 
Which threads the labyrinth that conceals the 

heart. 

Meanwhile, our rumbling Coach pursues its 
way, 
Adorn'd with passengers — and who are they ? 
Inside, and warm'd with sympathy, recline 
A Politician and a plain Divine ; 
The first can lay the cabinet quite bare, 
And fathom all the well of wisdom there ! 



A smile of candour clothes his merry cheek, 
And his eyes twinkle what his heart would 

speak : 
Genteely plain in periwig and vest, — 
Let buckled shoes and snuff-box speak the rest ! 

Within a coach, perchance we oft may find 
Some choice companion with a kindred mind ; 
Here, unsubdued by ceremonious fear, 
The sterling traits of Character appear ; 
And thoughts unmanacled by mean control 
Flash bright and clear, like sparkles from the 

soul. 
Shame on the Man who drones himself away, 
When conversation should have turn to play ! 
A Soul so bare, companionless, and cold, 
Can scarce be stamp'd. in nature's kindly mould, 
Who bids the social flame to kindle, when 
We meet, though strangers, with our fellow 

men. 

Commend me him who with colloquial art 
His tongue can loose, and let out half the heart; 
Above suspicion, conscious of no end, 
He turns the stranger to a passing friend, — 
Refined or rude, no matter, if the mind 
Be meet for converse, and for truth inclined. 
With him a journey yields delightful ease, 
His wit may gladden, and his wisdom please ; 
Long miles escape amid such talking charms, 
The temper brightens, and acquaintance warms. 

And such is he, whose glowing tongue hath 



As if a parliament were in his head ; 
How well he weaves each patriotic plan, 
And, like a Minister, selects his man ! 
A war condemns, or conquers distant climes, 
And paints the leading wonder of the times ; 
With fond remembrance turns to scenes of yore, 
And mourns that mind will be revived no more, ' 
As when, with eagle-glance, great Chatham 

rose, 
And flash d defiance to his country's foes ; 
As when, enrapt, immortal Burke he saw 
The House inspire, and give the world a law ! 

Meanwhile, the pensive Curate, pleased to 
learn, 
But ventures half an answer in his turn ; 
Eemotely blest, his humble lot has been 
Through life to move unvalued and unseen ; 
To watch and weep beside the couch of Woe 
And bid the tear of blest contrition flow ; 
Or woo immortal mercy from the Throne, 
The poor protect, and make their griefs his 

own : — 
His heart replete with heavenly love and truth, 
The prop of age, and hallow'd guide of youth, 



578 



THE STAGE COACH. 



His home the bosom-spring of tranquil joy, — 
Ah ! who would mar him with the world's 
alloy 1 

And here, oh ! let one dreaming line renew 
That hour when Life's far ocean dawn'd in view, 
And, fired by young Ambition's inward flame, 
To battle with its stormy scenes I came. 
As o'er the winding street our coach-wheels 

roll'd 
And from the Abbey-dome the town-clock 

toll'd, 
How lingeringly my parting glance was cast 
On each loved spot that hail'd me as we past ! 
Till far behind old Bladud's hills were seen, 
And glittering uplands clad by forest-green, 
And rocky woods enrapt in sunset-glow, 
With beechen valleys bathed in light below, 
Till dim and faint the city-mansions grew, 
Like cloud-shaped temples of aerial hue : 
Then all the heart seem'd melting into tears 
While fancy hover'd o'er my future years ! 

That time hath fled ; and Truth might well 

relate 
The toiling woes of life's eventful state ; 
The tinge of circumstance that hued my 

hours, 
Not gently lost in academic bowers, 
But roll'd away in energetic toil, 
With friends to gather, and with foes to foil : 
But these are past; and that Great Power alone 
To Whom the history of hearts is known, 
Those chronicles of inward-life can tell 
Where truth and conscience in communion 

dwell. 

Night roll'd away ; and when, with weary eye, 
I watch'd the dawn awaken in the sky, 
London, the vast, the wonder of mankind, 
The mart of Commerce, and the fount of Mind, 
Like an immortal Vision rose in view, 
Dim vast and distant in the morning- 
hue ! 
How did the startled feelings rush and roll 
In pleasing tumult o'er my prostrate soul, 
When timidly, as on enchanted ground, 
I mark'd the peopled desert spread around ; 
And heard the waves of Life around me roar 
Like echoes wafted from a distant shore, 
While bands of glorious Spirits that have been 
Rose from the dead, and stalk'd the mighty scene ! 



Still wheels the coach along the hoof-worn 
road, 
Whose windings tell of many a mingled load ; 
The golden sun pours forth his noontide glare, 
And cheeks catch beauty from the bracing air, 



While talking glee and social voices sound, 
And pleasure quickens as the tongues abound. 

Amid the tumult of a crowded street 
In pensive walk who has not chanced to meet 
Some unregarded wretch who seems alone, 
Sad as an exile in a land unknown, — 
A form of Woe upon whose mournful face 
Compassion loves the line of thought to trace ? 
And such yon aged man, with haggard mien 
Who, all unconscious of the present scene, 
His every feature with dejection fraught, 
Sits in a shroud of melancholy thought : 
Upon that wintry brow and blighted cheek 
Departed years their doleful history speak ! 
For him no welcome by a cheering hearth, 
No home of comfort and no song of mirth ; 
No gentle heart to mingle with his own 
Pilgrim of life, he roams the world alone ! 
On such a wither'd face and dim-worn eye, 
The gay might look, and learn for once, to sigh ! 

Merriest of all whose bounding gladness feel3 
The flush of joy a laughing eye reveals, 
Two schoolboys from the coach's roof resound 
Triumphantly, and hail the woods around ; 
Glad as the sunbeams when the storm is o'er, 
That gild the wave, and gambol on the shore. 

Oh, could the horses like their wishes speed, 
Then short the road, and travelling swift 

indeed ! 
And mark yon blue-eyed rogue with daring 

brow, 
Round his young heart what visions revel now ! 
Restless and wild, all gaze and wonder he ; 
Sky, coach, and road, he fills them all with 

glee ! 
How dark a mystery to his infant mind, — 
The wheels advance, the bushes glide behind ! 
Full oft a school-room dream hath pictured 

this, 
A journey home, the paragon of bliss ! 
This heal'd up many a birch-awaken'd smart, 
Cut short the lesson, and relieved the heart : 
It comes at last ! adieu to " Propria quce" 
Long-rooted verbs, and puzzling prosody, 
The tame sky-blue, the task-recalling bell, 
The stern infliction, and the piteous yell; 
A month of joy each parted woe repays 
With nights of fun and frolic-loaded days. 
Not he who cross'd the Rubicon for Rome, 
Plann'd more immensely than these rogues for 

home ; 
What feats immortal on the frozen lake ! 
What tittering mirth around the twelfth-night 

cake ! 
Then snugly nestled by the parlour-fire, 
Hobgoblin-tales shall Christmas-eve inspire ; 



THE STAGE COACH. 



579 



Or, hand in hand by Love parental led, 
They'll see the showman smooth the lion's 
head ! 

A glad spectator of these roguish two 
Garb'd in a time-worn suit of woollen blue, 
A plump-faced Tar sits by, and joys to see 
The heart-warm flow of boyish revelry ; 
His tiny hat of weather-beaten straw, 
His twinkling eye, and look so fresh and raw, 
The winning bluntness of a seaman's guise, — 
Allure the urchins' archly-smiling eyes ; 
Looks grow to words ; and kind, without delay, 
With ocean-tales he charms the travell'd way ; 
Of ho wling wolves that haunt the icebound Cape, 
And surges which surpass the mountain- 



Or billows thundering by the vessel-side 
While mariners in swinging hammocks ride, 
Of these he tells ; till one, with wonder grave, 
His hand uplifts to meet a mountain-wave, 
And in dread vision, eyes the shatter'd sail, 
And starts and shivers at the seaman's tale ! 

A veteran Soldier, in his faded lace, 
One-legg'd, with plumeless cap, and scar-worn 

face, 
Upon whose sunken features, rough and plain, 
Is mapp'd out many a fierce and far campaign ! 
Smiling, obeys the elder boy's behest, 
To read the medal on his martial breast : 
Though battle-roar, and moonlit-bivouac, 
And mounted breach, and city's dreadful sack, 
Return no more, his eye illumes to tell 
Of foe and fight he loved to brave so well ; 
Once more in heart he marches to the sound 
Of deep-roll'd drums and clarion's echoing 

sound ; 
Front in the rank again he seems to be, 
And inly shouts the song of Victory ! 

And well the eager boy his rapture feels, 
To hear of clarion-voice, and cannon peals ; 
Or how the Battle raged till setting sun, 
Retreat and charge, who vanquish'd, and 

who won ; 
Till his heart triumphs with a warrior-glow, 
Pants for a sword, a charger, and a foe ! 
But hark ! the watchful guard, in champion 

state, 
Twangs his shrill summons to the turnpike- 
gate : 
And promptly coming from his spruce abode, 
A grey-beard opes the barrier of the road : 
'Tispass'd; and,lo! beside yon sun-bright down, 
The giant-shadows of the distant town ; 
Till, brightly-towering in the noontide-blaze, 
A City flashes on the eager gaze ! 



Brick walls and temples, domes, and mansions 

dun, 
And steeples whitening in the welcome sun, 
And banners shivering in the smoke-dimm'd 

air, 
And lofty house-roofs, slanting, broad, and bare, 
With the faint windings of a clear canal 
Like a lone pilgrim roaming far from all, — 
Majestic spread beneath a cloudless sky 
In one full mass arrest the traveller's eye. 

Though sweet awhile the noisy world to 

leave, 
Forsake its follies, and forget to grieve, 
Pleasant the city-roar renew'd again, 
When impulse flags, and solitude is pain ! 
List to the clamour of the clattering street, 
The bickering car, and hoof, and pattering feet; 
The rush, • the stir, the deafening, struggling 

din 
Of moving life ! — but, lo, a stately Inn ! 

Hail to the timely welcome of an Inn ; 
Hail to the room where home and cheer begin; 
Where all the frost-bound feelings melt away, 
And soul- warm sympathies begin to play, 
While Independence shows her careless mien, 
And unforced traits of human life are seen. 
The crackling blaze which dyes the chimney red, 
The gracious substance on the table spread, 
The glowing wine-cup and the rich ale's foam, — 
Partake them all, and dream thyself at home ! 

As round the festive board our travellers sit 
With appetites far sharper than their wit, 
What busy knives and gracious meats 

abound, 
What hissing corks and tinkling glasses sound ! 
Some, fiercely-rapid, sheathe the gleaming 

blade 
In joints that seem for hungry pilgrims made ; 
Some by the glittering hearth-side sit and gaze 
And bathe their features in its welcome blaze ; 
Nor still the Host, who waddles here and there 
Like a live Barrel come to take the air ! 
The time is past ; the feast partaken, o'er; 
Again they journey over hill and moor; 
Fresh at the rein, behold yon rapid steed 
Roll his large eyes, and cleave the wind with 



Thus, unimpeded with its plenteous load, 
The eager Coach pursues the varying road, 
Save when Relays from local barns are led, 
And horses tired move steaming to their shed. 

Now shadowy eve the fading woods hath 
crown'd, 
And dew and darkness shed their spirit round ; 



p p 2 



580 



THE STAGE COACH. 



Hark ! o'er the hills what bugle-echoes play, 
And die in many an ebbing note away ; 
Behold ! the Mail in glimmering pomp appears, 
And, as it onward speeds, what smiles and tears, 
What shades of time, or accident, or scene, 
And memories for all which life has been 
It brings, — to sadden, sweeten, or beguile 
The myriad hearts within our crowded isle ! 
Perchance the morrow will an orphan hail, 
A wife be weeping o'er some funeral-tale, 
A friend be doom'd in distant isles to roam, 
And music cease in many a happy Home ! 

Where is the heart unmoved by more than glee, 
Where is the eye which kindles not to see 
That spot where first our beam of Life began, 
And Youth put on the energies of Man 1 
When far remote from youth's regretted scene, 
Imagination sped the way between, 
And, hovering round each well-known spot, 

restored 
All which young memory loved, and heart 

adored ! 
A Sabbath-bell recall'd the street we trod 
Each holy morn, to hymn the name of God ; 
A ballad-singer in his homely strain 
Would thrill the bosom with delicious pain, 
As oft beneath the moon's romantic ray 
We mused on home and friendship far away : 
At length return' d, again we glow to greet 
Each favorite spot and unforgotten street ; 
Once more on haunted wood and stream to 

gaze, 
And clasp the shadow of departed Days. 



And lo ! upon yon Sailor's swarthy brow 
What home-born feeling is enkindled now 1 
What tear-drops gush from out his happy soul 
As up familiar lanes the coach-wheels roll, 
Joy flies from lip to brow, through heart and 

limb, 
The very houses seem to welcome him ! 
Though doom'd awhile a foreign Deep to roam, 
Each breeze and blast had wing'd a blessing 

home; 
Where Hope and Memory bade him oft retire 
And tell sea-tales around his winter fire. 

But list ! the Schoolboys' mingled shouts of 
glee 
Round a fond parent dancing merrily ! 
Such bliss to come, such pain and peril past, 
Can their glib tongues unload the heart too 

fast? 
The old man smiles, and mingles with their 

joy, 

Pleased to remember he was once a boy ; 
And blandly paints the joyous scenes to come 
As hand in hand he leads the prattlers home. 

Eeader ! a pensive Moral ere we part 
And be its tablet thy persuaded heart ; 
Our vanish'd day like human Life hath been, 
An onward-view of many a varied scene, 
A changeful path, where faces come and go, 
Friends meet and part, — like all we love below ! 
Thus on, till Life's eventful journey's o'er, 
And meeting Souls embrace, to part no 



SCARBOROUGH. 



A DESCKIPTTVE SKETCH.— 1S4G. 



Farewell the scene, but not farewell the 

charm 
Of ancient Scarbro' ! Long as mem'ry lives 
And for my past a secret mansion builds 
Within me, like a sacred Thing I prize, 
Her touching beauties shall be unforgot 
And treasured there, with no affected love. 

The spirit of the olden time's romance 
Haunts her loved scenes, where each abiding- 
grace, 
By Nature hallow'd, blooms unwither'd still ; 
And beautiful are all her wooded bays, 
Her winding creeks of loveliness and calm 
And mounts of woodland-green, as when the 

Saxon gazed 
In dreaming sternness, or with soften'd brow, 
At twilight on them, while the rosy tinge 
Of vesper-clouds o'erveil'd the ocean-rocks 
Before him. History, too, may yet perceive, 
Where the helm'd Roman in his banner' d pride 
Lifted those eagles which o'erswept the world, 
Invincible in valour. Lone and sad, 
Wrapt in a shroud of melancholy thought, 
With heart unecho'd, and with mind unnerved, 
I thank thee, God ! that often I have won 
From scenes that here are eloquent of Thee, 
Feelings divine, and hopes from heaven new- 
bora, 
Grandeur and Beauty, with a bliss serene 
That o'er my future like a dew will steal 
Hereafter, when the feverish world may fret 
My soul, and shore and sea lie far away. 

Where rise the hills, and rolls the sacred Deep 
Her minstrelsy of many-voiced waves, 
There, is the Poet's haunt, and home of song ! 
If true to Nature, his responsive heart 
Eeplies in music to those myriad calls 
Which still accost him from Her shrines august, 
Or lone, or lovely ; then, the lyre of thought 
Is thrill'd with magic, and each pensive chord 
Vibrates at once in poetry and praise. 
For, aye between the mountains and the mind, 
Infinite Soul and God's unfathom'd Sea, 



A poetry of pure attraction dwells 

For ever. Ye have felt it ! who the Lyre 

Have struck, by intellectual beauty charm'd, 

In answer to a living harp of song 

Within you, Poets ! that our mystic world 

Alone interpret, and to thought create 

A richer Paradise than Adam saw, 

Ere ruin fell on Eden's forfeit-bowers. 

Is it that mountains are our kindred types 

And, in their soaring majesty of shape 

Between two worlds thus gloriously uplift, 

Instruct us, heavenward how the heart ascends 

When man with his high Maker most 

communes 1 
Does Ocean, in her measureless profound 
Deep within deep interminably sunk, 
E'en like an echo of the soul's abyss, 
With dread eternity appear instinct ] 
We cannot tell ; enough for Truth to feel 
That Man and Nature are responsive works, 
Shaped into concord by a Hand divine. 

Here while I muse, what inspirations throng 
Full on my sense, and through the mind o'erflow, 
Till fancy kindles, and a fervent rush 
Of bright emotions, blent with deeper thoughts, 
Pour inwards : like an intellectual flood 
From some heart-fountain, suddenly unseal'd 
As if by magic, and with radiant speed 
Rolling at once through all the spirit-depths ! 

Look where you can, the Beautiful is there, 
Touch'd with that boldness rock-bound waters 

lend 
To each loved region on our island-coast. 
Look where you please ! some answering 

grace responds 
To your charm'd glance ; as if with conscious 

power 
Rich Nature in her prodigal supply 
Of blent attractions, tender, green, or wild, 
Echo'd the spirit of your wish, and gave 
Her all of lovely in one view combined ; 
That so, elysian fancy might be lull'd 
With landscapes Eden-like, and full of God. 



582 



SCARBOROUGH. 



In azure brightness, lo ! that billow'd Sea 
Rolling in rapture, and alive with beams 
Of sun-made glory, with a living joy 
Oh, how it heaves its bounding way along, 
Cheer'd by young breezes ! like a poet's heart 
Panting with visions, which before him rise, 
And bear him onward with a swelling pulse 
Of passion, dreaming, daring, and sublime ! 

This cliff below, in green remoteness raised, 
I mark the outlines of the curved shore 
Upward receding with a gradual rise 
Of roofs, and mansions, blendingly array'd ; 
While to the left a grassy mount appears 
O'er which, mid benched walks, and shaded 

bowers, 
In stream-like windings artificial paths 
Ascend, and glitter in the glow of eve. 
But, near the brink of yon impending height, 
The proud Marine its modern piles erects 
On high ; and full before its window'd front 
The surging vastness of the German sea 
For ever rolls, and still for ever charms 
How many a land-sick Heart, that often sigh'd 
To look once more upon the leaping waves 
Of laughing ocean ! But, again behold 
How the brave skill of architectural man 
Both height and depth can subject and reduce 
To his proud service ! There, the high-poised 

Bridge 
O'erarches with magnificent effect 
The cloven hills, and both in one combines : 
Beneath the circle of each ponderous arch 
The fascinating blue of ocean breaks 
Softly, and sweetly on arrested eyes, 
That downward from the cresting hills o'ergaze 
The sea-girt landscape. Freshly shines the 

Main, 
Rippled with breezes, and with sun-beams 

clothed 
Which make her waves like liquid diamonds 

flash, 
Dazzling the eye with over-bright excess 
Hither and thither, where no shade intrudes. 
How gently, o'er the beach the swelling tide 
Rolls inward ! falling with melodious plunge, 
It murmurs to the Town's contiguous walls 
And garden trees, which round the shore 

descend, — 
As if the Sea were conscious that her waves 
Were loved, or look'd upon with greeting eyes, 
And hearts which echo those poetic strains 
Each breezy stanza to the billow sings ! 

Behind me, in their yellow ripeness spread, 
The upland cornfields, o'er whose bladed stalks 
Bending with produce, play the choral airs 
From ocean wafted, till the meadows breathe 



A fitful undersong, and wild-flowers laugh 
In waving gladness. List ! the larks are poised 
High in the air, and trill their lyric strains 
Above me, in an ecstasy of sound, 
And seem to quiver forth their vesper hymns. 
But lo, the magic of yon peerless Main ! 
How graceful in majestic strength she heaves 
Her breast of waters, tinged with gorgeous hues 
From heaven reflected, while her boundless 

spread 
Of billows gently to the breeze upcurls ! 
Far as our straining eyes can stretch the view, 
Rolls that vast ocean the horizon round 
Her volumed waters, till both sea and sky 
Look wedded in the distance. Near the shore 
Or sanded beach, the gambolling children bathe, 
And in the foam and freshness of the wave 
Plunge their delighted heads, and disappear 
A moment, then, again their dripping frames 
Lift into light, all innocently clad. 
While many a bark, symmetrical and small, 
Opes its white sail, and on the azure calm 
Mirrors its beauty ; like a bird it moves 
Born of the sea, and on the waters bred ; 
With such a vital grace it seems to glide 
O'er the light wavelets, which around it curl 
Amid those taller vessels. O'er the strand 
Rising within the bay's prolong'd recess, 
Bold Scarbro' with her slanting roofs appears, 
That redden dimly, now the pallid beam 
Of sunset strikes them. Hark ! her busy hum 
In broken cadence to the ear is brought, 
And not unpleasing ; while beneath this cliff 
Where now I watch, the pulsing billows play 
In languid motion, while its pebbled base 
They moisten ; or, in lulling tones dissolve 
Of sea-born music, exquisitely sad. 

But stranger ! high o'er all the Town behold, 
Breathing stern history from its haunted walls 
And mangled towers, yon warlike Castle 

frowns : 
Sublime in ruins, like Romance in stone, 
Still to the present does it preach the past 
With more than language ! There, a moral 

sigh 
O'er the gone splendour of heroic times 
May well be heaved, when Chivalry prevail'd, 
And knightly bosoms with heroic pulse 
Were beating nobly, as the brave became ! 
Now turn from man, for God himself is nigh 
Whene'er His Temple to the heart appeals, 
Like mute religion ! — Thus, St. Mary's shrine, 
Dim with dead ages, lifts her hoary pile, 
And almost touches into pensive tears 
The hearts who view her, bow'd and bent with 

time: 
Conventual mother of Cistercian monks, 
Once in the pride and pomp of Romish art 



SCARBOROUGH. 



583 



Her structure tower'd, and o'er this ancient 

Burgh 
Ruled like a queen ; but now, both damp and 

dust 
Feed on her walls, and waste her mouldering 

form. 
And can Wealth look upon a wreck like this, 
Nor feel the blush of self-rebuke to burn 
Into her conscience ? Is the Christ we serve 
To Mammon given, while with hoarding grasp 
A hideous worship unto heartless Gold 
We proffer, gripe our bloated incomes back, 
And grudge to God the boon we well might 

give, 
From Faith how due, to feeling how divine ! 

But in her widowhood St. Mary's pile 

Affectingly to pious hearts appeals : 

From this far mount I view her churchyard- 



With tombstones populous, whose pallid fronts 
In the slant brightness of the sunset gleam, 
And glisten o'er the humbler graves which lie 
Beneath them, nameless as the grass that 

mourns 
Of death unconscious, when the night-airs 

wake. 
Methinks, that in her mournfulness august 
E'en like a Mother, does that hallow'd Fane 
Gaze on the tombs which round about her seem 
To nestle ; while to living Souls she pleads, 
That once again the pious and the pure 
Her ruin'd Shrine may raise, till Gothic arch 
And roof majestic o'er rapt thousands bend 
Within Her gather'd, full of praise and prayer. 

Yet, ere we part from such ideal bliss 
This hour of beauty and this heaven of scene 
Embosom, yonder local charm survey ; 
That Light-house, in its guardian pride erect, 
Gilded by sunshine, when it haply gleams 
Full on its whited column, points afar 
Through storm and gale, to mariners at Sea 
Rock'd on rude surges ; or, at misty night 
Becalm'd, when Darkness and the Deep embrace 
In black confusion, like a spectral gloom, 
To them it beckons with its beacon-ray 
For ever welcome to their wave-toss'd view ; 
And often, when the glassy ocean sleeps, 
Projects its shadow with unbroken trace 
Of imaged portraiture, the tide along. 

There is a nobleness in nature's gifts ; 
A free enchantment ; and a bold delight 
Flow from her vital scenes of grace, or power, 
Or beauty, did but man his bosom yield 
To fine impressions, breathed from sylvan 

haunts. 
Oh ! none but hearts sectarian, shut, and cold, 



Contracted into smallness, vain as vile, 

Which do not in the cheering thought exult, 

How catholic entire Creation looks 

And glorious ! loving all whose souls reply 

To grace, or grandeur, clothing hills and dales. 

If to loud Cities men contraction owe, 

'Tis from the Country minds a largeness gain 

Healthful and hallow'd, open as the skies 

Above them, nobly breathing freedom's air ! 

'Tis from her landscapes our loved England 

takes 
A moral freshness, and romantic tinge 
That hues her heart with beauty : Commerce 

dries 
The soul of Cities into venal dust, 
Or, sanctions false refinement ; but from shores 
Embay'd in quiet, or from rock-girt waves, 
Where on the beach with loud pulsation swells 
The billowy heart of God's mysterious sea 
For ever, may the town-worn race derive 
Emotions, which immortalise their play 
In that deep inwardness where feeling dwells. 
Thus, let them wander by the sanded beach 
O'er rocks, and crags familiar with the clouds 
Where the red morning throws her radiant 

blush, 
By meadows, lakes, or lanes of twilight green 
Devious and far, to view those rustic charms 
Which clothe our hamlets with an English grace 
Unrivall'd. Nature is no dull effect, 
No dead appearance of an outward show 
To sense confined ; but, oft in secret wields 
A bosom-influence, when the gazer's eye 
Hath long departed from the scene it saw. 
Many a tone of tenderness and truth 
Comes to a heart, in city-prisons pent, 
Where joyless Labour plies her feverish task 
Incessant, — not from streets of noise, and strife, 
But from the stillness of remember'd fields, 
From inland-quiet, landscapes hush'd and lone, 
Or, from the magic of poetic waves 
In breezy chorus, such as now resounds 
Time-honour'd Scarbro' ! o'er thy sweeping 

bay. 

Ideal landscapes beautify sad minds 
Immersed in cities, worn and wasted down 
Into a wreck of carking wo, and care 
Emaciate ; or, amid some crowded mart 
Of commerce, where in rooms of airless toil 
Britannia's helots drudge, for Mammon's lords, 
Through tedious rounds of everlasting toil 
Healthless as hopeless, day by day, and year 
By year, like work-Machines, unsoul'd for 

hire! 
Hence, may the Country man's remembrance 

haunt 
With freshening beauty, and the fever cool 
Of pent-up weariness, and unvoiced woe. 



584 



SCARBOROUGH. 



And thus will Hearts benignant, wise and 

meek, 
Of Christian tone and temper, e'er rejoice 
In the chance-visit, which the o'erlabour'd poor 
And pale mechanic to some rustic mead, 
Or ocean, pays ; and trust they there imbibe 
Beautiful thoughts, or spells of inward power 
To charm remembrance, when hereafter-toil 
Hangs on each life-pulse, like a choking weight 
Which burdens health, or blasts it to decay ! 

With man in sympathy all Nature moves, 
And human Destiny : her forms his doom 
Embody : featured for his primal good 
By Hands celestial, when from God he fell 
And glory, Nature felt the awful shock 
Of his disaster ! and, alike she waits 
That hour millennial, when regenerate Earth 
From the dark curse deliver'd, shall exult 
In beauty, richer far than Eden wore, 
And hush the groan* which twice three 

thousand Years 
Have ever breathed for purity and heaven ! 



But lo ! the Day has died, and o'er the waves 
Shadow and silence like two spirits creep ; 
Rock, hill, and radiant shore and castled fort 
Melt into dimness ; while the plaintive chime 
Of lone St. Mary's o'er the landscape wafts 
A sound of sadness, which the hour beseems. 

Here ends my strain, imperfect but sincere ; 
Such passing tribute from a pilgrim Bard, 
Stranger, accept ; and with him, gently cry, 
Farewell the scene ! but not farewell the 

charm 
Of ancient Scarbro' : Beauty and Romance 
Are thine, thou region of the rock and 

wave ! 
And priests of Nature, such as poets are, 
May well enshrine thee in their songs, and 

make 
Thy scene immortal to melodious hearts. 



* "The whole creation groaneth and travaileth in 
pain until now . . . waiting for the adoption, to wit, 
the redemption of our body." — Rom. viii. 22, 23. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



WRITTEN, FOR THE MOST PART, IN EARLY YEARS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



INFANTS AND THEIR GLORY. 

(1840.) 

" Of such," the kingdom in the skies pre- 
pared. 
Alas ! how rarely do such words impress 
An awe most vital, on the Souls which read 
The letter only, but the life forego. 
For here Philosophy and Reason stand 
Rebuked, and silent ; learning, language, art, 
The palms of Mind, the laurels of Renown, 
The shout of Senates, and the world's applause, 
How weak, and worthless, absolutely nought 
When rank'd beside the destiny of babes ! 
And yet, to souls of earth, who measure truth 
By sight, organic flesh alone they seem 
Scarce by a spark of intellect inspired ! 
A mother's plaything, or a father's toy, 
Incarnate trifles, fit for woman's smile 
To gild and welcome, or her lulling voice 
To soothe and soften when the temper cries, 
Such may they look, to undiscerning mind ! 
But, since Emmanuel hath the skies unveil'd 
And taught Religion to behold them there, 
As true inheritors of conscious bliss 
In yon bright kingdom, — let our Faith a child 
Revere ; and look upon its pleading form 
With love, by venerating awe subdued ; 
As well we ponder, how beneath that frame, 
Though fragile as the web of dew, there lies 
A spirit with eternity instinct ! 
Nor doubt, that He whose'hallow'd unction gave 
Prophets their light and brave Apostles zeal, 
Through all its faculties can so diffuse 
Enlarging grace, that what on earth appear'd 
Little beyond a mindless form of clay, 
At the first bound which into light it makes 
When disembodied, — may at once eclipse 
Archangels in their knowledge ; and from God 
A coronet beyond the Cherubim to match 
In splendour, on its infant-brow receive ! 

But dare we, by some earth-born pride 
betray'd, 
Presume to question, why a sinless babe 
In this bleak world of wo and crime, should live? 



If but a moment on this earth it breathe, 
Untaught, untried, untempted and unskill'd, 
Neither by reason proved, nor faith in- 

form'd, 
What is it, but a blank of being lost, 
In life all mystery, and in death no more] 

Yet who are we, but stammering babes of 

dust, 
When upward as to God's untold designs 
Fancy attempts to soar on fearless wing 1 
But thou, fond mother ! o'er thy pallid child 
In coflin'd beauty for the tomb array'd, 
Cold as the flowers which on it calmly lie, 
Hush the wild language of thy heart's despair ! 
For in the twilight of our doom there flash 
Gleams of instruction through the cloud of 

death 
By wisdom darted on believing souls. 
See, how the Fall when infants die, is proved, 
Stung by that fatal sting, which stingeth all ! 
Mute sermons preach they upon primal Sin 
Beyond all pulpits, in their palmiest hour 
Of eloquence and truth ! who that feels 
The wear and waste of this soul-trying world 
Where life is one long martyrdom to most, 
However gilded, back would e'er recall 
The child of mercy, unto heaven resumed ? 
The crown it wears, but has not fought the fight, 
Reaches the goal, but has not won the race ; 
Balm to bereavement let this thought inspire ! 
But with it, may this added comfort blend, — 
That as eternity the dead absorbs 
Youthful, or aged, our affections seek 
That mystic Home with more familiar sway. 
'Tis not a solitude which awed Amaze 
Dreads to encounter ; but a peopled clime 
Fill'd with the loved and lost, we long to 

meet 
And once more welcome ! And beyond this 

bright 
Assurance may consoled Reflection press 
Inquiry : for when shuddering Reason starts 
To think on millions of unpitied babes 
Mangled, and massacred in heathen climes, 
How do those words, so tenderly profound 
Of Jesus, light the path of Providence, 



Which tell us, Heaven the murder'd child 

receives, 
Whose death-pangs lift a stainless heart to God, 
Through early martyrdom to glory rapt. 

And hence, true mothers ! ye, at least, are 
bound 
To Jesus ; in His words an echo dwells 
To each inquiry, which beyond the grave 
Longs to pursue an infant's parted soul. 
Love to Emmanuel ! let your motto be ; 
And so on Childhood's brow of beauty gaze, 
As that whereon the Sacrament shall print 
A sealing import; then, your child devote 
Like Anna, early to the Lord of love, 
And from the cradle guide it to the Cross ! 



NOBLENESS OF FAITH. 

Deistic Thomas, with his doubting mind, 
I envy not that most exacting man 
Though eye to eye and face to face he stood 
Before Messiah ; and, with hand outstretch'd 
And daring finger to his wounds applied, 
Answer'd his doubt, and silenced unbelief 
By evidence, which drew his adoration forth 
'With over-awed amazement. He to sight 
And sense appeal'd ; and well were both 

assured 
When the mild Saviour to his eye appear' d, 
Thrilling that doubter with resistless proof, — 
E'en by the print, and pressure of those 

wounds 
Whence gush'd salvation o'er a guilty world ! 
But rather let me, with a glance of faith 
All time pervade, by Christ Himself inspired ; 
And in the glass of His describing Word 
His life and lineaments of beauty trace. 
Child of the Church, and by Her creed sus- 

tain'd, 
By prayer, and praise, and Her memorial rites, 
Doctrines and duties and the hallow'd round 
Of fasts and festivals, oh ! let me learn 
The sense to crucify ; and walk by faith 
As prophets, patriarchs, and priests have done ; 
By grace empower'd beyond mere sight to 

live, 
And earth-born feelings, in their finest mood. 
For not to Thomas did that blessing come, 
Which round the weakest who can now adore 
And clasp Emmanuel with the mind's embrace, 
Hovers like music, — from the lenient mouth 
Of Christ descending on the souls of all 
Who though they see not, yet the Lord believe 
In risen glory. Thus can Faith exalt 
Man out of self, and unto God reduce 
His errant nature, as its proper home. 



Sense but the shadow, Faith the substance 
holds ; 
And while the pageantries of Earth and Time 
Like golden clouds which line the glowing west 
\n airy nothingness have died away. 
That glorious Infinite of truth will beam 
Brighter and brighter, which pure faith pur- 
sues : 
Till what in weakness now we dimly scan, 
By open vision future heaven shall prove, 
And God unveil'd our spirit's glory be. 



WOEDSWOKTH. 

A thought the universe in worth outweighs 
View'd as dead Matter, meaningless and 

dumb : 
Hence, on some Form where intellect is 

shrined, 
And genius dwells, in purity of power 
To God and wisdom dedicate, we gaze 
With no cold 'glance, by common love in- 
spired. 
And thus, on Him, that venerable Bard ! 
A laurell'd Priest of poetry and truth, 
August with years, by mournful calm sub- 
dued,* 
With filial reverence my spirit look'd 
When first I heard him, in his mountain- 
home, 
My entrance welcome. Boyhood's pensive 

dawn 
Ideal magic from his mental springs 
So oft had drunk, that when their breathing- 
Source 
Before me stood embodied, all the spells 
His numbers wielded seem'd in one combined 
And round my soul in high remembrance 

drawn, 
Till like a Seer, or Hierarch of mind 
And melody, immortal Wordsworth thrill'd 
My heart, and made it vibrate into tears ! 
For tones there are in his creative verse 
By childhood not unecho'd : but when age 
Deepens the character, and powers awake 
To more majestic strains attuned, his thoughts 
The hidden lyre of consciousness within 
Electrically move, and mental chords 
By him are touch'd, which prove the soul 
divine. 

When thus indebted to his wealth of mind, 
How could I gaze on that capacious brow 
Open and high, and like an arch of thought 



* An allusion to the Poet's late bereavement in the 
death of his beloved daughter. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



589 



O'er eyes of intellectual blandness curved, 
Or scan the lines, or view those silver'd locks 
Which o'er his countenance a hoary grace 
Suffused, and not ennobling homage pay. 
What ! shall mere Nature's majesty of forms 
The eye entrance, where admiration glows, 
Because, though mute, those forms to fancy 

hint 
A soul in matter and a speech in things, — 
And earth's own laureates be unreverenced 
By mind ] The human Race their debtor is ; 
Sea, air, and mountain, lake and lonely shore, 
Forests and woods, and fields where freshness 

blooms 
All are immortalised by radiance cast 
From their high meanings, who the world 

transform, 
And cast a beauty round the common lot 
By making loveliness more lovely still. 

A mental prophet and a priest of song 
The bard of Eydal is to Souls who see 
How heaven-born genius, like a mouth of God, 
Opens some new apocalypse of Power 
Which faith reveres, and meditation loves. 
For have not Nature, Providence, and Man 
Of both the centre, from his thoughtful muse 
A sympathy of mild and mournful tone 
Partaken, till Association's law 
Have each invested with a beauteous charm 1 
Thus, mountain-grandeur and the grace of 

hills 
Like thine, Helvellyn ! in their hollow 

sweep ; 
Or forked Skiddaw with his famous brow ; 
Parnassean groves and glades of blissful calm 
Where trees their twilight cast, — to him were 

dear 
And with his being half incorporate grew. 
The thorn had meanings ; and a thistle spoke 
Its own stern language ; while each meadow- 
flower 
A glow of beauty on creation's brow 
In blooming radiance, seem'd by Angels 

dropt : 
Nature to him was one almighty Speech 
Significant, and deep, and full of God. 
Nothing was lost, but all to love appeal'd, 
The linnet's chaunt, a homeless cuckoo-song, 
An eagle's majesty, or insect-mirth 
To him were welcome, and some feeling 

touch'd. 
All voices, visions, all of sense and sound 
Home to his heart a deep impression sent 
Which gave him partnership in nature's All, 
As' though 'twere conscious. Hence the land- 
scapes were 
An outward-token of the inward mind, 
Loved in his life, and from the Spirit's lyre 



Drew melodies of thought, which shall not die 
While throbs the heart with poetry or prayer ! 

Not mere description, pensive, deep or 
grand, 
His verse unfolds : but he the Mind has taught 
How nature's sacraments and symbols speak 
To mental reverence with a language mute 
But mighty ; how Her moods and motions are 
Eesponsively to Man's more hidden world 
With such accordance shaped, that heaven- 
born minds 
See God and Angels, where a sensuous heart 
Is charm'd by nothing but material show. 

And human Life, and Providential love 
To man reveal'd by Omnipresent acts 
Of watching tenderness, from heaven at work, 
His numbers prove with philosophic grace 
And wisdom most benign. To him the scene 
Of dark Existence was divinely touch'd 
With sacredness and awe ; whence prayer and 

praise 
Were due, and godless Pride should learn to 

think, 
And none seem orphan'd from the Father- 
God ! 
For as in nature, nothing is by Heaven 
Forgotten, from the vaster forms of Life 
And Being, down to each minutest speck, 
But in the beam of God's parental eye 
Eemains for ever, — so that social World 
Where Mind and Will their awfulness unfold 
And character is moulded, to his gaze 
An order'd scene of theocratic Law 
Presented, where enthroned, the Godhead 

reign'd 
And all were precious, who His cause main- 
tain, — 
Possible Angels, whom The Christ redeem'd. 

All Nature thus made spiritually deep 

By her significance of conscious life 

To Soul responsive, and the moral World, 

Where Providence to human will conjoins 

Each plan and purpose, being hence enlink'd 

With Glories uncreate,— no wonder Man 

A true schekinah of transcendant powers 

To Wordsworth seem'd; a Soul of priceless cost, 

Whose incarnation, in its meanest guise, 

Involves more grandeur than the " Worlds " 

contain ! 
Earth, space, and time, and all which tinsell'd 

pride 
Amid the pageantries of wealth pursues 
Or mere Convention by dull creed exacts 
Before it vanish'd ! — Individual mind * 



See ' ' The Excursion, " passim. 



590 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



To him became the summit of his song : 
And, how he trembled into wordless prayer 
And grew religious, when unfathom'd depths 
Of man's capacity for bliss or woe 
Were open'd, and on Faith's predictive eye 
The soul's hereafter like a vision rose 
Self-realised, for heaven, or hell prepared ! * 



FORTY LINES ON WELLINGTON. 

i. 
Though shaded by death, yet his glory remains 
Like beams on the billow when day-light is 
set ; 
And deeper than language the sorrow that 
pains 
The heart of a Nation, enshrining him yet. 



Oh ! Ms was a greatness the good can admire, 
Which Virtue may laurel, and Yice only 
dread ; 
And pure as the principles Truth can inspire 
The wreath of renown which encircles his 
head. 

in. 
From peasant to peer, from the cot to the 
throne 
The thrills of dejection pervadingly ran, 
When the myriad- wing'd Press to Europe made 
known 
The death of a leader in Liberty's van. 



The soar of an eagle when sweeping its flight, 
The heart of a lion which throbs o'er his prey, 

But weakly can image the worth and the might 
Of Wellington marching in battle-array. 



Resistless in conflict, but simple and stern, 
Serene in the tempest, and calm in the 
shock, 
Let the valour of Youth thus patiently learn 
When the whirlwind is raving, — to rival the 
rock ! 



A Csesar in battle, and Cato at home, 
Protecting our Altars from infidel-hate, 

We challenge the records of haughty old Rome 
To boast of a Hero so gallant and great. 



* This poem is extracted from the 2nd vol. (pp. 483 
— 486), "Memoirs of William Wordsworth," by Chris- 
topher Wordsworth, DD. Lond., Moxon, 1851. 



When the war -hounds of France in horrors of 
blood 
Had raven'd on Freedom, and outraged her 
laws, 
The bulwark of Empires, brave Wellington 
stood, 
And stifled Rebellion by quenching her cause. 



Thus, onward he triumphs in prowess and 

pride, 

A king of all subjects, yet subject to kings ; 

Till the banners of England wave out far and 

wide 

And Earth o'er her ransom with jubilee rings. 



A pillar of Patriots, the foremost and first, 
Erect in his grandeur of spirit and zeal 

Ambition ne'er saw him, by self -aims accurst, 
Pursue the bad triumphs we blush to reveal. 



Then, deepen for ever the homage and praise 
From past and from present, to Wellington 
due, 
And hallow the glory which brightens the bays 
He won for Mankind, when he gain'd 
Waterloo. 



"BETTER DAYS." 



"All our pleasant things are laid waste." 

Isa. lxiv. 11. 

"Remember the days of old." — Deut. xxxii. 7. 

How eloquent the ruin'd shrine 

August, or sad, or lowly ! 
'Tis haunted with a spell divine 
Deeper than melancholy : 
For still it breathes of poetry and prayer, 
And mild dejection woos Religion there. 

Temples, and tombs, and cities vast, 

The roofless cot, or home 
O'er which Destruction's wings have past, 
And where pale memories roam, 
How are we moved by their mysterious sway 
And lulling sadness of severe decay 1 

Strange though it seem, not royal state, 

Nor brilliant pomp and pride 
Encircled round the earth-born great 
To rank and wealth allied, 
Attract the spirit with so true a power 
As wreck and ruins in some pensive hour. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



591 



Engirdled are they by a spell, 
A wordless charm of mind, 
And something more than tones can tell 
Sinks o'er the soul refined, 
When the dead glories of departed Years 
Moisten the eye with meditation's tears. 

But, what are toe, but wrecks of man, 

A fallen race of sin, 
Creatures who marr'd the Almighty plan 
And let rebellion in, 
Through that pure Will which Heaven created 

free, 
Whose law was Love, and that was Deity.* 

And thus, perchance, for ruin'd Things 

Our moral instinct wakes, 
And o'er the heart's electric strings 
A breath from Eden breaks, — 
A mournful sense of forfeit-bloom and bowers 
When Eve was perfect as the vestal flowers. 

But if o'er what is dumb and dead, 

A palace, shrine, or cot, 
The tears of History are shed 
And sanctify the spot 
Where genius wept, or wisdom thrill'd and 

thought, 
The martyr burn'd, or heroes bled and 
fought, 

Shall not a living wreck of love, 

An orphan sad and lone, — 
Children whose angels stand above 
So near the Glory-throne, 
Soften the heart when sounds the touching 

phrase, 
Heard in some homely tale of " Better Days 1 " 

It is, indeed, a moving sight ! 

A pale and pensive child 
Whose brow enthrones no young delight ; 
As though it ne'er had smiled ; 
Friendless and homeless, with dejected face 
Too early touch'd with sorrow's withering trace. 

Around it once fond parents hung 

With love's enamour'd eye; 
And Age itself again grew young 
With that bright creature nigh ! 
Pangless the heart, the step was like the breeze 
In bounding gladness borne above the seas. 

Wealth, home and peace were there combined 

To make that child secure ; 
And all which moulded heart and mind 

Was radiant, sweet and pure : 



'God is Love." — 1 John iv. 16. 



Soft Innocence unveil'd her beauteous smile 
And childhood flourish'd free from want and 
guile. 

Prophetic dreams must oft have play'd 

Around its virgin morn, 
Ere baffled circumstance betray'd 
A lot now bleak and lorn : 
The future seem'd the poesy of life 
Read by a heart with golden fancies rife. 

But all is wither'd, changed and gone, 

Friend, home and fortune o'er ! 
And hard-eyed worldlings cease to own 
The wreck of wealth no more ; 
That once gay child is now a gloomy Thing 
Wan with disease, or worn by suffering. 

Blessings divine, then, hallow those 

Who sheltering mansions build 
To anchor from tempestuous woes 
Children, whose hearts are fill'd 
By past remembrance, blent with present grief, 
Where life seems darkness, waiting death's 
relief ! 

Never till Christ unveils His throne 

Whose heart beats human there, 
And echoes to each plaintive tone 
Breathed in the sigh, a prayer, — 
Will the vast mercy these Asylums prove 
Be understood, except by boundless love. 

Long may they flourish ! like the shrine, 

St. Ann's of regal name ; 
Where better days, with love combine 
To form a noble claim 
For pleading orphans, and the helpless poor 
In whom Christ owns His lot * repeated o'er. 



ENGLISH PEASANTRY. 

(1826.) 

Behold our peasantry ! Britannia's pride 
While baleful Luxury her boon denied ; 
The tyrant grasp of Desolation spoils 
Each homely shelter for the labourer's toils ; 
While sad and far the houseless peasant flies 
And mansions o'er his ruin'd hamlet rise : 
For him no more shall bloom the garden flower, 
No sabbath guest shall greet his hazel bower, 
No winter's evening bring domestic bliss, 
No laughing infants leap to share the kiss. 



* "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the 
least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me." 
—Matt. xx. 40. 



592 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Inhuman Tyrants ! whose destructive hand, 
To grasp domain would desolate the Land ; 
Can barren pomp one joyous hour bestow 
While Famine fills a thousand hearts with wo 1 
Can palisadoed lawns of wide extent 
Please like the rural homes of calm Content ? 
Sweeter by far, methinks, were Wealth to pour 
Diffusive blessings from her ample door ; 
And if the sick man pined, to visit there 
And with the smile of Mercy, hush despair. 
And dear the scene that charm'd the pilgrim's 

eye 
Ere Luxury rose, or Avarice peal'd her cry, 
Where cottage-homes, upon the green domain 
Gave health and shelter to the toiling swain : 
There many a way-worn traveller sighing stay'd, 
And ask'd of heaven some equal hamlet-shade 
Where humble life fiow'd undisturb'd away, 
And happiness led on each neAv-born Day. 
The smoke enwreathing with the playful breeze, 
A glowing produce ripening on the trees, 
The laden bee low-humming in some flower, 
Or pigeon cooing from his shaded tower, 
With all the nameless charms that nestle round 
The cottage-garden and the pasture-ground, — 
Made every passing stranger stop awhile 
And lit his lingering eye with many a smile ! 
Here was the home, where toil-worn age, at last 
Might rest secure, and muse on labours past ; 
Here was the welcome round of rustic mirth, 
The family-supper, and the blazing hearth, 
The happy converse, and the cheerful gaze, 
With all that Gratitude to Mercy pays ! 
Rare now a scene so simply pure as this, — 
The quiet plenty and the cottage-bliss ! 
Oppressive Wealth usurps each lawny spot 
Where bloom'd the garden and where rose the 

cot; 
Mansions, and groves, and princely parks 

abound, 
Stretch o'er the plain, and seize each rood of 

ground, 
While Pomp frowns every meaner home away 
And leaves the peasant but a scanty pay ; 
Doom'd through the day to bear the summer- 
blaze, 
Or mend, 'mid ice and snow, the public ways ; 
Or else, beneath the bleak autumnal-showers, 
In damp and pain to pass the tedious hours, 
A pittance from the tyrant of the soil 
Is all which pays him for his dismal toil : 
Then, home he wanders to a cheerless shed 
With discontented heart, and aching head : 
Here shall no rosy babes, nor smiling wife, 
Attend to make the sweetnesses of life ; 
No social ease to keep the mind in tune 
And shed delight around life's waning noon ; 
But starving infants with imploring eyes 
Eaising their pallid hands and piteous cries, 



Till agony distract the parent's brain, 
F.lame the wild thought, or rack the soul with 

pain ; 
Till Want burst every tie of virtue free; 
And Crime conducts him to the gallows-tree ! 



STARLIGHT ON MARATHON. 

No vesper-breeze is floating now, 

No murmurs shake the air ; 
A gloom hath veil'd yon mountain-brow 

And quietude is there ; 
While night-beads on the dew-white grass 
Drop brilliant as my footsteps pass. 

No hum of life disturbs the scene, 

The clouds are roll'd to rest ; 
'Tis like a calm where grief hath been, — 

So welcome to the breast ! 
The warring tones of Day are gone 
And starlight gleams on Marathon. 

I look around from earth to sky 

And gaze from star to star ; 
Till Grecian hosts seem gliding by 

Triumphant from the war : 
Like deathless spirits from the dead 
Revisiting where once they bled. 

What though the mounds which mark'd each 
name 

Beneath the wings of time 
Have worn away, — theirs is the fame 

Immortal and sublime : 
For who can tread on Freedom's plain 
Nor wake Her dead to life again ! 

Oh ! to have seen the marching Bands, 

And heard the battle-clash, 
Have seen their weapon-clenching hands 

And eyes' defiant flash, 
Their radiant shields and dancing crests 
And corslets on their swelling breasts ! 

Then said the mother to her son 

And pointed to his shield, 
" Come with it, when the battle's done 

Or on it, from the field ! " 
Then mute she fix'd her dreadless eye 
That spoke of ages vanish'd by. 

'Twas here they fought : and martial peals 
Once thunder'd o'er the ground, 

While gash and wound from plunging steels 
Bedew'd the battle-mound ; 

Here Grecians trod the Persian dead, 

And Freedom shouted while she bled ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



593 



But, gone the day of Freedom's sword 
And cold the patriot brave, 

Whose valour crush'd the servile horde 
Like victims for the grave ; 

While Greece arose sublimely free 

And dauntless as her own dark sea ! 

Yet, starlight sheds a pallid beam 

For aye upon the plain ; 
And musing breasts might fondly dream 

The Grecian free again ; 
For empires fall, and freedom dies, 
But changeless beauty robes the skies. 

May He whose glory veils yon sky, 
God of the slave and free ! 

Hear every patriot's burning sigh 
Hope dedicates to thee ; 

For thee, sad Greece ! and every son 

Who braves a Turk on Marathon. 



LONDON BY MIDNIGHT. 

(1828.) 

The fret and fever of the day subside, 
And London slumbers ; but with murmurs faint 
Like Ocean, when she folds her waves to sleep : 
'Tis the pure hour for poetry and thought, 
When passions sink, and Faith the heaven 

beholds, 
As yearns an exile for his father-land. 

O'er all a dim sublimity is spread, — 
The garniture of night ; amid the air 
Darkly and drear yon airy steeples rise, 
Like shadows of the past ; the houses lie 
In dismal clusters, moveless as in sleep ; 
And, towering far above the rest, yon Dome* 
Appears, as if self-balanced in the gloom, — 
A spectre cowering o'er the dusky piles. 

And, see ! on ground I stand whose glorious 

name 
Might turn the coward brave ; on thy huge 

bridge 
Triumphant Waterloo ! Above, — how calm ! 
There moon and star commingling radiance 

shed 
And bathe the skies in beauty. Smooth and pale 
The pearly-bosom'd clouds recline, enlink'd 
Like wave-festoons upon the furrow'd deep. 
Below, the Thames outspread, serene and cold ; 
And as I gaze, a cooling breath ascends 
And melts upon my brow : like the worn heart 
When harrowing cares have slept, the river seems 



St. Paul's. 



Peaceful and still ; save when a wind-sigh wakes 
The brooding slumbers of its breast ; like dreams 
That quiver on the marble face of Sleep. 

Along each side the darkling mansions frown 
Funereal in their gloom. Afar and faint, 
The bridge-lamps glimmer o'er the tranquil 

stream, 
As if enchain'd upon the air ; beneath, 
Gleams of pale lustre tremble through the 

gloom ; 
And, here and there, a tower and shadowy spire 
Are imaged on the water ; sad and shrunk 
Like flower-leaves wither'dby the summer-blaze. 

Yonder, in dim magnificence, behold 
The many window'd Pile ; * apart and stern, 
In lowering grandeur, like a lofty mind 
Unmingling with the baser crowd. One half 
Is clothed with moonlight's pallid veil ; 
Beneath, a darkness broods, whence portals yawn 
In cavern-gloom upon the drowsy tide, 
Like tombs unbarr'd. 

But hark ! from yonder Dome 
Into Eternity the Day is toll'd : 

How hollow, dread, and dismal is the peal 
To heaven its vast account now rolling up ! 
Awhile it undulates, then dies away 
In mutter'd echoes, like the ebbing groans 
Of drowning men; and see! the lustrous Moon 
"Veils her white brow, and leaves me in night- 
shade, 
Unseen, but by the sleepless One : God ! 
I feel thine eye upon me, I shrink 
Awe-smote beneath its gaze, like melting snow 
By moon-beams touch'd, when golden radiance 
smiles. 

How noiseless are the streets ! A few hours. 

gone, 
And all was fierce commotion ; car and hoof, 
And bickering wheel, and chariot-rush, and 

crowds 
Which rang with revelry and woe, were here, 
Immingled with the stir of life; but now 
A deadness mantles round the midnight scene ; 
Time with his awful wand the world has touch'd, 
And soothed her myriads into sleep ! — 'Tis 

hush'd ! 
Save when a distant drowsy watch-call breaks 
Intrusive on the calm ; or rapid cars 
That roll them into silence. Beauteous look 
The train of houses yellow'd by the moon, 
Whose tile-roofs, slanting down amid the light, 
Gleam like an azure track of waveless sea ! 



* Somerset House. 



QQ 



594 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



But who was she, that with a fairy step 
And lip of wreathing smiles, came floating by 
Buoyant as April's breeze ? Alas ! alas ! 
Let nights of laughing agony, and crimes 
Which burn their torture through the sullied 

heart, 
Let sated passion and the form consumed, 
Let these betray the orphan of the night ! 
As on her guilt-worn face a lamp-beam fell, 
Reluctantly methought, her eye reveal'd 
That curse of misery — gladness in disguise ! 

The squares, how haughtily reposed they 

stand 
At this deep hour, with massy piles erect 
And stately ! where the windows broad and 

bright, 
Like molten water shine ; and freckled walls 
In light are steep'd, which ripples on the stone ; 
Beneath, amid the laurel boughs that bend 
Responsive to the breeze, the lamp-rays flit 
In twinkling playfulness, like infant-eyes. 

Once more upon the climbing moon, ere yet 
Cloud-shaded she withdraw, a moment glance ! 
There, as we gaze, what undefined awe, 
What thoughts ethereal flutter round the heart ! 
On Her fair brow we seem to write and read 
The mind's quick fancies ; all the Past awakes 
Begirt with sweet creations, till the source 
Of sympathy unlocks ; and then a tear 
Will venture brightly from the manliest eye, — 
A precious tear, whose fountain is the soul. 

The past, — Oh ! who through London-streets 

can pace, 
Nor vision forth the spirits which have been ? 
An atmosphere of genius quickens here 
Remembrance of the dead ! The storied nurse, 
The ancient mother of the mighty, thou 
Unrivall'd London ! Sages, poets, kings, 
And all the giant-race of glorious fame 
W T hose world-illuming minds, like quenchless 

stars 
Burn through the night of ages, — triumph'd 

here, 
Or martyrdom of mind endured ! And now 
Those Kings of mind, by death immortal made, 
Forth from their tombs Imagination cites ! 

And who the midnight-scenes of life shall 

paint, 
In this vast city, mart of human-kind ! 
In sleep some living wrecks of wo, are lapp'd, 
And bless'd in dreams, whose daylight was a 

curse ! 
Some, heart-rack'd, on the sleepless couch 

recline, 
And from the heated brain create a hell 



Of agonising thoughts or ghastly fcara ; 
While Pleasure's moths amid the golden 

sheen 
Of princely halls, dance ofF the dull-wing'd 

hours ; 
And oh ! perchance, in some infectious cell 
Far from his home, unaided and unsoothed, 
The famish'd wand'rer dies; — no voice to 

breathe 
Mild comfort to his heart ; no hand to 

smooth 
His bed of death ; no sainted eye to bless 
The spirit hovering o'er another world ! 

But list ! a laugh of Pleasure thrills the 
wind ; 
'Tis Folly's soulless idols sauntering home, 
Faced with a mask of smiles. And One there is, 
Upon whose haggard cheek a glance may read 
A tale of blighted years and buried woes ! 
His home is reach'd ; and where yon window- 
gleams 
Dart o'er the street a dizzy chain of light 
Awhile he gazes on his mirror'd face, 
And sighs to mark what havoc Pleasure makes ! 
Then drops upon his couch, while round him 

float 
In visionary throng, the glowing forms 
Which beautified the night; and where are 

they 1 — 
At home, heart-wearied, wilder'd as their 

dreams 
And glad that Time another day has kilFd ! 

Turn to a nobler victim of the night : 
Where yonder casement sheds a pallid gleam 
Upon the breezeless air, aloft and lone 
An unregarded wreck of Genius toils, 
With throbbing brain and dewy brow. The 

Day 
To rest hath gone : but slumber visits not 
His sunken eyes ! The gnawing fires of 

thought 
Upon his youthful cheek have fed, and parch 'd 
His tongue, and from his lip drawn the life- 
stream ; 
The lightnings of the soul his form have 

seared. 
But Fame stands beckoning ; and he battles on 
Through want and wo, until he win "the goal, — 
A welcome one, though Death should drag him 
there ! 

And shall this City-queen, this peerless mass 
Of pillar'd fanes, and grey -worn towers sub- 
lime, 
Be blotted from the world, and forests wave 
Where once a second Rome was seen 1 Oh ! 
say, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



595 



Shall rude grass cover England's royal streets, 
And wild beasts howl where Commerce reign'd 

supreme 1 
Alas ! her moral glance let Memory dart 
Down vanish'd time, till summon'd Ages rise 
With ruin'd empires on their wings ! Thought 

weeps 
With patriot-truth, to own a funeral day 
Heart of the universe ! may visit thee, 
When round thy Avreck some lonely man shall 

roam, 
And, musing, say, — " 'Twas here vast London 

stood ! " 

But hark ! again the heavy bell has peal'd 
Its doleful thunder ; on their watch the Stars 
Grow pale ; the Moon seems wearied of her 

course ; 
And morn begins to blossom in the east ; 
Then, let me home ; and Heaven my thoughts 

protect ! 



PAINS OF GENIUS. 



Envy not the Poet's name, 
Darken not his dawn of fame ; 
'Tis the guerdon of a mind 
Free from thralls of earthly kind ; 
'Tis the fascinating Star 
Brighter than the brightest far ; 

It often glitters o'er his doom, 

A halo round an early tomb ! 

The whirling brain and heated brow, 
The dreams which torture while they grow 
The soaring fancy over-fraught ; 
The burning agonies of thought ; 
The sleepless eye and racking head, 
The haunting terrors round him spread : 
Or freezing smile of Apathy ; 
Or scowl of green-eyed Jealousy ; 
Or haggard Want, whose lean hands wave 
Unto a cold uncover'd grave ! — 
Oh ! these must win a Poet's name ; 
Then darken not his dawn of fame. 



THE CATARACT.* 

In slumber, when some dream of daring night 
Transcends creation, or out-dazzles earth, 
Man's wither'd paradise may seem revived ; 
And oft when Poesy and young Romance 



* This poem relates to a celebrated torrent in 
North Wales, called "The Pistyll Rhaiadr." 



Imagination's throne together mount, — 
What landscapes, fit for Seraphim to walk, 
In the green loveliness of Nature's youth 
Beneath their fascinating smile have bloom'd ! 
And yet, no dreaming pomp nor bardic spell 
Can rival thee, by God himself array'd 
With glory terrible, and beauty wild, 
Thou earth-adorning Cataract ! — once seen, 
And seen for ever : heard by sense for once, 
And in the spirit heard for evermore ! 

When, like some vision of a ruin'd world, 
In foaming majesty I saw thee fall 
From crag to crag terrifically swift, 
My soul was hush'd, in trance of wonder bound ; 
A word was outrage ! mute as thought, I gazed 
Upon thee, vanquish'd by the dread sublime : 
As in the presence of Almighty spells, 
My being trembled : language was extinct ! 

Aloft, aloft, precipitate and loud, 
The plunging torrent like a war-horse leaps 
Adown the black ravine ! and white with rage 
And thunderingly hoarse, the headlong-wave 
From rock to rock in froth and foam careers, 
In tameless terrible, unwearied ire 
For ever raving ! Hark ! the mountain thrills 
And throbs, the leaflets palpitate with awe ; 
The branches quiver like the limbs of fear 
On each grey elm ; while, floating like the breath 
Of conscious being, lo ! the mist ascends 
In tremor from yon panting surge below, 
Lingers awhile, in airy balance hung, 
Then trembles downward with a quavering fall 
In rain-drops delicate as tears unshed. 

King of stern waterfalls ! thine awe pervades 
And like the genius of romance creates 
A spirit of enchantment round thy home : 
The valley, hush'd as Desolation, loves ; 
The gloom chaotic of thine ancient hills 
Torn by the tempest's savage wing, and deck'd 
With foliage, touch'd by autumn's pale decay ; 
And drip of water, from the rocks dissolved 
In feeble music, faint as dream-heard sighs, — 
All these in one vast sentiment unite 
Around thee, making sight and sound appeal 
Like poetry, from Nature's heart evoked. 

And while, with contemplation's spell-bound 

eyes, 
Amid the spray, the thunder and the din, 
Monarch of Waters ! upon thee I gazed, 
The witchery of deep association rose. — 
On myriads, now in earth and darkness mute, 
I ponder' d, who, like me, had feasted soul 
And sense, and drank emotions rich as mine 
From thine enchantment. Here the worldling 

came 



QQ^ 



50(5 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



And left, perchance, his worldliness behind ; 
Here Pride, Ambition, Avarice, and Hate, 
Those Demons of the mind, their sceptres broke, 
And shrunk, like Satan from the Saviour's 

word, 
By thee o'erawed ! and here the Poet dreamt 
While sentiment and thought his heart o'er- 

whelm'd 
With magic potency, till he became 
Sublime in thy sublimity of scene ! 
And from the centre of his spirit felt 
Warm inspiration, like a sunrise, break, 
And meanings, full of worldless beauty, flow. 

Farewell ! thou roaring flood of Scynfa* born, 
In loud monotony of roaring ire 
Rage on for ever ! rule all hearts and eyes 
Which bow before thee : Teacher of the wild 
And wondrous ! may thy voice eternal be, 
And speak of HIM Whose Shadow is the sun, 
Whom torrent, sea, and tempest loudly praise ; 
Whose Love by every breeze is syllabled 
While, seated on Eternity's vast throne, 
He wields His sceptre o'er ten thousand 
worlds ! 

Farewell ! thou glory of a glorious Clime, 
Farewell, the sight, but not farewell the sense 
Of thee : — since in the core of memory's heart 
The true dominion of thy scene will dwell ; 
And oft amid the dust of daily Life, 
Or prose of dry existence, will beget 
Sensations high, and feelings nobly-pure : 
Or, wafted back on fancy's sun-bright wing, 
My soul will visit thee, and hear again 
The thundering harmonies of thy dread stream, 
Like a huge wave in endless plunge and roar, 
And own the Almighty by His work revealed ! 



VALE OF CLWYD. 



Majestic Land of liberty and song, 
And bardic fame and soul-exciting tales, 
Of feudal glory ! clime of old romance, 
Whose records make the heart of History 

bound, 
A stranger greets thee with exulting pride, 
And grows a Cambrian; while thy woods and 

waves 
Rouse the full voice of unaffected song. — 
Poets are Nature's patriots ; sea and sky, 
Mountain and rock, and wood-hung vales and 

hills, 

* The name of the mountain whence the Rhaiadr 



Deep glens, or lakes, and thunder-mocking 

cataracts 
Round them appear like Inspiration's home. 



Thy tower, St. Asaph ! when the noon-bright 
heaven 
With crystal arch o'er-canopied thy walls 
And the breeze caroll'd like a bird of air, 
I trod ; beneath me, Arcady revived 
Burst on the wonder of my ravish'd eye ! 
Painting ne'er form'd, nor poetry conceived 
A paradise of more bewitching scene : 
Leftward the river'd Yale of Cluid lay 
Magnificent, with woods and trees adorn'd ; 
Where castled halls and princely mansions 

stood, 
And towns remote, and cots, and hamlet-spires, 
With white-faced homes in blossom'd trees 

embower'd, 
'Mid meadows greenly-bright, and mountain- 
forms 
Whose wavy outline on the sky was mapp'd, — 
All on the gaze a mass of beauty pour'd 
Beyond what Pdussin in Italian dreams de- 
scribed ! 
In calm sublimity of conscious strength 
The Hills reposed; but when some cloudy 

shade 
Form'd into life, a floating semblance fell 
With dim surprisal on their meadow'd sides, 
And chequer'd them with ever-changing hue. 
Bright ran the river, with melodious speed 
Contented ; fit for fairy barks to sail, 
Or Infancy beside its banks to roam 
And gaily prattle to the new-blown flowers, — 
So timidly the modest waters flow'd : 
And yet, when rains and mountain-floods 

descend, 
The demon-spirit of the water frowns ! 
In roaring swiftness o'er the prostrate fields 
The exaggerated river foams along, 
And ruins as it rolls ! like some proud mind 
That when unwrong'd in meek retirement 

dwells, 
But, injured, — how the buried fire outbreaks, 
And maddens round it withering and fierce ! 
Upon my right, in ivy-tress'd array, 
Sublime in ruin, Rhyddlan Castle frown'd ; 
And, gazing there, the heart religious grew, 
To think how glory, pomp, and all the world 

adores, 
A dream becomes for moralist to scan ! 
Home of the Warrior ! where the banner waved, 
And Towers ! where Cambrian kings and chief- 
tains reign'd, 
Whose halls within, the harp of Cymru rang, 
While melodies, from Freedom's soul evoked 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



597 



Pour'd tides of feeling over Princes' hearts, 
In thy decay how eloquent thou stand'st ! 
Gigantic Emblem for the mind to read 
How perishing is glory ! while the Sea 
In loud eternity of water beats 
Grandly as ever on thy throbbing shore. 

From thee, dread Monument of vanish'd 

days, 
Baronial relic of the fierce and free, 
Mine eye retreated ; far as sight could roam, 
Pictured on clouds, in outlined magic lay 
The Peaks of Snowdon; silver-bright they 

shone, 
And seem'd the very walls of Heaven ! so fair, 
So dazzling-white their towering beauty rose, 
Like sculpture out of snow by sunshine carved. 

Stranger ! if ever pent in cities loud, 
For many a month thy yearning eye has 

dream'd 
Of Nature, throned amid the green romance 
Of woods and waterfalls, thy heart might 

beat 
In thrilling answer to the strain I sing, 
Hadst thou beside me, from the sacred tower 
This beauteous Vale beheld :— or ere I left, 
One long, enamour'd, and delicious gaze 
It bade me fasten on the faultless scene ; 
The sunshine in its golden lull reposed 
On tree and mountain : cot and castle gleam'd, 
And field and flower their blending graces 

show'd ; 
But when the breeze, in winged life arose, 
How richly all the stirring Landscape flamed ! 
'Till the glad meads like emerald-sunshine 

flash'd, 
So lustrously that living verdure play'd ! 

Soft be the winds that visit thy domain 
And fair the flowers which gem thy matchless 

vale 
St. Asaph ! long may yon cathedral- tower 
A sanctity around thy region shed ! 
For never, while a pulse of memory beats, 
Can I that hour of thrilling awe forget 
When first amid the gazing crowd I knelt, 
A white-robed Novice; while with trembling 

lip 
And soul that to its centre shook, and pray'd, 
I vow'd to feed and watch the fold of Christ ! * 



Vale of calm beauty ! peace be ever thine 
And plenteousness within thy cottage-homes, 



* An allusion to the Ordination held, at St. Asaph, 
on Sunday, May 3rd, 1835. 



Thy castled halls : when fateful years have fled 
And worn the furrow deeper on my brow, 
Vision'd by fancy, thou wilt yet remain 
And help to form imagination's heaven ! 



ELLESMERE LAKE.* 

(1836.) 

Calm as the beauty upon childhood's brow 

On whose fair arch young tenderness is throned, 

The Lake reposes ; not a ripple mars 

Its cloud-reflecting face; where hues of heaven 

In soft variety of liquid -smiles 

Float o'er the water, in successive play 

Of light and motion, exquisitely wild. 

Oh ! Nature, art thou not a spirit now, 

While the rich poetry of silence reigns 

Heard by the soul, which feels almost unearth'd 

And girded round by inspiration's spell 1 

Pale Martyr of the feverish thought and care ! 
Sad Victim of a spirit-crushing world ! 
And Thou, who, dungeon'd in the gloom of self, 
To thine imprison'd view art dwarfing down 



* The town of Ellesmere, situated in the northern 
part of the county of Salop, takes its name from an 
adjoining lake, or mere, which being more exten- 
sive than some others in the neighbourhood, was by 
pre-eminence called Al, or Aelsmere (i. e. the greatest 
mere). It is of Saxon origin ; ael, excellence or 
fulness, and mere, a little sea. This beautiful and 
picturesque lake comprises about 120 acres, and is 
bordered on one side by the town, and on the other 
by Oteley Park, the residence of Charles Kynaston 
Mainwaring, Esq. On the town side of the lake is 
the elevated site of an ancient castle (none of the 
ruins of which are now visible), that retains the 
name of the Castle Hill ; on the most elevated spot, 
formerly, the keep, is a fine bowling-green, com- 
manding an extensive and pleasing view, nine different 
counties (some say thirteen) having been discovered 
from it in clear weather— Ellesmere having been a 
frontier fortress of considerable note, during the 
unsettled period which preceded the final subjugation 
of "Wales. The castle and govei-nment of the town 
were alternately in the possession of the princes of 
North Wales and of the English monarch. King 
John, in the sixth year of his reign, gave the castle 
and manor of Ellesmere in frank marriage with his 
daughter Joan, to Llewellyn, Prince of Wales ; and 
four years afterwards revoked his grant, and placed 
his brother William, Earl of Salisbury, in possession. 
In the 25th Hen. III., David, son of Llewelyn, late 
Prince of Wales, surrendered up Ellesmere to the 
crown of England; after that we have no record of 
its being again in the hands of the Welsh, although 
the continual skirmishes between the English and 
Welsh made its tenure very uncertain. The castle 
was probably destroyed in the seventeenth century, 
during the parliamentary wars. 



598 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



All grand conceptions, all august desires, 
Hither ! and while the dreaming water basks 
Beneath the play of noon's attemper'd smile, 
Lull'd in a trance of thought, the Lake admire. 

Above, the curved immensity. of heaven 
Attracts thee, making eye and heart ascend 
To wander in those palaces of cloud, 
Or fairy-chambers, by the sunbeams paved. 
And ye ! vast Hills, that in your towering pomp 
Touch the bow'd sky, and belt the horizon 

round 
With guardian might, how lofty and alone, 
In stern supremacy of height and shape 
Ye stand ! And, gazing on your giant-forms, 
The charm'd beholder .grows exalted too, 
Till wing'd emotions waft the mind aloft 
And, mountain-like, from earth to heaven he 

soars ! 
But, hark ! in gushes of unwearied song 
From yon green isle the hidden birds outpour 
Their ecstasy of voice ; and round them flows 
An atmosphere of melody and praise ; 
While here and there, some fairy insect-form 
Floats on the air, and fans its playful wing ; 
Or butterflies, like soaring gems, abound, 
And scatter forth their gleams of dazzling 

joy ! 

But, see ! where Oteley with its terraced 

pomp 
And sun-bright aspect through the foliage 

smiles 
Imposingly serene ; Oh ! long around 
That Home of hospitality and peace 
May all the social graces throng and bloom ! 
And you, that gently on the lake encroach 
Or round the shore a verdant twilight cast, 
Majestic Trees ! by summer-grace bedeck' d, 
How lovingly your green array invites 
The pausing Eye, while many-coloured leaves 
Flash in the sun with fascinating hue. 

And list, in undulating cadence rolls 
The peal of bells from yonder gothic Shrine 
Most venerably grey, as broad and dim 
Through the bright air its dusky tower 

ascends ; 
While soft vibrations of the sacred chime 
Ebb on the breeze ; — and tenderly, of days 
Now sepulchred in memory's tomb, they speak, 
Till the fine chords of quick reflection thrill 
And waken to the tones. That fane beneath 
The dust of immemorial thousands sleeps, 
Who once along the churchyard's haunted 

ground 
Did ramble oft, and hear with soul unmoved 
The very hymn that like a funeral dirge 



The passing hour bemoans ; or saw, perchance, 
The sunbeams gambolling round their destined 
grave ! 

But now, mild eve advances, and the Lake 
More winning tenderness of hue and sound 
Begins to gather : beautiful delight 
Art Thou, fair Scene of water ! in thy calm, 
As thus reclining ; yet in sterner mood 
There are who love thine eloquent harangue 
Of tempest-voices, when the black-wing'd 

Storms 
Revel above thee ; and in sea-like rage 
Thy tossing billows whiten, heave, and roar 
Beneath the glances of uncertain light, 
That downward in their arrowy fleetness dart 
From the torn clouds, which let the sun-flash 

through. 

Adieu, loved scene of meditative joy; 
Yet, oh ! how lingeringly the eye retires 
From beauty fresh as thine ! The world 

forgot, 
And all its crowd of pale-faced cares repell'd, 
In heavenliness of thought my heart has roam'd 
Beside thy magic, drinking in awhile 
The balm and freshness of a better world ; 
While Nature on the throne of feeling sits, 
And reigns, accorded queen of heart and 
soul ! 

Farewell ! to outward gaze a long farewell, 
Perchance, for ever : yet the dreaming eye 
Of Fancy, when the landscapes of the soul 
Are imaged, often o'er thy charms will bend ; 
And pure sensations into life will flow 
Of loveliness and verdure ; while the tones 
Of rippling water throb on Memory's ear, 
Like those that warble round thy grassy shore. 

Oh ! that the heart of man would more and 

more 
Hold converse with the Beautiful and Bright, 
And hear those oracles of truth and love 
Which come from Nature's everlasting shrine 
To all who seek Her, and with filial awe 
Her sanctities admire. And who can tell 
How often, while along yon wheel-track'd road 
The hard-eyed worldling in some dream of Self 
Hath hurried, thou didst breathe a moment's 

balm 
On that dry wilderness, — an earthly heart ! 
And thus, amid the blank of common things 
Thou seemest, in the contrast of thy charm, 
A page of sentiment by Nature spread 
In the coarse volume of man's daily Life, 
The eye to soothe, — or satisfy the heart 
Which hungers for imagination's feast ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



m 



But lo ! upon the placid brow of Eve 
A star of glory like a gem is set, 
And round the air a dreaming quiet broods ; 
While tree and lake in glimmering beauty lie, 
And the rich shadows of a summer's night 
Begin to deepen ; once again, farewell 
Thou ancient Water ! — centuries o'er thy face 
Have fleeted, and unnumber'd millions sunk 
Back into breathless clay, but Thou, unworn, 
Unwrinkled, and unchanged, art still preserved 
In youthful glory : thus, while men decay 
And generations toil, and weep, and die, 
Some other bard in moralising dream 
Will muse, perchance, along thy lovely shore, 
And learn how nature, when the soul responds 
To fine appeals, can into song awake 
The music of the heart's mysterious lyre. 
Ellesjieke, June 14th, 1836. 



OKGAN BOY. 



He hath a spirit bright in its content 
And playful in its poverty ; the rain 
Of English clouds and atmospheric gloom 
Of this brave island-clime have not destroy'd 
The mirthfulness of his brown cheek; nor 

quench'd 
The lustre of those deeply-laughing eyes 
Which sparkle forth the sunbeams of the soul ! 

Then breathe no pity on the organ-boy ; 
From his gay Land a stock of sterling bliss 
And proud young feelings that can well out- 
wear 
Each frown of Fate, the stripling wanderer 

brings. 
Maternal smiles his heart still brighten round ; 
A father's blessing, when he climb'd his knee 
At night, still sounds upon love's inward ear ; 
And when the streets are wintry, and the 

tones 
His organ weaves fall fruitless on the air, 
He dreams of home deep-bosom'd in bright 

vales 
Of beauty ; hill-spread vines, and fairy streams 
That trifled sweetly as a sister's voice 
Who prattled in her slumber : days will dawn 
When he again those glowing vales shall 

thread, 
And tell his travels with unwearied tongue 
To fond ones, nestling round his own fireside. ' 

Nor think his errant life too mean to sing : 
Albeit no music tuned to courtly ears, 
Which seem regardless of those native sounds 
That raise sweet echoes in romantic souls, 
From him is heard ; there are of meeker taste 



And simpler mind, who bid the roving boy 
A welcome ; and enchanted hear the notes 
His organ wakes, of tenderness and truth. 
As through the City's ever-busy streets 
And darkly-winding lanes he roams and plays, 
Many an ear drinks musical delight ; 
Many an eye with beams of vanish'd years 
Is brightly charged ; and from her window 

haunt, 
Who makes the street to tingle with the sound 
Of halfpence, thrown with no ungentle hand, 
By some fair listener 1 Haply he woke dreams 
Of childhood ; thoughts which cannot breathe 

in words, 
But live and fade in sighs of fond regret ! 

And round him what a throng of urchins 
group, 
And dream his music' sweet as Orpheus made ! 
The laughter hush'd, the noisy tongue asleep, 
The hoop, as weary, on his shoulder hung, 
A Schoolboy stands to listen, and admire 
Those melodies which dance along his soul 
Like ripples fleeting o'er a ruffled stream ! 

Then let the streets still waken to the sound 
Of such boy -minstrels ; when afar they roam 
Through villages, where Music breathes a spell 
Of magic in her meanest tone, may smiles 
Of welcome flash along the rough-worn face 
Of age, and ruddy offspring of the fields : 
May gentle skies and glowing days attend, 
And feelings toned to every tuneful hour ! 

There are who deem a Ballad-singer 

brings 
No music which rewards harmonious ears ; 
To whom an Organ-boy but grating notes 
Of discord scatters on the homeless wind ; 
Their sympathies are season'd high, and scorn 
The gentle : envy not the ungenial souls ! 
For, hallow'd Nature ! thou art ever true ; 
And he who wanders with an eye of love 
And feeling wide among thy many haunts, 
Through mountain- walks, or unambitious vales, 
Where stream and meadow mingle their 

romance 
Around, in storm and sunshine finds thee still 
The same and magical ! and so, in Life ; 
Her sweet humilities have grace and power 
Beyond her loftiness and pomp : the Muse 
Can never play the courtier ; from the halls 
And palaces of Kings she flies to glades 
Of lowliness, where Faculties are found, 
And Will and Action can their sway reveal : 
W T here beats a heart, there Poetry may breathe 
Her spirit round it ; beautifying look 
And word, extracting all the soul of things, 
And veiling Nature with a hue divine. 



600 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



BALLAD-SINGER. 

(1829.) 

" As if the streets were consecrated ground, 
The city one vast temple — dedicate 
To mutual respect in thought and deed." 

Wordsworth. 

The dewy spirit of a summer-rain 

Falls not with fresher magic on the flower 

Than flows sweet music through the soul of 

man : 
In melody the heavens were hung ;* the Sea 
Weaves music when she rolls her full-voiced 

waves : 
The cloud-born Thunders sound an organ-peal: 
And every breeze hath music in its breath ! 
What, wonder, then, while Nature hymns 

around, 
That music is a sympathy to souls, 
The power of exquisite delight 1 From lips 
Of beauty, like aroma from the mind 
Exhaling forth ; or in the hoary aisle 
Of dim Cathedrals dying slow away ; 
Or in some dream-built palace of the night, 
Where angel-whispers make the spirit glow, 
How sweet is Music ! — with the Light twin-born. 

And thy sad voice, poor Minstrel of the 
street ! 
Hath sweetness in its sorrow : wild thine air 
And dim the meaning of that mournful eye ; 
For, blighting Poverty hath made thee droop 
And worn the health-bloom of thy once fair 

cheek : 
Pale-lipp'd thou art ; and charity may read 
Upon thy face the story of thy life ; 
The damp night-gush, the stony bed, the gripe 
Of famine, and that fever of a soul 
Whom not a smile hath visited through years 
Of deep despair, hast thou not felt them, 

maid 
Of many sorrows ! yet so sweetly flows 
The tide of music in thy homely song 
Of tenderness, that when I hear thee sing, 
As in a vision thou art beautified above 
Thy lot ; and tripping o'er the dew-clad hills 
When young birds pipe their anthem to the 

Morn, 
Like some bright Creature whom the wood- 
gods love 
I see thee, in thy youth's elysian prime ! 

That voice, of misery, oh ! was it born ; 
Or, breathed by Happiness into thy soul 
When hand in hand o'er childhood's vanish'd 
fields 



tws Inovgavlots xat Itriytieis" — Lo7igin. Frag. 



Down hawthorn-lanes, by margins of clear 

brooks 
And laughing streams, she led thee in her love ? 
With cottage-hymn hast thou not hallow'd oft 
The sacred hour of eve, and called the smile 
Of holiness upon thy father's cheek, 
As flowed his kindled feelings in thy song 
Of adoration ! Minstrel of the street ! 
Whate'er has been thy lot, thy ballads breathe 
Of summer-days to me ; and from each strain 
My heart can gather echoes, which have wings 
To bear it downward into Years, where lie 
The buried Joys that will not bloom again ! 
London, February lith, 1829. 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

When the hush of Twilight deepens 

Wake, music ! then; 
Or when the star of Hesper glows 
And flings a beam of pale repose 
Where yonder tide in beauty flows, 

Wake, music ! then. 

When the yearning heart is melted 

Wake, music ! then ; 
As oft some dream of perish'd days 
Comes floating o'er the spirit's gaze 
'Till every pulse of memory plays, 

Wake, music ! then. 

When the cloud of sorrow blackens 

Wake, music ! then ; 

Or, like the hymn of moonlight-bird, 

Or rain-dew in the desert heard ; 

Or leaflet by a night-breeze stirr'd, 

Wake, music ! then. 

When the storm of pain arises 

Wake, music ! then ; 

Like glory from an angel-eye, 

Like pity in a parent-sigh, 

In feeling softness tenderly 

Wake, music ! then. 



SUMMER WAVES. 



Exulting waters ! how ye leap and laugh, 
Instinct with rapture ; while the restless beams 
Of sunlight flash in sympathetic glee 
O'er your glad bosom : hark ! the hurried 

tones 
Of sea-born music thrill the Air with mirth, 
Till all around me, like a viewless swarm 
Of bees, the humming atmosphere resounds. 
Strand on Green, Kew, Sept. 1834. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



601 



MARIUS.* 

(1S27.) 

Sad on the echoing shore great Marius mused, 
Deserted and alone ; his harass'd eye 
The crested waves cast sullenly athwart, 
Where rode the traitor's bark. How fallen 

now 
Since that proud day when triumph fired his 

eye, 
And Rome beheld her valorous saviour there ! 
To brighter days his dreams went back. He 

thought 
Of that high morn, when, fronting Scipio's 

view, 
With firm-paced step, and unretreating arm, 
The foe he dash'd, and dragg'd him in the 

dust: 
Of Rome's acclaim, when, throned upon his car, 
Jugurtha's fetters clanking on his ear, 
He moved triumphant, 'mid the banner'd 

throng 
Who hail'd his Afric conquest : prouder still, 
His memory hover'd round the laurell'd pile 
Heap'd from the spoil'd Ambrones ; — torch in 

hand, 
And purple-clad, as veterans round him stood 
He waved and whirl'd the blazing light to 

heaven, 
While shields, and clashing spears, rang mar- 
tial joy. 
Of these he thought, and then Despair awoke, 
And delved a frown upon his war-worn brow, 
That bent with recollections dark and deep. 

Thus Marius sat ; and mused before the sea ; 
Till, bursting from his shroud of grief and 

gloom, 
O'er bogs and wilds dejectedly he sought 
A shelter from his foes. Unto the fens 
With wild and weary step the wanderer came, 
And found compassion in a cotter's hut : 
Roused thence, he couch'd within a narrow 

cave, 
Beside the river ; there was Marius ta'en, 
And naked dragg'd unto Minturnae's walls ! 

Within a cell, whose dungeon-wall shed 

round 
A dreadful gloom, the imprison'd Warrior lay, 
Stern, fierce, and frowning, dubious of his 

fate 
Like a chain'd eagle glaring at the skies ! 
The door burst open ; and with clattering teeth, 
And hand which trembled like a dizzy flame, 



See Plutarch's Life of Marius. 



Stalk'd in a savage Gaul ; but, ere he sheath'd 
His gleaming dagger in a Roman breast, 
From his fierce eyes a living flame there 

flash'd, 
Like lightning from a cloud ! Th' assassin 

shook 
And reel'd, and shrunk affrighted from dread 

eyes 
Whose flashes fell like phantom-darts of fire, 
On that pale coward's face. Then Marius rose 
And, with a voice of thunder, loud and deep, 
" Darest thou do the murderous deed !" 

exclaim'd. 



YIYE L'EMPEREUR ! 



(1827.) 

By Wilid's banks the headlong river swept 
Like whirlwind for its havoc ! white with foam, 
And plunging on in many a gurgled roar 
Of furious rage ! So fiercely flies the steed, 
Unmanacled, that with his upshot ears, 
And limbs vein-swelling in their wrathful 

glow, 
Undaunted gallops over hill and dale 
With name dishevell'd and his eyes on fire. 
Each massy bridge was ruin'd ; and afar 
The giddy wrecks were battling with the flood 
Till whirl'd below. 'Twas then Napoleon came 
With his embattled hosts. That wondrous Man ! 
Whose daring spirit, with volcanic rage, 
Breathed flame and ruin on the affrighted 

world. 
His eyes the universe could span ! His soul 
Had fire enough to vanquish all ! In vain 
Wild Nature barr'd his progress with her crags 
O'er-crested by the clouds ; in vain the rocks 
His path to block, their icy heads uprear'd 
Or hurl'd their torrents at him ! With a glance 
Fierce as the eagle's, when his piercing eye 
Gleams through the darkening air, he look'd 

beyond 
Them all : Nature and He were giants twin, 
And her impediments but forced the flames 
Of genius from his soul ; as thunder-clouds 
Together clash'd, their lightning-gleams dart 

forth. 



* The river Wilid being swollen with rain, and 
the bridges destroyed,* the emperor (Napoleon) com- 
manded a body of Polish cavalry to cross by swim- 
ming : they did not hesitate to dash into the river ; 
but ere they reached the middle of the stream, an 
irresistible torrent broke their ranks, and they were 
lost almost to a man before the eyes of Napoleon, to 
whom some of them, in the last struggle turned 
their faces, exclaiming "Vive L'Empereur!" — Sir 
Walter Scott's Life of Napoleon. 



602 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Upow the howling flood a glance he threw, 
Such as the tiger darts, ere on his prey 
He springs, to gnash it in his ravening ire ; 
Then fiercely cried " On ! on ! my valiant 

Poles ! " 
They answered not ; but with a clanging stir 
Goaded their pawing battle-steeds, and plunged 
Amid the torrent's rush. Like loosen'd crags 
Down-rushing on the sea, the warriors sank 
Emburied in the stream ; then buoy'd again, 
And panting, cleaved their roaring track. 

Beneath 
Their gallant burdens, bravely paw'd the steeds, 
With blowing nostrils and dilated eyes, 
And many a furious snort ; against their breasts 
The cloven waters foam'd, and flash'd behind 
Their darting hoofs ; and roar'd, and raged 

around 
The dripping foemen, like a startled den 
Of lions in the wood : — but vain the rush ; 
Midway the maddening torrent overwhelm'd 
The struggling files; like a tremendous blast 
Among autumnal leaves, it scatter'd all ! 
Eank after rank was buried in the flood, 
Their steeds upon ; while round their sinking 

heads 
The waters yell'd, as victors o'er their foes : 
But in that gasp, while yet their spirits hung 
'Tween life and death, as feathers in the air, 
Backward they gazed, -and with triumphant 

shrieks 
Of valour, fiercely sounded, " Yive l'Empereur ! " 

He heard their death-cries rolling on the blast; 
And, as a lake just rippled into life, 
His features flutter'd with terrific throes 
Of suffering ; then, his grinding teeth he 

gnash' d, 
And dug the nails into his palms ; and groan' d 
In more than agony, whose deeps were dumb ! 



DEATH OF CORINNE. 

(1828.) 

All pale, and pillow' d on a chair she lay, 
The beautiful, the passionate Corinne ! 
The brilliant language of her eyes no more 
Darted around such eloquence of soul, 
As when, amid the crowd, her feelings flash'd 
The bright expression forth ; while she herself 
Was living poetry ! Deep pensiveness, 
And looks intense which tell the blighted heart, 
Of coming death prophetically spake ! 

Ere yet her spirit breathed itself to heaven, 
She yearn' d, upon the shrouded moon to gaze, 



Silvering the mellow skies. Athwart her fact 
Floated that fatal cloud ! the same she saw 
When Melville woo'd her by the winding shore : 
On him, enamour'd, kneeling at her feet, 
She look'd, and in one look condensed 
The buried anguish of a broken heart ; 
Her white lips feebly parted, then reclosed 
For ever ! Gazing then upon the sky, 
She faintly beckon'd to the gleaming moon, 
While down her neck her streaming ringlets 

fell 
Like dropping sunbeams on the pallid air. 

And now a change came on ; back the blood 
retired 
Her radiant cheek beneath ; her eyelids moved 
Like melting snow-flakes in the noontide- 
glow, 
And all her beauty quite empyreal turn'd, 
As if refining, ere to heaven it went ; 
Her hand fell downward with her farewell 

sigh, 
And with eternity her spirit was ! 



CESAR ON THE BANKS OF THE 
RUBICON. 

(1820.) 

Amid the roar of revelry 

Within Alesian's home, 
He moved with glad but musing eye, 

The vanquisher of Rome ; 
His spirit mingled with the gay, 
And smiled the gloom of war away. 

He tarried there till darkling Night 

Threw round her dewy veil, 
And shadows pall'd each Alpine-height 

That beetled o'er the dale ; 
Then Cassar rose, his bosom fraught 
With incommunicable thought ! 

And swiftly sped the Hero on 

Along his shadowy road ; 
And reach'd where roll'd the Rubicon, 

That from the mountain flow'd ; 
And there, — prophetic thought's control 
Becalm'd the dauntless Caesar's soul ! 

Before him heaved the river-bound 
Between great Rome and Gaul ; 

If cross' d — what trumpet-clangs would sound ! 
How many a foeman fall ! 

The vision'd future wild with woes 

Before him, like a Spectre, rose ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



603 



He mused on battle, war, and blood, 
On plunder'd cities' storm ; 

The impatient daggers of the good 
Against a tyrant's form ; 

On all the mountain-perils thrown 

'Tween Borne and triumph, — for his own. 

Of what the unborn Times would say 
At Rubicon's grand name, 

Of Him who track'd with blood his way, 
And with it built his fame : 

"Would he not seem a demon then, 

Who ravish'd all the rights of men ] 

And thus reflecting Caesar stood 
And battled with his mind ; 

Then, gazed upon the fatal flood, 
And dash'd his doubts behind ! 

Like a bent bow, his pride return'd, 

And all the Roman in him burn'd. 

" The die is cast ! the die is cast ! " 
With reckless shout he cried ; 

Then swift the Rubicon was pass'd 
And reach'd the Roman side ; 

Ere day had dawn'd he drew the sword, 

And vassal Cities hail'd him lord ! 



A THOUGHT. 



Dreams of our Youth ! like birds of beauteous 

wing 
"Which haunt the paradise of morn and sing, 
How have ye vanish'd into viewless air 
And left the mind a Temple for despair ! 
Jvly, 1833. 



MORNING. 



(1829.) 

The Sun is seated on his ocean-throne, 
Attended by a court of clouds. Around 
And midway, rosy phantoms form and swell, 
Advance, and. like battalions in array, 
Mingle their pomp, and make a shining plain 
Of crimson on the skies. 

Beneath, the waves 
In gleaming motion lie, like ruffled scales 
Of liquid steel : and, lo ! awaking now 
"With the white dew of slumber on her breast, 
The Earth, all fragrant, fresh in living green, 
And beautiful, as if this moment sprung 
From out her Maker's hand. Athwart the 

trees 
A verdant lustre shines ; where matin-beads 



With gems of light have jewell'd all the boughs; 
"While here and there, some gently-vocal stream 
Touch'd by a sun-ray, laughs with conscious 
light. 

The Flowers are waking, too, and ope their 
eyes 
To greet the prying sun, while meads and dales 
With hoary incense steam : and list ! there 



A buzz of life : myriads of insects now 
Creep from their green-wood caves and mossy 

homes, 
And wind their way to glitter in the sun ; 
While from yon wooded green the sheep-bells 

send 
Their tinkling echoes down the forest-dale. 

And is creation's heir, in slumberous calm 
Unmindful of the morn 1 Ah, no : its beams 
On the lone cotter's straw-roof'd hut hath 

smiled, 
And call'd him forth. And see ! the lattice 

oped, 
Far o'er the landscape's freshen'd view His 

eye 
Expatiates ; while the choral breezes wake 
like matins from the harp of Air produced : 
And then deep sentiments, by purity evoked, 
Thrill the true heart ; instructively it owns 
The gloriousness of God ; while faith ascends 
On wings of prayer and praise the Mercy-seat, 
And Him adores, "Whom day and night reveal. 



NOON. 

The Sun is burning with his noontide-beams 
Inflamed to fierceness. Cooling winds are 

dead ; 
The shallow lakes are film'd ; and fetid pools 
Gleam darkly from the arid ground, while hosts 
Of swarming insects on the creviced soil 
Basking and buzzing creep. The trees are 

tranced 
In breezeless air ; and at their matted trunks 
The ploughman lies, his head upon his palms, 
Watching between the leaves heaven's cloud- 
less arch 
Smile on him beauteously. The flowers decline, 
As if they languish'd for a breezy draught ; 
And e'en the flirting bee, now honey-cloy""d, 
Is humming languid on the rose's brim. 
The world grows faint; and all is stirless, save 
Yon sky-bird travelling to the sun ; and hark ! 
Wing-poised, he peers undazzled at the blaze, 
Hymning his heart-full of aerial strains. 
Beneath this towering cliff behold the sea 



604 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Magnificently spread ! The billows pant 
And revel in the beams, which crest and 

crown 
Their heads with golden brightness ; or adorn 
The dimpling bosom of the calmer deep, 
And gambol to the shore. 

But, far beyond, 
Behold a rock majestically rear'd ; 
Upon whose brow the eagle sits at noon, 
Kolling his eye-balls at the blazing run ; 
High on the yellow beach, its hoary side 
Is bared unto the ocean, and the breeze 
Upwafted, like a tight and stately sail 
When whitening in the glow of heaven. And 

look ! 
The feathery shapes of far-off sails are seen 
Alone upon the billows ; and like clouds 
Which glance and tremble on the ocean-brim, 
Their motion gleams upon the water's breast. 



NIGHT. 

Another day is added to the mass 
Of buried Ages. Lo, the beauteous Moon, 
Like a fair shepherdess now comes abroad 
With her full flock of stars, which roam around 
The azure mead of heaven. And oh, how 

charm'd 
Beneath her loveliness creation looks ! 
Par-gleaming hills, and light-inweaving 

streams, 
And fragrant boughs with dewy lustre clothed, 
And green-hair'd valleys, all in glory dress'd, 
The pageantries of Night compose. One glance 
Upon old Ocean, where the woven beams 
Have braided her dark waves ! — Their roar is 

hush'd ; 
Her billowy wings are folded up to rest ; 
Till once again infuriate winds shall yell, 
And tear them into strife. 



A lone owl's hoot ; 
The waterfall's faint drip ; or insect-stir 
Among the emerald leaves ; or infant-wind 
Rifling the pearly lips of sleeping flowers, — 
The stillness of the scene alone disturb : 

Spirit of All ! as up yon star-hung deep 
Of air, the eye and heart together mount, 
Man's Immortality within him speaks ; 
That Thou art all around ! Thy Beauty walks 
In dream-heard music o'er the midnight 

heavens ; 
Thy glory garmenteth the slumbering world. 



SPIRIT OF TIME. 

1830. 

" Horse quidem cedunt et dies, et menses, et anni : 
nee prseteritum tempus unquam revertitur; nee 
quid sequatur, sciri potest." — Cicero. 

Another Year, methought a Spirit cried, 
Another Year is dead ! Still rolls the world 
Magnificent as ever ; bright the Sun, 
And beautiful his native heaven ; the Earth 
Around looks fresh as on her birth-day morn ; 
And Man, as gay as if no knell had rung, 
No heart been broken, and no tears been 

shed ! 
Where, then, the history of the buried Year, 
Of weal and woe, of glory and of shame 1 
Eternal ! not a minute fleets away 
That to Thy throne a record doth not waft ; 
Time cannot die ; the unapparent Years 
Again will rise ; and cited Ages come, 
And in our human resurrection share. 

A Year hath perish'd, who can tell his tale ] 
Ye Thunders ! kings of cloudy wrath sublime, 
With herald-lightnings to announce your 

power, 
Say from your sleep shall ye be summon'd 

forth, 
And tell your havoc, in the blaze of noon 
And in the night-wing'd tempest darkly made 1 
Or, shall I bid unbosom'd Ocean yield 
Her dead; or let the unfrequented graves 
Expand, and show their ghastly inmates, there ] 

No moral is there loud enough and deep 
The laugh of Life to hush above the tomb ; 
Time, accident, and change, — they melt forgot 
Like clouds of feeling : not the dread alarm, 
Of Nature can arouse the world to think. — 
An earthquake was there in a far-off isle : 
The heavens were blacken'd; and the grim 

waves yell'd, 
While Ocean, heaving like a human breast 
In agony, groan'd wildly from her depths : 
All Earth seem'd fear-struck ; on their bowing 

trees 
The leaves hung shuddering; through the 

heated air 
The dull wind mutter'd with a spirit-tone, 
And fitfully the island-cities rock'd : 
At midnight, came the Earthquake in his ire 
And gloom, which made the world's foundations 

reel ! 
Temples and towers were shatter'd : shrieks 

and prayers 
Rang in wild tumult through the riven skies ; 
And, crush'd to dust, a thousand corpses lay 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



605 



Gulpli'd in the ground and sepulchred by 

night ! 
Cold morning came ; each brow a sadness 

cloak'd ; 
Yet none of Judgment in their doom could 

dream, 
And in the Earthquake hear the Yoice of 

God! 

A Year hath vanish'd, and how many eyes 
Are film'd, how many lovely cheeks are cold ! 
What lips, which let out music from the soul, 
Are death-seal'd, now ! Bend, human Pride, 

and see 
The desolation and the curse of Time. 
Monarch of millions ! at whose royal feet 
The treasures of the ransack'd earth were laid, 
And on whose brow the pride of Ages sat, 
Where slumberest Thou ] the sleep of death is 

thine ; 
And worms will revel on thy pulseless clay 
As on the meanest of forgotten dust. 

What hast thou lost, unheedful World? 

Thy great 
Have died ; Spirits amid whose radiant track 
In bright eclipse the common herd are lost : 
Thy Kings, thy Warriors, and thy Statesmen 

too 
Have perish'd: hast Thou mourn'dthy mighty 



Go, weep for One, the wonder of his day, 
A mental Titan of amazing grasp, 
A man whom England may exult to hail 
Her own ; a Patriot, round whose dying lips 
Her name of glory like enchantment, clung. 
His chief inheritance, a lofty soul, 
He battled through the darkness of his lot 
And shone aloft, — the brightest of them all 
Who wrestled with the tempest of renown ! 
What genius glow'd that gifted mind within, 
What eloquence came flowing from the fount 
Of salient fulness there, — of Hearts demand 
Which each word felt, like new-born feeling, pour 
Warm inspiration round them, when with eye 
That kindled with the kindling truth, he 

stretch'd 
His mind o'er Empires ; and round captive-isles 
Bade Liberty her wings of light expand ! 

But, when the mighty die, the mean begin 
To live ; and thus with thee, departed One ! 
Scarce on the wind thy death-knell ceased to 

moan, 
Ere darkly rose the pestilential breath 
Of Slander's venal lip, thy name to blight, 
And turn thy soul as tainted as her own. 
Yes ! they the thunders of thy voice who fear'd 
In Retribution's high revenge, arose, 



And on thy memory heap'd the hoarded wrath 
Of envy ; — let them riot in their shame ! 
What though some error cast a doubtful shade 
Upon thy glories, shall we laud them less 1 
Are skies less beautiful, because the clouds 
Sail o'er them 1 shines the morning sun less 

bright 
Because a passing shade his brow profanes! — 
A monument in noble minds thou hast, 
That will not moulder ; Time shall guard it 

there ! 

But not alone the glorious and the great 
Hast thou entomb'd, thou unreturning Year ! 
'Tis in the noiseless sphere of common life, 
In placid homes, by quiet evening-hearths 
Where once the social hearts were gather'd 

round, 
We trace a fearful havoc in thy flight. 
Alas ! how many whom the infant Year 
Beheld in beauty, looking on through life 
As through a vista of eternal Joy, 
Have vanish'd, like the bloom of early hope ! 
What blue-eyed babes, the parent knee beside 
Reflecting smile for smile, have flown away 
Like birds of Paradise, to their own home ! 
What Creatures, budding into womanhood, 
The silent walk who loved, and made the 

flowers 
Companions of their virgin-thoughts, have 

gone 
To graves, with all a mother's treasured hope ! 
Go, see the mournful chamber, where of yore 
When Winter howl'd his dirge, the gush of 

song 
And heart-warm fellowship of feeling hours 
Was heard, now mute, as if the tones of Joy 
Had never scatter'd echoes there ! Alas ! 
For him, who in the green young spring had 

wed 
The Heart he echo'd ; brightly laugh'd the 

Sun 
Upon that morn of love complete ; long days 
Of bliss, and all the warm romance of youth 
In radiant vision gather'd round his heart, 
And now, to him a tomb the world becomes ! 

And thou, dread Fashion, at thy gilded shrine 
What victims have been offer'd up ! From 

haunts 
Where all the young Emotions bloom and dwell, 
And Nature is the holy nurse of Thought, 
What maiden victims have been brought to thee ! 
And saddening 'twas to see their piteous change 
From innocence to each corrupting joy : 
At home they wander'd in ancestral woods, 
Follow'd the brooks, and felt a kindred ray 
Flash from their surface o'er the sunny heart ; 
Yes, beautiful that magic reign of soul, 



606 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



When air seem'd haunted with the vocal wings 
Of spirits, who beatify the winds ; 
Or when, with looks expanded in delight, 
The heavens they mark'd besprinkled o'er with 

clouds 
And beams, and bless'd The Hand which hung 

them there : 
Then life was holy, full of heavenward joy, 
And all their thoughts, like sunbeams, where 

they fell 
Shed brightness and a beauty round : oh ! ill 
Exchanged for gilded rooms and crowded halls, 
For heartless pride and unromantic hours ! 
Then work'd the havoc of the mind within ; 
The fount of generous feeling frozen up, 
The heart-laugh tamed to an obsequious smile, 
And young affection slowly wither'd down 
To bleak and barren pomp, — they died ; 
And heavy knells were rung, when marriage- 
peals 
Like merry prophets, should have loudly hail'd 
The coming years ; — 'twas Fashion stopt their 
course ! 

E'en thou, pale Genius ! whose unearthly 

tones 
The world intrance, within the grave art sunk, 
Since her dim gates Eternity unbarr'd 
To let the dead Year in. Yet, one there lived 
On whom Oblivion's pall should not have dropt 
Her gloom; he never heard a great Man's name 
Without a thrill, electric as divine ; 
He never saw a monument to Mind 
But Glory came, and sat him on her throne. 
The haughty light I saw, which lit his brow, 
The emulation from his soul reveal'd 
And mantling all his features with the mind, 
When/?rs£ that ever-haunting dream of Youth, 
The goal to which ambitious thoughts would 

run, 
The City-queen of England, — met his gaze 
Of wonder. Round him flow'd her streams of 

life; 
Temples, and Towers familiar with the clouds, 
And Streets gigantic, in their glittering flow 
Branching away like rivers in the sun, 
Claim'd tributary awe ; but soon grew dim : 
From ancient times a mental shadow came, 
And in it, his enthusiastic eye 
Saw Heroes, Lords and Lights of man and 

mind ! 

But genius to itself a martyr is ; 
And that immortal lava of the soul, 
That fire he felt for which there is no name, 
Consumed him, while it glorified each thought : 
One midnight, when, deserted and untrod, 
The Capital had lock'd her thousand limbs 
In slumber, and a silence shrouded all 



With a cathedral-awe, alone he stood 

Some mute vast square amid; and deeply 

watch'd 
The heavens, and spread his spirit to the stars, 
That seem'd to brighten as his fancy glow'd ! 
The mystery of Being ; and the might 
Of Him, whose fiat moulded sumless worlds ; 
And Life ; and Death ; the silence of the grave, 
That dark Unknown we all are doom'd to 

know ! — 
Assail'd him now; 'twas his last hour of 

dreams ; 
The orbs of heaven on him ne'er look'd again, 
The Morrow saw him shrouded for the grave ! 

No more of sorrow for the fleeted year : 
No tears can cancel, or recal it now : 
Hereafter, when before the throne of God 
Dead Ages shall revive, all its crimes 
And Virtues will be summon'd to their doom. — 
Hark ! from a host of dimly-vision'd Spires 
The midnight-hour is rolling to the skies, 
While doubtful echoes undulate the air, 
Then glide away, like shadows, into gloom. 
A solemn peal, a farewell-voice of Time, 
It leaves a lingering tone in many a heart 
Where merriment a home had made ! The 

young 
Who hear it in the festive chamber, sigh, 
And send their thoughts, sad pilgrims to a 

tomb ; 
The aged hear it, and the Dead revive ! 

A Year hath vanish'd, and another Year 
Is born ; what awful changes will arise, 
What dark events lie hidden in the womb 
Of Time, imagination cannot dream. 
Ye Heavens ! upon whose brow a stillness lies, 
Deep as the silence of a thinking Heart 
In its most holy hour, the world hath changed, 
But ye are changeless ; and your midnight-race 
Of starry Watchers view our glorious isle, — 
Beaming, as when amidst her forest-depths 
The savage roam'd, and chanted to the moon. 

England ! beautiful, and brave, and free, 
With Ocean, like a bulwark round thee thrown, 
Thoughts of Thy destiny the heart awake 
To fearful wonder ; from the wildest state 
Of darkness, raised and magnified by Heaven ! 
What though a troubled Spirit walk the earth 
And Fancy hear the distant war-drums roll, 
Long may thy sceptre proudly awe the 

waves ; 
Still o'er the world enthroned as Island- 
Queen 
While each new year adds glory to thy name, 
May Time be vanquish'd, ere he conquer Thee. 



HYMN. 

Tiiy temple, Lord ! creation stands, 

Magnificently vast ; 
And o'er it Thine adorning hands 

A roof of heaven have cast. 

And there, all sights and sounds proclaim 

The glory of Thy power, 
And preach Thine everlasting name 

To every conscious hour ! 

But though Thy temple be all space, 
The heaven of heavens Thy throne, 

Yet deign with condescending grace 
This earthly fane to own. 

here may vocal incense rise, 

And songs of Zion sound ; 
And lowly hearts and lifted eyes 

Thy Presence feel around. 

Salvation through the Blood of Him 
Who conquer'd Death and Hell, 

Assist us, ye seraphim ! 
In strains like yours to tell. 

And may thy living Gospel reign 

Till sin and darkness flee, 
And ransom'd Earth be pure again 

As when it came from thee ! 



HYMN. 

How sacred is that chosen spot 
Where praise and prayer arise, 

And earth and time seem half forgot, 
While Faith unveils the skies, 

And visions bright in beauty roll 

Around the tranced believer's soul ! 

One hour within Thy Temple, Lord, 
When blending hearts can meet, 

And banquet on Thy blessed word 
Before the Mercy-seat, 

The antepast of heaven may prove, 

And teach us how Thine angels love. 

And ever in this calm abode 

May Thy pure Spirit be, 
And guide us on the narrow road 

That terminates in Thee ; 
While dews of Thine absolving grace 
Descend upon our fallen race. 



Before the Cross where Jesu bled 

On Calvary's fated hill, 
With bended knee, and bowing head, 

And soul devoutly still, 
May each adoring sinner find 
Salvation awe and soothe his mind. 

And by Thy Blood, and by Thy Tears, 
By all Thy pangs unknown ! 

Allay, Lord, our rising fears, 

And make these hearts Thine own ; 

Till each with loud hosannah sings, 

Hail ! Lord of lords, and King of kings ! 



A DREAM OF WORLDS. 

(1839.) 

Those starry Wonders, everlasting Worlds 
Of light and loveliness, I saw them all, 
As on the magic wings of mystery borne 
Methought my unembodied spirit swept 
Immensity. Vast multitudes there shone 
Of beauteous Orbs, whose brightness was 

intense, 
Beyond the noon in its most sunny reign. 
Majestic, o'er a measureless extent 
Of azure, moved those high immortal spheres, 
Less terrible in beauty, but more shaped 
To mortal vision ; as they onward roll'd, 
Each sounded as instinct with melody. 

'Twas but an eye-glance that such pomp 

reveal'd ; 
And yet, before it pass'd a heaven-like host 
Of Forms, and Phantoms which can never die 
While memory lives. Who haA not charm'd 

the air 
To rapturous delusion ] Who hath lived 
And yet not loved ? and loved, and hath not 



His angel 1 Who a paradise not dream'd, 
When from within a glorious longing woke 
For that which earth and earthliness to none 
Supply? Let Nature answer ; she will tell 
What shapes of beauty throng'd a dream of 
Worlds. 

The Midnight ! — how we gaze upon its pomp 
Of orbs, and waft ourselves among their host, 
As though they were bright Palaces for Souls 
When clay doth not corrupt them. Who shall 

prove, 
That such are not bright Eden's of pure bliss 
Where myriads reap eternity 1 On high 
The Seer* of old mysteriously was rapt 



Enoch. 



608 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



To blessedness ; aloft Elijah soar'd, 

Rapt in dread thunder through the riven 

skies 
'Mid fiery chariots and emblazon'd clouds ! 
And He, the sanctifying Lord of Life, 
Through air ascended to His throne eterne . . . 
Ever have awe and glory, love and hope 
Divine, the gaze of rapture skyward turn'd. 
And oh ! the cold may laugh, the worldly 

jeer, 
Mocking whate'er their miserable clay 
Partakes not of the mind's celestial dream — 
Yet are there spells of beautifying power 
And passion, which a stern Reality 
Can never reach. Go, ask the widow' d heart 
Of young Affection, when she walks the night 
As in a vision of departed hours, 
If all which day-charms yield, her love 

transforms 
To such a blissful heaven of memory, 
As that sweet lonely Star, whose angel-gaze 
Like Mercy looks upon her lifted eye ! 
Or, ask a friend, of some bright Soul 

bereaved, 
When stars expressively the sky adorn, 
What radiant solace from their beam is caught, 
While Fancy sighing thinks, " My friend is 

there ! " 

Ye holy Watchers ! who this earth have 
view'd 
In darkness rolling on to destiny 
Through countless ages, and are glorious still, 
With no feign'd worship sing I your romance. 
My boyhood was Chaldean ; and your beams 
Like rays of feeling quiver'd round my heart : 
Yes, I remember, when becalm'd and still 
My school-confpanions on their couches slept, 
With moonlight on their beautiful young brows 
Like holiness arraying them for heaven, — 
IJnhinder'd, to my casement I would steal, 
And muse ; and gaze upon the midnight-orbs 
Until my spirit seem'd the skies to float. 

Such homage for the heavens is not extinct : 
For now, when weary of the heartless stir 
Around me, and sad nothings which o'erwhelm 
The daylight, and our nobler mind disease; 
When darken' d by unkindness, or deceived 
By finding clouds where sunshine should 

prevail : 
In such dark mood, upon those peaceful worlds 
That shame us with their bright sublimity, 
I gaze, and woo unheavenly fancy off 
By visioning eternity. — Mere time 
Too great a burden on our spirit lays ; 
We bow before our idols, and adore 
The glittering falsehood of some fading scene ; 
Forgetful of yon glorious Sky, where, day 



And night, Divinity is marching forth, 
In sun or darkness, thunder or in worlds ! 



We know not what these heaven-illuming 

orbs 
May be ; to us— but Mysteries, that roll 
And shine. Yet, none upon them ever gazed, 
Whose eye could gather beauty which the soul 
Can image, nor within him felt a spell 
Of admiration, spreading o'er the mind 
Till it became a mirror of delight 
Reflecting back the glory that it hail'd. 
And oft have I some heaven-born influence 

caught, 
When sick of human Festival, where smiles 
Are tutor'd till the heart forget to reign, 
And eyes are beaming with hypocrisy ; 
While that soft tongue, whose angel-accents 

fall 
In honey'd accents on the flatter'd ear 
Can play the dagger, when the moment comes ! — 
How often, tired with such delightless pomp, 
I've hail'd the homeward solitary way : 
Here, once again, the immeasurable sky 
Around me, and a starry wilderness 
Open and free, for spirit to expand, 
With what a worship hath my soul return'd 
To night and nature, to itself and heaven ! 



A FADING SCENE. 

A fading scene, a fading scene 

Is this false world below ; 
And not a heart has ever been 

Which hath not proved it so. 

The clouds are dying while we gaze 
Upon them, young and warm ; 

And sweet flowers in the summer-rays 
But perish while they charm. 

The trees that woo'd us as we pass'd 

With many a leafy strain, 
Bow, wither'd by autumnal blast, 

When visited again. 

The music which the soul doth melt 
Like magic from the skies, 

Though sweetly-heard, and softly-felt, 
In swiftest echo flies. 

Our pleasures are but fainting hues 

Reflected o'er the waves ; 
Our glories, — they are phantom-views 

Which lure us to our graves ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



609 



And Beauty, — see her 'mid the crowd 
A night-queen in her bloom ! 

To-morrow, in her maiden shroud 
A martyr for the tomb ! 

And Love, — how frequent does it mourn 
For some remember'd scene ; 

Or, doom'd in darkness reft or lorn 
To live on what hath been. 

And Friends, — alas, how few we find 

That consecrate the name, 
With glowing heart and generous mind, 

To feed their hallow'd flame : 

But should there be some blessed one, 

However sad or lone, 
Whom dearly we can look upon 

And feel such friend our own, 

The iron wings of Fate unfold 

And bear him far away : 
Or else, we mourn him dead and cold 

Companion of the clay. 

Oh, no ! there's nothing on this earth 

We fashion, or we feel, 
But death is mingled with its birth 

And sorrow with its weal. 

Then, hail the hour of glorious doom ! 

That wafts my soul away 
To regions radiant with the bloom 

Of everlasting day. 



THE DEPAETED YEAE. 

" In silent night the vision of the dead passed by— 
I saw our Mends all pass, — 
And oh ! in silent night I saw the open graves — 
I saw th' immortal host ! " 

Klopstock's Odes. 

A vision, by eternity unveil'd, 

When midnight in a trance of darkness lay, 

My soul beheld. Methought that time and 

earth 
Had vanish'd, while the unforgotten Dead 
In glory bright and bodiless appear'd. 
How deep their gaze ! oh, how divine their 

smile ! 
A pensive mildness, an immortal grace 
Each Semblance wore ; the father had not lost 
That light paternal which his living eyes 
To greet his children, loved to have express'd ; 
Still on the mother's placid brow was throned 
A tenderness, which triumph'd o'er decay ; 
And perish'd babes, whose beauty dazzled time, 



In the young bloom of resurrection rose 
Serenely glad, and innocently-bright. 

And thus, by dreams of never-dying soul, 
The Dead around us, with a voiceless power 
Are present, mentally distinct and known ; 
As though some chain, whose links are 

unbeheld, 
The living and the dead conjoin'd, that love, 
E'en in the grave, no gloomy trance might 

bear, 
But throb immortal in the spirit's core ! 

Thought flies the banquet, to embrace the 
tomb : 
And, oh ! if joy-wing'd hours awhile seduce 
A faithful mourner from his fond regret ; 
If the dull prose of daily life contract 
And dry his feelings into worldly dust, 
Or selfish duty, — how divinely-pure 
The calm of intellectual grief again ! 
Thus can creative fondness from the world 
Of parted spirits, all it loved evoke : 
And he whose years are chronicles of wo, 
From the strange earth, where few companions 

dwell, 
Can wander where the hopes of youth repose, 
And make eternity his mighty home. — 



A hollow knell heaves mournful on the air, 
And my dark song in solemn echo rolls 
To that dread music. From this orb of time 
Another in the noon of manhood call'd 
To lie and fester with unfeeling clay ! — 
Oh, God ! the terror of Thy rising frown 
Mantles the universe with more than night : 
Each Kingdom, like a childless Eachel, 

mourns ; 
A Power of darkness, on the wings of death, 
Hath travell'd earth with pestilential speed, 
And left but havoc to declare his flight. 
How many tombs this Year hath dug ! what 

homes 
Are fill'd with desolation's fearful calm ! 
The chairs are vacant where the Forms we loved 
So oft reposed, where still their semblance 

chains 
Our fix'd and fond delusion ! In the streets, 
Like silent mourners in a talking crowd, 
Cold mansions tenantless and still remain, 
From whose glad chambers rush'd the household- 
tones 
That made sweet music to a social mind ; 
And many a garden, whose luxuriant green 
And laurell'd bowers the sunbeams loved to 

grace, 
In weedy ruin is decaying now : 



610 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



The hands it welcomed with rewarding bloom, 
Are iced by death, and ne'er can tend it more. 
'Twas exquisite for him, whose town-worn life 
Was fever'd by the hot and fretful day, 
When evening, like an angel-wing, could waft 
His spirit home, to greet yon tranquil cot 
Again, and bid the vexing world depart. 
How dear the beauty of each dawning flower, 
How rich the melody of choral leaves, 
To him, whose wisdom was a feeling mind ! 

And thou, lone sharer of a widow'd lot ! 
Where is the language, though a Seraph hymn'd 
The poetry of heaven, to picture thee, 
Doom'd to remain on Desolation's rock 
And look for ever where the Past lies dead ! 
What is the world to thy benighted soul 1 
A dungeon ! save that there thy children's 

tones 
Can ring with gladness its sepulchral gloom. 
Placid, and cold, and spiritually -pale, 
Art thou; the lustre of thy youth is dimm'd, 
The verdure of thy spirit o'er : in vain 
The beaming eloquence of day attracts 
Thy heart's communion with Creation's joy ; 
Like twilight imaged on a bank of snow 
The smile that waneth o'er thy marble cheek ! 

Oh, when shall trial, tears, and torture cease ] 
Despair, and frenzy, and remorseless gloom, 
Defiance, and the Thoughts which crouch before 
The bright severity of Virtue's eye, 
When shall their mystery lie unweaved, and 

bare? 
When shall the lips of Agony be dumb, 
And the dark wail of wounded Nature 

hush'd? 



A Tragedy of twice three thousand years 
Hath almost ended ; soon perchance, may fall 
A Curtain, whose unfolding darkness brings 
Oblivion o'er the universe decay'd. 
Already looks Earth's final scene begun : 
The elements, like human limbs unnerved, 
Forego their function ; seasons out of tune 
Creation's harmony of change destroy ; 
And in their wildness of unwonted act 
Reflective eyes an awful omen read, 
By Nature given to prophetic man 
Of Time's conclusion. Sea and Air confess 
A strange excitement ; through the trackless 

heaven's 
Immensity the unheard Comet rolls ; 
No vision'd eye his path may comprehend, 
Nor dread imagination dream, what orbs 
May crumble, or what blighted planets 

shrink 



As on the burning Desolator sweeps 
And blazes o'er annihilated worlds ! 

Spoiler of hearts and empires ! vanish'd 
Year, 
Ere for eternity thy wings were spread 
Alone I listen'd to thy dark farewell. — 
The moon was center'd in the cloudless heaven 
Pallid as beauty on the brow of death ; 
And round about her, with attracted beams, 
Group'd the mild stars ; the anarchy of day 
Was hush'd, the turbulence of life becalm'd. 
From where I stood, a vast and voiceless plain, 
A City garmented with mellow light 
Lay visible ; and, like romance in stone, 
Shone gloriously serene. All sounds were dead : 
The dew-drop, stirless as a frozen tear 
Gleam'd on the verdure ; not an air-tone rang ; 
The leaves hung tranced as the lids of Sleep ; 
Around me Nature in devotion seem'd, 
The Elements in adoration knelt, 
Till all grew worship, — from the heart of Things 
Material, to the conscious soul of man ! 
'Twas then, sepulchral, hollow, deep, and loud, 
The bell of Midnight on the stillness burst 
And made the air one atmosphere of awe. 

Sublime of hours ! I thought on all the 

grave 
Had buried, since the infant Year began : 
What dreams, what agonies untold 
Dead as the hearts whose depth they once 

turmoil' d, 
Lay motionless, and mute ! Of pomp in dust, 
Of wither'd pride, of wealth from glory hurl'd, 
Of lull'd ambition and appeased despair, — 
Of each I dreamt : and then, in sad array, 
Pale visions of the Kings of thought arose, 
The wise, the wondrous, the adored, whose 

deaths 
Enrich'd eternity with added mind, 
Sleep with the Patriarchs now ! and one how 

great ! 
For whom the costly tears of genius fell ; — 
The wand is broken, and the Wizard gone ! 

Many and mighty are the stars of Fame ; 
But his deep splendour has outdazzled all 
Since Shakspeare, that unrivall'd planet ! rose, 
Whose radiance clad the intellectual heaven. 
Yes, he hath vanish'd ; but his country wears 
A veil of glory that shall garb her clime 
For ever. How we hung upon his parting 

hour ! 
And when it summon'd the transcendant Mind 
From earth to heaven, the souls of myriads felt 
O'ershadow'd ; Europe bow'd in dim eclipse, 
And Kingdoms mourn'd round his imagined 
tomb. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



611 



Monarchs of time, and ministers of thought, 
Felt in the frame of intellectual life 
As rolls the blood-tide through our breathing 

form, 
"Where is the palace of your spirits now ? 
In what immensity are ye enshrined, 
Imperishably pure ? Was quiet earth 
In beauty, but an archetype of heaven 1 
Your dreams, your towering aspirations high, 
The far-off shadows of each Truth divine, — 
Are all absorb'd in beatific light, 
And this world like a rain-drop in the deep 
Of time, for ever from the soul dissolved ] 
Our craving passion for the Unreveal'd 
Fain would it know, to what vast height 

removed, 
To what perfection of sublimest powers 
Ye are ascended : but, the baffled Wish 
Is driven earthward, and cold Nature cries 
In tones as thrilling as the touch of Death, 
" Back to thy clay, Mortality ! and bend 
Like Faith, before the infinite Unknown." 



As water copies a portentous cloud 
By stern reflection, so the spirit's gloom 
Lies darkly-mirror'd on the mimic page. 
And if some features of a faded Past 
Be thus recall'd, they bring no aimless grief 
To deaden song, by female worth inspired. 
For seldom, since the groan of earth began, 
Hath Woman shone more visibly-divine 
Than in the gloom of this remember'd year ! 
When Forms all spirit, moulded by the touch 
Of Nature in her most ethereal power, 
Whose beauty, delicate as painted air 
At the light breeze seem'd ready to dissolve, 
Transform'd by feeling, have at once become 
Heroical, for superhuman aid ! 
Behold that chamber, where a feeble lamp 
Is quivering, pulse-bike, with a dying flame ; 
There, by yon couch, a soft-eyed mourner fades 
Night after night, with uncomplaining brow : 
While a soul flutters in that Form revered 
From whence her being,— though her brain 

should parch 
Till the flush'd eyelids hang like drooping 

flowers 
About to wither, still, her watch endures ! 
The bough may blossom from the tree removed, 
Ere young affection, from its parent torn, 
Can live and flourish, while one ebbing pulse 
Articulates within those precious veins ! 

And thus, calamity with glory comes : 
From out its gloom, as streams from caverns 

pour, 
The tides of human tenderness proceed. 
And virtues, which the noon-bright hour of joy 



May dazzle, when a cloud of anguish breaks, 
Dawn into birth, and decorate the soul 
With heaven-born lustre ; like the pale-eyed 

stars 
That shut their lids when gaudy daylight rules, 
But ope them on the sun-forsaken night. 

Then let the scorner, whom the vernal glee 
Or laughing wildness of delighted youth 
Hath taught, that pleasure would to pain deny 
The sacrifice of one exalted tear, 
His creed forego : the fount of Woman's heart 
Lies deeper than his shallow gaze detects ! 
For Beauty, that a soulless idol seem'd 
Bear'd on the breath of some adoring night, 
Oh, let one pang a cherished mind convulse. 
The mist is scatter'd ! and the unblemish'd 

heart 
Free from the world, like day from darkness 

comes, 
And acts at once the ministry of heaven. 

Then look at Woman, when by love 

sublimed : 
Misfortune moulds her by a graceful power 
To fit the cast of fate ; and in her wo 
Each mental attribute can bloom as bright 
As when the home was costly, and her smile 
Fell like a glory on attracted eyes. 
As stoops an eagle from his lordly height 
Where once he soar'd, companion of the cloud 
And storm, so sinks, with a triumphant fall, 
Her spirit down to some domestic vale ; 
There, looks more beauteous in each act and 

thought 
Through the meek round her cottage-virtues 

run, 
Than when it reign'd amid the hall of kings. 
A mortal Weakness by the world admired 
Let others paint her ; and, in Woman find 
The uncertain heart by bight- wing'd impulse led, 
The mind which fruitless admiration feeds, 
The tottering purpose, and the tameless will : 
There is a passion, that with fine eclipse 
O'ershadows all such failing hours present, 
When the soul falters, — 'tis maternal love ! 
Unbounded feeling ! Space, and Scene and 

Time 
Succumb before thee : infinite in power 
As fathomless in depth ; no rack affrights, 
No dungeon quells, no agony impedes 
Thy wondrous action ; in the horrid grave 
Thou darest to cherish the unconscious Dead, 
And heaven admits Thee, when thou soarest 

there ! 

Lo, how that feeling with transforming 
might 
Shapes a wild spirit to its tender will ! 



612 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Gay as the breeze and dainty a3 the flower 
To-night behold her, on whose jewell'd head 
Fashion hath set an ever-fading crown : 
Again regard her ! — and the trace of God 
Is character'd on that ethereal change 
Mien, mind, and manner all have undergone ; 
As broods a Poet o'er some wordless thought 
Affection gazes on her unborn child ; 
And, ere its being into life expands 
Love, like a seraph when the soul departs 
For glory, waiting to receive its charge, 
Stands on the threshold of commencing Life 
Bright with the welcome of a mother's bliss ! 

Charm of the world! whose light makes 

human love, » 
If I apparel with too rich a robe 
The fascinations which around thee float, 
And on thy beauty let no dimness fall 
To mar its radiance, 'tis an error blest, 
Though blind : for Thou, in thy transcendent 

worth, 
Art lifted to the highest sphere of Song, 
When, like a human providence below, 
Thy days are consecrate to deeds of heaven. 
Lincoln College, Oxon, 1833. 



EEFLECTIYE STANZAS.* 

There is a sadness in my soul, 

But whence, and why, I cannot tell ; 

As though a Spirit's dark control 

Had bound it with a deadening spell. 

The sun wears not that glorious brow 
Poetic morns were wont to bring ; 

And many a wind which mourneth now, 
A song of rapture used to sing. 

For all my summer-glow of thought 
Hath sadden'd into wintry gloom ; 

And much that Fancy shaped or sought 
Lies buried in oblivion's tomb. 

Yet, dream not that I nurse the grief 
Which discontented moments bring ; 

Or sullen gloom, whose sole relief 
Comes flowing from a bitter spring. 

For human hearts, where'er they breathe, 
Have still their human charm for me : 

I would not bind a selfish wreath 
Without one bud of sympathy ! 



* The stanzas which follow, were originally prefixed 
(as an explanatory introduction) to the author's poem 
of "Satan." For adequate reasons they are now 
presented in a detached form. 



Then let me not a mournfulness 

From clouds of hidden sorrow steal ; 

Nor wring from thee a vain distress 
A bosom soft as thine would feel. 

A scene of sunshine and of gloom, 
Like human life my page will be ; 

And, mutter'd o'er our mortal doom, 
Will sound a dark Soliloquy ! 

Thou wilt not deem such verse supplied 
By superstition's haggard gaze ; 

Nor think that Fancy's wing hath tried 
To wander in forbidden ways. 

Who paints His beauty on the cloud, 
Or smileth on the breezy shore, 

Or wraps Him in a whirlwind-shroud 
Or speaketh in the thunder-roar, 

That Power, the visionless and dread, 
In words where inspirations dwell, 

By His almightiness hath said, 

Earth wears a shadow cast from Hell ! 

The Spirits and the Powers of air 
In mystery and in might they roam ; 

Unseen they act, unknown they dare, 
And make the evil heart their home. 

And One, their centre and their soul 
There is ; the demon-god of sin 

Who o'er the wicked hath control 
And fires the hell we feel within. 

And such a Wanderer o'er the earth 

The viewless Power I've dared to draw ; 

And mentally have given birth 
To all he felt, and all he saw : 

To each avenging throe of thought 
That might so dread a Spirit thrill, 

With hateful ruin ever fraught, — 
Yet blasted and believing still ! 

Thus Yirtues are as Heaven reveal'd, 
And Love and Truth eternal shown ; 

While whatsoe'er the Tempter wield, 
Is darkly hued, and stamp'd his own. 

Nor marvel thou, if scenery bright 
And beautiful by Nature made, 

If sight and sound that yield delight, 
Are in elysian charm array'd : 

For who can bliss or beauty know 
Like him, a Eebel from the skies, 

Who, though his doom be endless wo, 
Hath witness'd all pure Angels prize 1 



And such the matter of my verse 
What e'er its fate or force may be, — 

Inwoven with the primal curse, 
But, hailing immortality. 

An aArful maze for human Mind ! 

And enter'd with a holy fear ; 
God of my sires ! where I am blind, 

Descend, and make Thy glory clear. 

How darkly -bound this scene of life, 
How dread the mysteries of time, 

And all our being's passion-strife 
With things unholy and sublime, 

I ever felt : — and deeply now, 

As o'er the page my fancies steal, 

My spirit seems in awe to bow 
Beneath a Sense the bravest feel. 

The wings of Darkness are unfurl'd, 
The Earth lies hush'd, as in her grave ; 

And all the sound that thrills the world 
The rocking of yon midnight-wave ! 

Who hath not own'd such tragic hour, 
The sadness, and the dream it brings, 

Solemnity and spirit-power 

Kefiected from Eternal Things ? 

O'er time and destiny we weave 

Our inward-fancies, thick and fast ; 

And start to see, how moments leave 
The present, to begin the past ! 

And we, my friend, howe'er our doom 
Of life and years may varied be, 

Must pierce the dampness of the tomb 
And mingle with eternity. 

And what art Thou 1 — The dark Unknown 
Thy name to mortals bound and blind ; 

Yet like a faint-heard mystic tone 
Thy meaning hovers o'er my mind. 

I see Thee in the vigil-star, 

I hear Thee in the muttering Deep ; 
And, like a feeling from afar, 

Thy Shadow riseth o'er my sleep : 

Thou comest where the witching power 
Of festive hearts alone should be, 

Till life itself appears an hour 
That flutters o'er eternity ! 

Away with this ! and may I feel 
Whatever cloud o'erhang my lot 

There is a joy Time cannot steal, 

There blooms a flower which fadeth not. 



And might I doom my future days, 
Like thee, I'd seek some calm retreat 

Unhaunted by the public gaze, 
And only to the pensive sweet. 

For nobler far thy noiseless life 

Than all the gayer World can give j 

Whose best reward's a wretched strife 
'Tween fear to die, and hate to live ! 

I see thee oft, my guardian friend, 
Companion of the mead and bower, — 

What glories from the hills descend, 

What meekness flows from every flower ! 

To thee, the hymn of winds and brooks, 
The waving joy of wood and field, 

With all fresh Nature's thousand looks, 
A love and holy feeling yield. 

And long be thine the unruffled hour 
That leaves thee guiltless as thou art ; 

And never may one evil power 

Profane the heaven within thy heart. 

Thus, blooming shall thy pleasures last, 
And leave thee grateful, calm, and sage ; 

While Memory, smiling o'er the past, 
Shall be the vesper-star of age. 

And when mysterious time is o'er 
And round my soul are scenes divine, 

Oh, may it reach th' Eternal Shore 
As placid and as pure as thine ! 



BEAUTY. 

(1827.) 
Oh, Beauty is the master charm, 

The syren of the soul, 
Whose magic zone encompasseth 

Creation with control ; 
The love and light of human Kind, 
And foster-flame of ev'ry mind. 

'Twas Beauty hung the blue-robed heavens, 

She glitters in each star ; 
Or trippeth on the twilight-breeze 

In melody afar ; 
She danceth on the dimpled stream, 
And gambols in the ripple's gleam, 

She couches on the coral wave, 

And garlandeth the sea ; 
Or weaves a music in the wind 

Which murmurs from the lea ; 
She paints the clouds, and points the ray. 
And basketh in the blush of day. 



614 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


She sits among the blossom'd trees 


Those lips that lull'd each maiden wo 


And streaks the bud and flower ; 


And bade the smile to play, 


Becharms the air, and drops the dew 


Nor left the scalding tears to flow 


Upon the moonlit-bower : 


But kiss'd them all away, 


'Tis she unwreaths the locks of Night, 




And freshens nature with delight. 


Yes ! these, and all the spells of love 




That charm'd my childhood's hour, 


And Woman ! — Beauty was the power 


Oft bear me to yon home above 


That with angelic grace 


To thy seraphic bower. 


Breathed love around her glowing form, 




And magic in her face ; 


Oh, if thou hear my orphan-prayer 


She twined the tendrils of her hair, 


And yearning fondness see, 


And on that brow — Her throne is there ! 


Thou know'st I sigh to enter there 




And be at rest with thee ! 


Oh ! Beauty is the master-charm, 




The syren of the soul, 






Whose magic zone encompasseth 




Creation with control : 


STANZAS. 


The love and light of human Kind, 


(1825.) 


And foster-flame of ev'ry mind. 




Oh ! rest thee in thy green-turf grave, 




There is no sorrow there ; 




For tomb'd within, the wretched have 




A freedom from despair. 


! A DAUGHTERS APOSTROPHE TO A 


No more shall come the hour of wo, 


DEPARTED MOTHER. 


Nor hope's delusive light ; 


1 


Untroubled is thy sleep below. 


(1827.) 


Upon the bed of night. 


If gentle spirits wing'd away 




To some elysian sphere, 


The dews of anguish damp'd thy brow, 


Can hear Affection meekly pray, 


Thine was the wither'd heart ; 


Or mark a mourner's tear ; 


No stormy woes can scare thee now, 




So dreamless as thou art ! 


Pure Spirit ! shrined in realms of love 

Beyond this earthly wild, 
Oh ! breathe calm influence from above 

To bless thine orphan-child. 


Then rest thee in thine early tomb 
Beneath the dewy sod, 

Till Mercy shall unshroud the gloom 
And summon thee to God. 


As oft at pensive eve I roam 
Thine image visits me ; 






While Fancy paints the radiant home 
Once so adorn'd by thee ! 


THE CRUCIFIXION. 




(1S27.) 


The smile which rambled o'er thy cheek 


Rock of the Church, and Rest of wearied souls ! 


And shamed the pang of art ; 


Thou that wert bosom'd in the searchless depths 


The mellow tones I heard thee speak, 


Of uncreated Light, before the world 


Still linger round my heart. 


Roll'd fresh and glittering from almighty 




Hands, 


That glowing welcome of thine eye, 


The hymning Choristers, who harp on high, 


The fondness in thy fear ; 


Alone the sorrows of Thy love can sing ; 


The meek borne anguish in thy sigh, 


Of love, that snatch'd a universe from hell 


The pity in thy tear ; 


And oped for man the starry gates of heaven ! 


The mild reluctance in each frown 


Lo ! in yon pillar'd hall, amid the hum 


That won me ere it changed ; 


Of fierce-tongued soldiers, God incarnate stands 


The glance which charm'd my spirit down, 


All quivering from the scourge ! around they 


When giddily it ranged ; 


rave, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



61 i 



And tear His lowly dress with tiger-hands, 
Then robe Him in an azure vest, and crown 
His godlike temples with entwined thorns : 
At last, as from His pierced and flesh-torn brow 
The heavy blood-drops ooze, with impious jeer 
Within His hand the sceptre-reed they place, 
And kneel, and bow, and smite His awful head, 
And spit upon His grief-worn face, and cry, 
" Hail, Monarch of the Jews ! " 

That mockery's o'er ; 
And now, to crucifixion see Him led 
His cross in front by some Cyrenian borne. 
Oh, never yet was such an Altar rear'd ! 
Oh, never yet was such an Offering slain ! 
His agony is dumb ; they scoff, and taunt, 
And grind their murderous teeth, but not a 

throe 
Of ire can ripple His Almighty calm ! 
Forgiveness is His prayer : The undying souls 
Of those long swallow'd in the eternal gulph, 
And they who are, and they that shall be born 
To battle with the Flesh ; the Throne of God, 
And all the bright-wing'd Choirs, whose harps 

shall ring 
" Salvation ! " through the star-roof 'd halls of 

heaven 
To welcome back the Heir of Glory, — these 
Are imaged round His heart : and deadly pangs 
Force no resentful frown. 

At Golgotha 
The blessed Christ behold ! Upon the Cross, 
Upon the cross His holy limbs are stretch'd ; 
And every nerve and vein is rack'd, and 

wrench' d, 
By agonies unspeakable ; and look ! 
How through His palms the hammer'd nails 

have pierced, 
And through His bare and unresisting feet 
The red wounds gape, and bleed ! Stupendous 

hour 
Of awful pain, — the martyr'd Son of God 
On yon dread Tree uprear'd, the World to save ! 
Approach ! and gaze ; and wonder till ye weep ! 
Convulsive lines of torture grave His face, 
And flutter o'er His breast ; the veins unroll 
In loose and languid stretch, and from His 

brow 
The lukewarm life-stream trickles slowly down, 
And clots beneath His feet. His head is bent 
Blood-matted o'er His shoulder : while His eyes 
Dim-grown, and hollow with the rack, look 

meek 
Upon His butchers round the Cross, who scoff, 
And o'er His riven garment cast their lots. 

And, lo, with eye upturn'd in voiceless wo, 
His Virgin-mother ! all a mother's pangs 



Of pity for her tortured Son upheave 
Her bosom, and array her bloodless cheek ; 
Nor can the deadly riot of His pains 
Chill the warm current of celestial love : 
Adown, with tender gaze of truth, He looks, 
And to the bosom-partner of his toils 
Confides the weeping Mary, to a Son ! 

And sad, but ignominious Sight ! two 
thieves 
In bloody fellowship with Christ are hung : 
One turns around, with sidelong-glance of 

scoi-n, 
To rail, and mutters from his parched throat 
A hideous jeer : the other, meek and faint, 
Dejected cries, " Eemember me, Christ ! 
When Thou art in the palace of Thy love ! " 
Divine, and glorious answer ! " Ere the Day 
Shall die, in Paradise with Me thou'lt walk." 

But, see, in clouds the Sun hath sunk away 
As if aghast ! A pall of darkness shrouds 
The land of Palestine ; a speechless gloom 
More ghastly than Tartarean night. The hills 
Grow dim ; the Rivers moan as if in dread ; 
And men, with quailing limbs and ashy lips 
Come forth, and stare, tongue-tied, upon the 

skies ! 
And hark : from off the Cross, is loudly heard, 
In piercing tones of death, " My God ! My 

God! 
Oh, why hast Thou forsaken me WP-Again ! 
"My God! My God! oh, why dost Thou 

forsake 1 " 
'Tis o'er ! the blood-red Eye is film'd, and shut 
Within its socket ; 'gainst His weary breast 
The last heart-pulse hath beat; and now, behold 
In death's pale slumber, while His tender lips 
Have sweet compassion printed on their curve, 
The Christ ! a Sacrifice for lost mankind. 

Oh, never since the infant beam of Time 
Glanced on the new-born world, was such an 

hour ! 
To symbol it, the Temple's veil was rent ; 
The Sun of Israel set ; the God-breathed curse 
With holy Blood was blotted out; Earth quail'd 
As though some impulse out of Hell had 

come 
To heave her huge foundations ! Every rock 
And mountain throbb'd, while o'er the muttering 

Deep 
The dismal waters coil'd, as if they fear'd ! 
And last, the graves themselves unlock'd, and 

Shades 
Stalk'd out, and glided through the quaking- 
Town, 
And floated by the living, like faint gleams 
Of pallid moonlight o'er some haunted Shrine. 



616 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Hell heard; andshudder'das it heard the wail 
And dying words of Christ; while Satan howl'd 
And gnash'd his teeth, amid the furnace-glow 
Of everlasting Fires, to know his wrath 
Should ne'er be glutted on the World ; that 

Heaven 
Was won, and to rebellious Man unbarr'd. 
Unbarr'd ! — oh, if Imagination may 
Plume her young wings, and wander faith-born, 

there, 
A peal more joyous than the choral Stars, 
Upon the birth-day of created Worlds, 
Re-echoed round her crystal domes ; while all 
The countless Seraphs wreathed their lustrous 

wings 
In awe, before the lightning-shrouded Throne 
Of God invisible ; then, woke their harps 
To melodies divine, and hail'd The Lamb 
Triumphant from His martyrdom below ! 

Two thousand Years have almost floated 

down 
The gulph of time, since on the glorious Cross 
Divinest Martyr ! Thou wert nail'd : the 

world 
With all its pageantry and pride prevails ; 
Men smile and struggle, labour, sin, and die 
As if Thy Blood had never blotted out 
The crimes of earth ; as if, at last, Thy might 
And majesty should not appear ! Still, Thou 
Hast proph^ied, again the Incarnate God 
This earth ^1 visit and her dead restore. — 
But, not as homeless orphan of the world, 
To wander on in pain and wo, and weep, 
And perish on the Tree ; but on Thy car 
Of lightning, rolling from unfathom'd depths 
Of heaven, while seraphs robed in radiant 

light, 
Brandish their glitt'ring banners o'er Thy 

throne, 
And all the clouds like burning billows flash 
And bound beneath Thy feet ! — The Trump 

shall peal 
That dead-awakening blast, more full and loud 
Than thunder in its deepest roar : the Sea 
Shall yawn, and all her buried hosts arise; 
The graves burst open, and the dust unite 
Into a living Form ; and then, shall come 
The Judgment, and our Everlasting Doom ! 



STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION. 

i. 
The pining leaf, the perish'd flower, 

The tints of autumn thrown 
In pensive ruin o'er some bower 

Where gay spring-buds had grown; 



The faltering wave, the feeble cloud 
Which faints like thought away, 

With Nature's warning unavow'd 
Predict our own decay. 

And who can look down Life's dim vale 
Where buried hours repose, 

Or listen to the rueful tale 
Of man's recurring woes, 

Nor feel within the spirit-core 

A pang of mute regret, 
For feelings that exist no more, 

For joys whose sun is set ! 

Yes, Lady ! in this life of dreams 
My heart has had its share ; 

And still around wild fancy beams 
The wreck of visions fair ; 

But hollow laugh, and heartless smile, 
And tones of mirth untrue, 

Can barely mock the soul awhile 
And veil it from thy view. 

Another to the countless mass 

Of Spirits who have fled, 
I add my sigh, as on I pass 

To regions of the dead ! 



Yon sunbeams in their brightest mirth 

Are dancing o'er the sea, 
And hues and harmonies of earth 

Betoken summer's glee. 

I watch the clouds with faiiy glide 
Athwart the blue air gleam, 

And view them mirror'd on the tide 
Like features in a dream : 

The very leaves are toned with joy 

And carol to the wind, 
Gaily as when, a pangless boy, 

They echo'd back my mind : 

Gladness and glory blend their sway 

Around this ocean scene ; 
And yet, to me the brightest day 

Is dark, to what hath been ! 

The flowers of hope, the young and fair, 

Are dewless, cold, or dead ; 
The lip may laugh, but where, oh, where 

The inward sunshine fled 1 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



617 



I hear the voice of vanish'd Hours, 
And mourn the buried Past ; 

Oh, why should feeling e'er be ours, 
And nought but memory last ! 
Oystermouth, July, 1833. 



THE DREADFUL PRAYER.* 

(1S27.) 

No priestly vows avail'd: gaunt Famine 

stalk'd 
Through Cairo's streets by day and night, and 

suck'd 
The life-blood from her hungry thousands there. 
From wall to wall, from house to house, were 

heard 
The gasping yells of famish'd men, and wail 
Of mothers, with dead infants at their breasts, 
Whose baked lips, and eyelids curling up 
Like wither'd violet-leaves, and fleshless hands, 
Were blasted by the pest of Famine's touch ! 
In agony some gnaw'd their nails ; some 

groan'd 
And with a horrid glare their eyeballs work'd, 
Rooted their tresses, — and expired ! And here 
Pale groups, with bony cheek and beamless 

stare, 
Stagger'd abroad, and choked themselves with 

cries 
For death ; while others, 'neath funereal-palls 
Moved slowly on, like sable thunder-clouds ; 
Then sat, and howl'd upon the new-dug 

graves ! 
So ghastly look'd the bloodless Shapes around, 
That Cairo seem'd a charnel-house revived 
Whose dregs were crawling into life again ! 

In vain the Priests with agonising prayer 
Storm'd the mute Heavens ; no Mercy smiled 
An answer to their vows. Still, Famine swept 
Her thousands into dust ; still, every wind 
Wing'd to the skies the howlings of Despair ! 
At length, unspotted babes, whose milk-white 

robes 
Gleam'd pure as dove-wings on the radiant air, 
By Imans led, the Minaret-spires up climb'd 
For pestilence to pray, the Famine's cure ! 
There, on the gilded peaks their hands were 

raised 
In adoration clasp'd, as if with prayer instinct ; 
And while their cherub-mouths in lisping tones 
The plague besought, a pale-eyed Crowd below 
Stirr'd like a moaning Wind upon the deep ; 
Their lean lips moved, and mutter'd, " Let 

it be ! " 



* See Anastasius, vol. i. p. 101. 



That prayer Heaven heard : a Pestilence 

came down, 
And made an atmosphere for death ! Men 

dropp'd 
Into corruption, thick as winter blights 
Upon the poison'd bushes. Hill and dale, 
Hamlet and city, groan'd with ghastly piles 
Of green-eyed dead : the houses turn'd to 

tombs ; 
And they who roam'd the Desert's dewless wilds 
Were plague-smit by the way, and moulder' d 

there 
Like riven branches from a forest-tree : 
And thus was Cairo cursed, till by the dead 
The Plague, itself corrupted, died away ! 



INFANCY. 

; The smile of childhood on the cheek of age." 

A child beside a mother kneels 

With lips of holy love ; 
And fain would lisp the vow it feels, 

To Him enthroned above. 

That cherub gaze, that stainless brow 

So exquisitely fair ! 
Who would not be an infant now, 

To breathe an infant-prayer ? 

No crime hath shaded its young heart, 
The eye scarce knows a tear ; 

'Tis bright enough from earth to part 
And grace another sphere ! 

And I was once a happy Thing 

Like that which now I see ; 
No May -bird on ecstatic wing 

More beautifully-free : 

The cloud which bask'd in noontide-glow, 
The flower that danced and shone, 

All hues and sounds, above, below 
Were joys to feast upon ! 

Let Wisdom smile, I oft forget 

The colder haunts of men, 
To hie where infant hearts are met, 

And be a child again : 

To look into their laughing eyes 
And see the wild thoughts play, 

While o'er each cheek a thousand dyes 
Of mirth and meaning stray : 



018 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Manhood ! could thy spirit kneel 
Beside that sunny child, 

As fondly pray, and purely feel 
With soul as undefiled, 

That moment would encircle thee 
With light and love divine ; 

Thy gaze might dwell on Deity 
And heaven itself be thine ! 



BEAUTIFUL INFLUENCES. 

" Suppose the singing birds musicians ; 
The flowers fair ladies ; and thy steps no more 
Than a delightful measure, or a dance. " 

Shakspeare. 
(1829.) 

Oh for a summer-noon, when light and 

breeze 
Sport on the grass like ripples o'er a lake 
Alive with freshness ; when the regal Sun, 
With God's own smile upon his forehead seen, 
Walks in his golden radiance through the path 
Cerulean. — Vast and overhanging heaven ! 
Arching the earth with thy majestic sweep, 
At such an hour, with what unsated eye 
We look upon thee, till the mind seems lost 
In thine immensity, and we appear 
O'erwhelm'd by such a vision. 

Care-worn man ! 
Whom Duty chains within the city-walls 
Amid the toiling crowd, how grateful plays 
The fresh wind o'er thy sickly brow, when free 
To tread the elastic turf; and hear the trees 
Wave music on the gales ; to catch the voice 
Of waters, gushing from their fount unseen, 
And singing as they wander : — How sublime 
Upon a time-blanch'd cliff to muse, and while 
The eagle glories in a sea of air, 
To mingle with the scene around ! survey 
The sun-warm heaven, or at the cavern'd 

base 
Of yon wood-crested mount, the ocean view 
With radiant billows ruffled by the breeze : 
Then, dawns the resurrection of thy youth 
In dewy freshness o'er thy wither' d heart ! 

Nor is the scene, though unbeheld, forgot ; 
The eye is faithful to a feeling heart : 
When torn from some Arcadian haunt, we 

thread 
The crowded city's unromantic streets, 
The spot we love refreshing influence yields ; 
Beneath our feet a fairy pathway flows ; 
The grass still flutters in the summer- winds, 
The dusky wood and distant copse appear, 



And that lone stream, upon whose chequer'd 

face 
We mused, when noon-rays made the pebbles 

gleam 
With gem-like dazzle through the wrinkled 

tide, 
Is mirror'd to the mind : though all around 
Be rattling hoofs and roaring wheels, the eye 
Seems wandering where the heart delights to 

dwell. 

Are there not hours of an immortal birth, 
Bright visitations from a purer Sphere, — 
A trance of glory, when the Mind to heaven 
Attuned, can out of dreams her worlds 

create 1 
Oh ! none are so absorb'd, as not to feel 
Those calming thoughts which harmonise the 

mind. 
When prayer, the purest incense of a soul, 
Hath risen to the Throne of heaven, the heart 
Is mellow'd ; and the shadows which becloud 
Our state of darken'd being, glide away ; 
The heavens are open'd ; and the eye of Faith 
Looks in, and hath a mystic glance of God ! 

And, Genius, undisputed gift of heaven, 
From Thee what feelings flow ! the passions 

own 
Thy sway, and waken at thy quickening power 
Like flowers expanding to the breath of morn. 
Then bind his temples with a fadeless wreath ; 
Give him the proudest seat, a princely rank 
And all the deeper homage of the mind, 
Who like a god among mankind is felt, 
And, from the purest sunshine of his soul 
Sends forth the rays which glorify the world ! 

Who hath not felt the might of genius rise, 
And stir his spirit to a storm of thought ? 
Oh ! had I kingdoms, I would yield them all 
To him, whose thoughts like angel-wings 

exalt 
The fancy, and a thousand springs unlock 
Of feeling, that have never gush'd before. 
So noble is such joy, that I have blush'd 
For all dark thoughts, for all demeaning cares. 
In such rapt mood our solitude is fill'd 
With bright creations ; and elysian scenes 
Ope in a vision on the eye of Thought. 
Thus charm'd by Genius, hie thee to the haunts 
Where Nature shows her blooming face ! how 

bright 
The sun, how beautiful the liquid air, — 
Like floating music ! and the soft-toned wind 
Around thee warbling like a conscious joy. 
A veil of beauty o'er the world is drawn, 
Till thy heart seems to beat for all mankind, 
And, full of glorious feeling, thou wouldst fain 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



619 



Become an Angel to adore thy God, — 

A more than mortal to complete His praise. 

And will not Mind a beauteous influence 

yield? 
Oh, glorious 'tis, amid some room antique 
To study, all alone, those pictured Shapes 
From the soul's Eden call'd ! where genius 

sheds 
Spells of entrancement round you ; and while 

the eye 
Banquets on beauty, from a painter's soul. 
Whether a landscape, whose ethereal lights 
Like gleams upon the water, glow o'er tree 
And bower, and sky luxuriantly bespread, 
Or love-shaped forms, or features angel-bright 
Float o'er the enamour'd gaze, — a rich 
Excess, a harmony of feeling rules 
The fancy, when again the world we greet ; 
The mind with loveliness is bathed, which 

yearns 
Enchantment over common scenes to throw, 
And make dull earth draw nearer heaven, at last ! 

Who hath not felt the spirit of a Voice, 
Its echo haunt him in romantic hours 1 
From Melody's own lip who hath not heard 
Sounds which become a music to his mind ? 
Music is heaven-born ! In the festal home 
When throbs a lyre, as if instinct with life, 
And some sweet mouth is full of song, how 

soon 
From eye to eye a rapture flows, from heart 
To heart ! while, floating from the past, the 

Forms 
We love, are re-created ; and the smile 
Which lights the cheek is mirror'd on the heart. 
So beautiful the potency of sound, 
There is a magic in the homely chime 
Of village-bells ; I love to hear them roll 
Upon the breeze ; like voices from the Dead 
They seem to hail us from a viewless World ! 

And yet, nor music, nor the painter's mind 
Upon the canvas breathed, a charm imprints 
So deeply-faithful, as the piercing glance 
Of young-eyed Beauty. Beauty ! — she hath been 
The witching tyrant of the universe 
Since her young blush in Paradise began ; 
Her throne Time cannot shake ; stern Wisdom 

bows 
Before her ; warriors are her slaves ; and half 
The vassal world hath worshipp'd at her feet ! 
Her glance is conquest ; and the Mind is moved 
Like air by music haunted, when her name 
Melts on the ear, and makes the heart serene. 
Then, cursed be he that with unhallow'd eye 
Can look on Beauty ; which for heaven is born, 
The boast of nature, and the spell of souls ! 



LOST FEELINGS. 

" But yet we stand 
In a lone land, 
Like tombs to mark the memory 
Of hopes and joys which fade and flee 
In the light of life's dim morning." 

Oh ! weep not, if our beauty wears 

Beneath the wings of time ; 
That age conceals the brow with cares 

That once appear'd sublime. 

Oh ! weep not if the clouded eye 

No sunny thought can speak ; 
And fresh and fair no longer lie 

Joy -tints upon the cheek ; 

And weep not, if the ruin-trace 

Of wasting years is seen 
Around the form, and in the face 

Where youthful lines have been : 

But mourn the inward wreck we feel 

As blighted hours depart, 
And Time's corroding fingers steal 

Young feelings from the heart ! 

Those bounding thoughts which rise and spring 

From out the buoyant mind, 
Like summer-bees upon the wing 

Or echoes on the wind ; 

The hopes that sparkle every hour, 

Like blossoms from a soul 
Where sorrow sheds no blighting power, 

And care has no control, 

With all the rich enchantment thrown 

On Life's fair scene around, 
As if the world within a zone 

Of happiness were bound, — 

Oh, these endure a mournful doom 

As day by day we die ; 
Till age becomes a barren tomb 

Where perish'd Feelings lie ! 

March, 182S. 



THE TRANCE. 

A FRAGMENT. 



(1827.) 

One faint and lingering glance I took, 

And then, all vanish'd in the sickly light 
That swam around the bed ; all seem'd to melt, 
Shaded by indistinctness, like the shore 
From those who wander far on ocean-waves : 



620 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



A dazzling giddiness my brain dissolved ; 
The eye-balls sunk ; and coldly press'd like lead, 
While creeping chills my pallid form bedew'd, 
That shrank as if it shudder'd at itself, 
Or would condense, like water ere it freeze ! 
My life-fount curdled into clotted blood ; 
Then, cold and nerveless lay each marble limb, 
And moisten'd with the mystic dews of death. 

Sightless, and breathless, thus entranced 
Hay; 
Though motionless, with feeling so acute 
As if it doubled, to make up for sight : 
Thus, like a solitary cloud, I seem'd 
Self-balanced in a universe of gloom ! 

And, oh ! how sad it was, to hear and feel 
Fond friends around me, dreaming Death had 

closed 
All sense of life ; their blood-warm lips to feel 
Upon mine ice-cold face, and then to hear 
Their heart-swell'd groans, and choking sobs 

and sighs 
While gazing on my hush'd and breathless 

form ! 

When midnight-bells had toll'd the World 

to sleep, 
A young, but unforgetting sister, came 
To meditate, and sorrow o'er my doom : 
Her printless steps I knew, as on they stole 
Like twilight o'er the flowers. And, when 

she took 
My pulseless fingers in her pale-worn hand, 
And kiss'd the marble brow, and talk'd so 

sweet, 
And lisp'd her mournful love, — how horrible 
That Language could not speak my conscious 

mind! 

Two days departed ; then, the wonted shroud 
Enwrapp'd me, and around my body clung 
Like ruffling waters : last, the coffin came, 
And well I knew, as with a fear-like touch 
Of trembling hands, my dead-cold form they 

lay 
In funeral vest enveloped. But more drear 
Than ail, was that long, sad, and silent hour 
When, one by one, the speechless mourners 

took 
Their last and lingering glance ; their sighs 

I felt, 
And tears which burn'd my cheek, — but yet, 

was still ! 

And, oh, most horrible ! — The nails I heard 
Pierce the crush'd wood and seal my coffin- 
lid: 



And then, the rattling hearse, the grave side 

prayers, 
The thick and careless clods, which patter'd 

down 
Upon my bier, till bedded with the dust ; 
And then 



itiq * * * * 

Oh, Lady ! in my boyish hour 

Perchance thou seest me gay as young, 
The dazzled slave of pleasure's power, 

With rapture in the heart and tongue. 

Yet, think not thus I ever seem, 

As though beyond the world's alloy ; 

For darkness girds our brightest dream, 
And sorrow tones our deepest joy ! 

I never knew a moment yet 

Which did not wear some withering stain, — 
An outline of a dim regret, 

Or shadow of some coming Pain ! 

Alone amid the world I move, 

With scarce a smile, or tear, for me, 

And not a heart to share the love 
That springs from bosom-sympathy : 

Without it, what can realms bestow 
Of all harmonious natures feel % 

It is to kindred mind we owe 
The magic Time delights to seal. 

But, may no winter-shade intrude 
Upon the spring-time of thy lot, 

And all which mars my gayest mood 
In thy young freshness be forgot : 

May heaven attend thee, wheresoe'er 

The bright-wing'd years may waft thee on; 

And nothing cloud that blissful air 
All eyes have loved to look upon ! 

September 4th, 1829. 



LONELINESS. 

" We are not happy, sweet; our state 
Is strange, and full of doubt and fear ; 
* * * * 

Hiding from many a careless eye 
The scorned load of agony." 

Lost in the peopled desert of the world, 
Cheer'd by no heart which echoes back our own, 
How feverish all the pomp and play of Life ! 
A solitude there is which lifts the mind 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



621 



To lofty things,, — seclusion from the rush 
And stir of that unfeeling Crowd, whose days 
Reap scarce a thought to sanctify their flight. 
Far from the city-din, may "Wisdom haunt 
Her veil'd retreats, and yet not live alone ; 
For, is there not the fellowship of books 
Divine, a company of gracious thoughts, 
And all which Nature^-ields a grateful mind ] 
Such is not loneliness^-Around to look 
Life's crowded world, and 'mong its myriad- 
hearts 
No sympathies to find, our own to nurse, 
Oh, this makes loneliness ! that solitude 
Of mind, which bids the world a desert seem. 
What is the guerdon of ambition worth, 
Of common lips the cold applause, the crown 
Of genius, or the envied wreath of Fame, 
Graced by no smile from some congenial soul] 
For, when the heart is full, an overflow 
Of bliss, by being shared, is sweeter still : 
The bashful flowers which in the May -breeze 

shake, 
Bloom out together : and belated Stars 
Of night walk not yon pathless heavens alone, 
But twinkle, though unseen, in blissful play 
Of sympathetic beams ; all beauteous Things 
Hold mystic fellowship ; and fine-toned hearts 
Without responding hearts, — how bleak and 

bare ! 
In sorrow lone, in happiness the same. 

A man I knew, in mind and fame supreme 
And yet, not happy, though by happiest ones 
Admired. A loftiness of feeling sprung 
From centuries dead and ancestors unknown, 
Together with a soul-born pride, which soar'd 
Far o'er the varied scene of vulgar life, 
In childhood fill'd him with a thirst of fame. 
High fancies, from the hills and mountains 

caught ; 
And inspiration born of lovely streams, 
And silence-loving woods ; and all the rays 
Of beauty which creative mind attracts 
From scenes by Contemplation sought, — 

awoke 
His genius into glorious play ; the lyre 
He struck ; a World admired, and wreathed his 

brow 
With the green laurels of a lofty fame; 
For him a thousand tongues grew eloquent ! 
A thousand eyes would sparkle forth his praise ; 
And, when amid the brilliant throng he sat 
A gay-tongued hypocrite, the hour to charm, 
And not obstruct the flow of joy, the dreams 
Of young Ambition brighten'd at his praise ; 
Alas, how often his unecho'd mind 
Clothed its mute anguish with concealing smiles ! 
That soul within a secret blank remain'd 
Which admiration could not fill. Alone ; 



No trusting heart, no gentle voice of love, 
No happy faces round his evening-hearth 
Were his to love ; and what was brief renown "? 
A shade ! and he 1 — a soul in solitude. 

Epsom, October, IStk, 1S2S. 



STANZAS. 

" The flower that smiles to-day, 

To-morrow dies ; 
All that we wish to stay, 

Tempts and then flies ; 
What is this world's delight ? " 

The hour is past, the pleasure o'er, 
And dumb the heart of glee ; 

Young feet no longer trip the floor 
Alive with melody. 

Those fairy brows, those forms of love 
That wake the dreamer's sigh, 

Like Shapes who leave their bowers above 
To charm a human eye : 

All, all are gone ! the lights have fled 

From yon deserted room; 
Dim as a chamber of the dead 

And voiceless as the tomb : 

And now I am alone again, 

With feelings undefined ; 
A pilgrim in a world of pain, 

An unpartaken Mind. 

The silent walk, the sickly moon, 

And melancholy sky 
Unite to make me feel how soon 

These hours of beauty fly. 

Oh, pleasure ! brief as bright thou art, 

A momentary ray, 
A dream roll'd o'er a vacant heart 

To charm, and melt away ! 
June, 1828. 



STANZAS. 

(1825.) 

Who hath not watch'd the heaven of eve, 
When round the horizon seems to weave 
A sea of clouds, whose bosoms heave 

In floating beauty, there 1 

Those lovely phantoms, how they glide ; * 
In all their calm and airy pride, 
Moved by the breath of eventide 

Along the dew-lipp'd flowers ! 



622 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Some, crimson-wove, voluptuous sail ; 
Some, girdled with a ruby veil ; 
And others, beaming brightly-pale 

As Beauty's pensive brow. 

And thus smiles now this rose-wreathed room, 
Where float along in braid and plume 
All blushing with their virgin bloom 

The maidens of the night. 

Lo, yonder trips a blue-eyed troop, 
Who bend their glowing heads and droop, 
As graceful as a lily-group 

All languid with perfume. 

And near them glides a gentle pair 
That dance their grape-like clustering hair, 
As if their very ringlets were 

Communing with their joy ! 

On each fair cheek a life-blush warms, 
While, radiant with expressive charms, 
The virgins twine their ivory arms 

And circle through the dance. 

Like moon-gleams shivering on the lake 
Their feet with dizzy motion shake, 
As down the dance their steps they take 

With love-beams in each eye. 

Then, why, amid this heaven of joy 
Should dreams of darkening woe annoy, 
Or thoughts of blighting gloom destroy 
The elysium of the hour 1 

Alas ! the scene will swiftly fade ; 
The music cease ; depart the maid, 
And cold-eyed Day the room invade, 

With uncongenial smile ! 

Some hearts will pine, and some will weep, 
And many in the grave will sleep, 
And every eye shall sorrow steep 
Ere we unite again ! 

Yes, many a Shape of love and light 
Whose eyes are glittering with delight 
Like starry Dreams that visit night, 
Shall wither into clay ! 



A SAD THOUGHT. 

I love the present ; but the past 
Hath such a spell around it cast, 
That oft from all I hear or see 
I turn, dead Time ! to gaze on Thee ; 
And o'er the grave of buried hours 
Bid Memory strew her pallid flowers ! 



THE TOMB OF GRAY. 

(1836.) 

The poetry of dreams that spot surrounds 
Where Genius ponder'd ; when oblivion's pall 
In mocking darkness on the tomb of kings 
Descendeth, memories bright and deep pervade 
The quiet scene where roce a Bard has been. 
For him the laurel deathless ! when the wreath 
Dyed by the blood of Victory's crowning hand 
Withers to nothing on the warrior's brow, 
How many a foot, where pensive Gray hath 

roved, 
Will love to linger ! 'Tis the spell of mind 
Which consecrates the ground a Poet trod ; 
With living thoughts the air is eloquent, 
And fine impressions of his favour'd muse ; 
While Inspiration, like a god of song, 
Wakes the deep echoes of his deathless lyre. 

In the calm glory of declining eve 
'Twas mine to wander where the tomb * of 

Gray 
In green seclusion stands. Around me smiled 
A Landscape, veil'd with sunlight's pallid robe 
Of beauty, over tree and landscape drawn. 
On such, (by contemplation's dream enticed 
Like Isaac, oft at eventide to muse) 
The Bard had gazed ; and drew from Nature's 

heart 
How many a touch of grace, and tone of song ! 
While Eton, with her turrets grey, her towers 
Antique, in azure distance frown'd ; 
Or round him, in their rich confusion, throng'd 
The sounds that wait on sunset's balmy hour : — 
The lay of birds ; the sheep-bell's lowly chime ; 
The chirping insect in the grass conceal'd ; 
The bough made vocal by the exciting breeze ; 
Or shout of home-returning shepherd bo}'-, 
And city-hum, — all charm'd his dreaming ear. 

But, lo, the churchyard ! Mark those 

" rugged elms," 
That "yew-tree shade," yon "ivy-mantled 

tower," 
And thread the path where heaves the 

" mouldering heap ; " 
Then, Stranger ! thou art soulless earth indeed, 
If the lone Bard beside thee does not stand 
Form'd into life by Fancy's moulding spell ! 
'Twas here he mused; here Poetry and 

Thought, 
And Silence, their enamour'd Sister, came ; 
And Taste and Truth their kindred magic 

blent, 



* In the romantic churchyard of Stoke Pogis, near 
Eton. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



623 



And proud Attempt, and pure Conception rose, 
While Melody each chord of mind attuned; 
Till soft Religion, like an Angel, smiled, 
And bade his genius make the grave sublime. 

Sweet Bard ! whose mild and meditative lays, 
Or lyric numbers, warm with classic fire, 
Heal the torn mind, or thrill young Memory's 

heart 
With deathless pleasure, Time hath not 

despoil'd # • 
Thy crown poetic of one glorious leaf : 
Yet many, since thine eyes in death were 

veil'd, 
Have grasp'd the laurel ; harps of witching 

tone, 
And thrilling strains of more impassion'd swell, 
Eound the rich world of Poesy have flung 
Enchantment, — yet thy page is precious still. 
And wherefore ? 'Tis because the moral heaven 
Remains unsullied by thy words, and dreams : 
And hence, amid the Babel-voice of song, 
In such pre-eminence to thy calm powers 
Accorded. Thus, when lays corruptly-sweet, 
The flash and fire of o'er-excited verse 
And mock intensity, have ceased to charm, 
Back to thy page, by purity inspired, 
The Heart returns ; and finds a magic there 
Of thoughts which bloom beyond the earth's 

decay : 
And hence, when Stars of more ambitious light 
Shine dimly through the hazy depths of Time, 
Bard of the Soul ! for ever wilt thou reign 
An Orb of beauty in the heaven of song. 

Whittington, near Oswestry, 
Shropshire. 



THE MINSTREL'S FUNERAL. 

' ' Thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace ; thou shalt 
be buried in a good old age." — Gen. xv. 15. 

'•The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found 
in the way of righteousness."— Prov. xvi. 31. 

" Even to your old age I am He ; and even to hoar 
hairs will I carry you."— Is. xlvi. 4. 

A Christian never dies ; in cofiin'd dust 
What though he slumber, and the speechless 

grave 
With cold embrace his pallid form receives, 
Religion, like the shade of Christ, appears 
To heaven-eyed Faith beside the tomb to smile ; 
And from her lips, seraphically fired, 
Rolls the rich strain, " Death ! where now 

thy sting ] 
Grave ! thy victory, where?-" — extinguish'd 

both, 



And baffled ; stingless Death, and strengthless 

Law* 
Together round the Cross like trophies hung 
Self-vanquish'd ; Death himself in Jesus died ! 

The Christian never dies ; his dying hour 
To him a birth-day into glory proves : 
For then, emerging fetterless and free 
From this dark prison-house of earth and sin, 
(All sensual dimness like a veil withdrawn) 
In mystic radiance soars the seraph-mind 
To regions high and holy ; where the Truth 
Essential, Beauty's uncreated form, 
And Wisdom pure, in archetypal state 
To souls unearth'd their trinal blaze reveal. — 
Unchain the eagle, break his iron bars, 
And when aloft, on wings exultant poised, 
Sunward he sweeps through clouds of rolling 

sheen 
And makes the blue immensity his home, 
Go, mark him! while the flash of freedom 

breaks 
Forth from each eye-ball, in its burning glee ; 
And there, the imaged rapture of a mounting 

Soul 
When prisonless, from out the body pure, 
May fancy witness !— far away it flies, 
And where the Sun of Righteousness enthroned, 
Eternal noon-tide round His ransom'd pours, 
Basks in the smile of glory, and of God ! 

And thus of thee, the venerably-good, 
The mild old Man with apostolic mien, 
Let memory in some heavenward moment, 

think ; 
Thou art not dead, but from thy bondage free ! 
Alive, as in the sunbeam lives the mote, 
Art thou, encinctured with the blaze of heaven 
In that Assembly, where the crown'd ones chant, 
With robes blood-whiten'd by the wondrous 

Lamb.+ 
Oh, what a sunburst of immortal truth 
In keen effulgence on thy spirit broke 
When forth, from out the fettering walls of flesh 
It soar'd ! — the dull eclipse of death no more, 
The daylight of eternity begun ! 
Thy bed around, while children knelt and 

pray'd, 
And sorrow trembled into tears and sighs, 
Thine was the song ecstatically-loud 
From harping Angels, and from hymning Saints 
In concord, round the throne of Jesu raised ! 
And who, when gospel-music charm'd thine 

ear, 
Or promises with preciousness divine 
Deep-laden, lighted up thine aged eyes 

* 1 Cor. xv. 55, 56. 
f Vide the Apocalypse, passim. 



624 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



With more than youth's glad lustre, — who 

that heard 
Thy holy breathings for the better Land, 
And did not from his eyelids dash the tear 
Of mourning, when he thought, that thou wert 

there I 
In that pure Home of perfect light and peace 
At length arrived ! to that bright City brought, 
Whose silver-turrets oft thy fr.ith beheld,* 
When down the streets Imagination walk'd, 
By angels, and the Church's first-born lined ! 

Around that tomb, where thy cold ashes 

sleep, 
The unbought homage which a good man wins 
'Twas mine to witness, when the gather'd 

crowd 
Attended, with a train of weeping Hearts 
Who knew thee best, and therefore mourn'd 

thee most. 
And well that Scene thy pure and placid life 
Betoken'd ; Feeling deck'd thy funeral ; 
The moral blazonry of Christian grief 
Was there, and touchingly the whole array'd 
With more than splendour, — with the truth of 

tears ! 

The hoary Minster, eloquent as vast, 
Lifting its forehead with cathedral-grace, 
Whose form revered some twice three hundred 

years 
Have girt with grandeur, like a zoning spell 
That binds bewitchingly; the tombs antique 
By jagged walls, in sculptured ruin bent ; 
The graves of myriads, like a sea of mounds 
In swells of grass on all sides rank'd, and 

ranged 
In death's confusion, — till their cited dust 
Leaps into life beneath the trumpet blast 
Of Time's archangel, striding Earth and Sea ! f 
The rock-hewn church-yard, with its green 

uprise 
Of monumental landscape, where the grief 
Of Nature, and the grace of Sculpture vie 
In soft contention, each expressing each, 
And hiding death between them, by the spell 
That o'er the grimness of the grave is thrown ; 
All this, while high in front, severely-calm, 
The fearless Knox in stony grandeur frown'd, — 
Together met, a scene of soul combined, 
And made one Sentiment the whole become 
Of sacredness and silence ! Childhood hush'd 
Its laugh ; and Youth each lawless smile 

forewent ; 
And the mute Crowd a single mourner seem'd, 



* In allusion to Heb. xii. 22, 23, — verses which 
Dr. Burns pre-eminently loved to quote, 
t See Apocalypse. 



When slowly, to its last long home was borne 
Thine earthly portion ! Heaven the better 

took ; 
Thy tomb within, one farewell-gaze we had, — 
The heart out-speaking with a tongue of tears, 
While friend on friend a look of meaning 

turn'd, 
And said no more ! The soul must speak 

above ; 
No language learns it in this world of graves 
And gloom ; for silenc^ forms a spirit- 
voice, 
When Faith and Feeling by the tomb embrace. 

Pure on the bosom of almighty Love 
From sin and sorrow thou art resting now : 
And who would bring thee, might availing 

tears 
Be answer'd, back to this cold earth again ! 
To peace and glory, to perfections high 
Around thee smiling, rather may we mount 
On these sure wings of faith that carried thee ; 
And o'er the track thy saintly virtues trod 
Her way let holy Imitation wend, 
Her eye on Him intently fix'd, and firm, — 
Our bright Precursor to the Cross and crown ! 

And now, farewell ! If age's hoary charm ; 
If gentleness, with solid worth combined ; 
If faith and truth, by patriarchal grace 
Bedeck*d; if boundless love, that god-like 

smiles 
Serenely, over Sects and Names enthroned ; 
If these were thine ; with all the enriching 

spell 
Of temper, cloudless as the crystal noon, 
And feelings, tuned by every tender call ; 
While round about thee hung the glow 
Of youth's gay morning, by the eve of age 
Subdued, like spring and autumn's blended 

smile, — 
Then, o'er thy grave recording Truth may 

bend ; 
And drop, not undeserved, the simple wreath 
Of memory, a Muse has ventured now. 

Farewell ! A few more rolling suns and 
years 
Will yon dark Minster from his turret speak 
Of Time's departure, with an iron-voice * 



* The bell to which a passing allusion is here made, 
acts as a curfew to the inhabitants at the hour of ten 
each night. On the outside is the following inscrip- 
tion : "In the year of Grace, 1594, Marcus Knox, a 
merchant in Glasgow, zealous for the interest of the 
reformed religion, caused me to be fabricated in 
Holland, for the use of his fellow-citizens of Glasgow, 
and placed me with solemnity in the tower of their 
cathedral. My function was announced by the impress 



MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. 



625 



AVailing a hollow dirge o'er life's dead Hours, 
And the roused Earth at ev'ry pore will heave 
Around thee ! Myriads from their pulseless 

clay 
In throbbing consciousness shall rise, and 

bound 
Warm into being ! — What a mass of life 
Under the trumpet's dead-awaking call 
Will stand, and tremble in the gaze of God ! 
And thou wilt rise ; nor rock, nor mountain 

seek 
To crush thee, from the piercing eye of Him 
Array'd in lightnings of resistless glare, — 
Immanuel ! on the Judgment's burning throne 
Of glory, wheeling through the heaven of 

heavens. 
And when creation in a tomb of fire 
Shall welter, and the wicked lift a cry 
Of quenchless agony, beneath the frown 
Of truth's Avenger, undismay'd thine eyes 
Will greet Him ; thou shalt look on God, and 

live ! 



PROVIDENCE. 



Frail king of dust, Man loves to look around, 
And think, — " for me the elements abound 
With life and motion ; shade and sunshine 

wait 
In mixt attendance on my human state ; 
Light, sea, and air, their glorious spell 

maintain 
That I alone, as Lord of Earth, may reign ! " 
And yet, what art thou? — but a fleeting 

breath, 
A pulse of life which throbs away in death ! 
Myriads of creatures round thee move and die, 
Minute beyond the ken of mortal eye ; 
Perfect as thine, their bright existence teems 
W ith beauty, in a paradise of beams ; 
Or in some crystal-world of water play 
A floating populace of insects gay ; 
And He who bade exalted Man to be 
An Image of His own eternity, 
Alike to them a form and feature gives, 
And not a mote but in His mem'ry lives ! 



in my bosom. Me audito venias, Doctrinam Sanctam 
ut Discas. And I was taught to proclaim the hours 
of unheeded time. 195 years had I sounded these 
awful warnings, when I was taken by the hands of 
inconsiderate and unskilful men. In the year 1790 
I was cast into the furnace, refounded at London, 
and returned to my sacred vocation. Reader, thou 
also shalt know a resurrection, — may it be unto 
eternal life. Thomas Mears, fecit, London, 1790." 
Glasgow, 21st February, 1840. 



IN MEMOEIAM 



Vanish'd Infant ! years have fled 

Since thou wert coffin'd, pale and cold ; 
Yet, to me thou art not dead, 

But still mine inward eyes behold 
The fairy brow, and form, and cherub feature 
Perfect as when they graced the living creature. 

Little dream unloving Hearts 

Which never thrill'd with parent-gladness, 
Seldom from the soul departs 
A shade of unpartaken sadness, 
Cast by the death of some sweet babe who died, 
As though this World its young soul terrified. 

Coil'd within man's secret mind 

Mysterious chords of feeling dwell ; 
But they ne'er their charms unwind 

Till something wakes their dormant 
spell, 
When lo ! at once with magic life they move 
Deeper than passion, but divine as love. 

Ever thus, in casual street 

A nursling pillow'd on the breast 
If alone I chance to meet, 

How oft it brings a fond unrest ! — 
The aching flutter of a wordless thought 
With more than mem'ry in full action fraught. 

Almost in my hand I feel 

The cling and clasp of baby -fingers, 
And a life-breath o'er me steal 

Which faintly ebbs, and fondly lingers ; 
Till once again a cradled form I see, 
And breathe, dead Flower ! a father's prayer 
for thee. 

Like a dove-wing in the sky 

Melted and mingled with soft light, 
Hast thou faded from an eye 

That when it saw thee, grew more bright ; 
But still, in love's eternity thou art 
A living infant to thy father's heart. 



DIVINE OMNISCIENCE. 

Mere chance exists not ; 'tis a libel dread 
On Providence, which those unblest of mind, 
Poets of Vice, and laureates of Despair, 
Often pronounce, — who into merest fate 
The motions of our moral world resolve. 
For, God o'er all eternally presides ; 



626 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



And, from the quiver of the bladed grass, 
To wheeling Systems, hung in starry space 
Enormous as unnumber'd, — all occurs 
How, when, and where, His guiding will decrees. 
And we, who now with backward-gaze revolve 
The hoary annals of Mosaic time, 
Behind the curtain of that outer-scene 
Where man was acting, view His prompting- 
Hand 
At work for ever : Hist'ry's moving form 
Points like an index to that secret God ; 
E'en as the timepiece, which the hour reveals, 
The hidden motion of a main-spring shows. 



SOVEREIGNTY OF DIVINE GRACE. 

Goodness to all may infinitely come, 
But pard'ning Grace for sinners only, acts. 
And thus, o'er evil triumphs endless good 
Beyond all words (save what in Heaven they 

speak) 
Rightly to equal with a'ertaking praise, 
Or rapture. Yet, in this a Will Supreme 
Itself must glorify, by calling whom 
The counsel of the Holy One decreed 
To make a monument of grace divine 
Ere Time to count his awful hours began. 
Yes, though in justice no election acts, 
But each award to character applies 
With truth unerring ; yet, when Mercy smiles, 
Prerogative alone the Godhead shows 
Unquestion'd, such as men, nor angels, scan, 
Nor measure. — Motive God hath none ; 
For that, from His completeness steals a ray, 
And on the orb of true Perfection casts 
A veiling shadow : Motive, End, and Aim, 
All in Himself eternally abide. 
His reasons are His attributes alone ; 
And each vast grace the Trinity unfolds 
In mercy's fulness, acts divinely-free. 



THEOLOGY FOR MOTHERS. 

And, oh, fond mothers ! whose mysterious 

hearts 
Are finely-strung with such electric chords 
Of feeling, that a single touch, a tone 
From those ye fondle, some responsive thrill 
Awakens, when at night, a last long look 
Which almost clings around the form it eyes, 
Ye take of slumb'ring Infancy, whose cheeks 
Lie softly pillow'd on the rounded arm, 
Rosy, and radiant with their dimpling sleep,— 
Well may ye waft upon some winged prayer 
A grateful anthem to your Lord enthroned, 



Who, once an Infant on His mother's knee, 
Not in His glory childhood's life forgets ! 
For He, while systems, suns, and countless 

worlds 
Hang on His will, and by His arm perform 
Their functions, in all matter, space, and time, 
Can hear the patter of an infant-foot, 
List to the beating of a mother's heart, 
Or, seal the eyelid of some babe at rest. 



A MOURNFUL TRUTH. 

But, like the lustre of a broken dream, 
How soon the fairy grace of morning-life 
Melts from the growing child ! Corruptive airs 
Breathed from an atmosphere where sin is bred, 
Around them their contaminating spell 
Exhale ; and Custom, with its hateful load 
Of mean observances, and petty rites, 
Bends into dust those Instincts of the skies 
In the pure heart of genuine Childhood seen, 
And, so enchanting ! Then, comes artful Trick, 
With forced Appearance, and the feeling veil'd, 
When Fashion's creed or Folly's plea forbids 
A free expression. These, with blending force 
The sweet integrities of Youth assail 
For ever : mar the delicacy of mind, 
And from the power intact of conscience take 
Its holy edge ; and soon the Child impress 
With the coarse features of corrupted Man. 
And, add to this, how omnipresent sin, 
That from the womb of being to our grave 
Infects our nature with a fiendish blight, 
Will act on passions earthly, and desires 
Malignant, base, or mutinously warp'd 
From virtue, — and, alas, how quick we find 
The vestal-bloom of Innocence depart ! 
Then, what remains of all that blessed prime, 
That blooming promise, which the fair-brow'd 

Child 
Of beauty gave in home's domestic bowers 1 — 
Lisping God's love beside parental knees, 
And seeming oft, as if the Saviour's arms 
Had compass'd them, and left a circling spell 
Round his soft being ! Where, oh ! where is 

gone 
The unworn freshness of that fairy Child 1 



GOD'S INFANTS. 



Yes ! eloquent, and touching more than tears, 
Those incarnations of maternal dreams,— 
Infants, by Beauty's plastic finger shaped, 
Have ever been : in all their ways and moods 
A winning power of unaffected grace 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



627 



Poetic faith, or pious fancy, views. 

Wild as the charter'd waves, which leap, and 

laugh 
By sun and breeze rejoicingly inspired, 
Till the air gladdens with the glowing life 
They shed around them, — who their happy 

frame 
Can mark ; or listen to their laughing tones ; 
Behold their gambols, and the fairy gleams 
Of mirth which sparkle from their restless eyes, 
Nor feel his fondness to the centre moved 
Beyond a mere emotion ] But, to watch 
The tendrils of the dawning mind come forth, 
The buds and petals of the soul expand 
Day after day, beneath a fost'ring care 
And love devoted, — -this Eeligion deeply loves ! 
How the Great Parent of the universe 
The outward to the inner-world hath framed, 
"With finest harmony ; and for each sense 
Some region of appropriate joy secured, 
Philosophy may there, with reverence, learn, 
As grows the virgin-intellect of youth 
Familiar with all forms, effects, and moods 
Of Nature, in her majesty or might. 
And, what a text on Providence we read 
In the safe life of shielded Infancy ! 
For, who can count the multitude of Babes 
That look more fragile than the silken clouds 
Which bask upon the bosom of the Air 
They brighten, — God's o'ershading Hand 

secures ! 
And number, if Arithmetic can reach 
The total, what a host of tiny feet 
Totter in safety o'er this troubled world ! 
Though all around them throng, and rage 
Destructive Elements, whose faintest shock 
Would strike an infant into pulseless clay. 



HEAVEN" POPULOUS WITH INFANT 
SOULS. 

Then, look not lightly on a pensive child 

Lest God be in it, gloriously at work ! 

And blind Irrev'rence touch on truths, and 

powers 
And principles which round the Throne are 

dear 
As holy. Never may our hearts forget 
That Heaven with infancy redeem'd is full ; 
Crowded with babes, beyond the sunbeams 

bright 
And countless. Forms of life that scarcely 

breathed 
Earth's blighting air, and things of lovely 

mould 
Which, ere they prattled, or with flowers could 

Play, 



Or to the lullaby of watching Love 

Could hearken, back to God's own world 

were call'd : 
And myriads, too, who learnt a prayer to lisp, 
Bend the soft knee, and heave Devotion's sigh, 
Or caroll'd with a bird-like chant the psalms 
Of David, with the Church in Heaven are found. 



THE HEART'S SANCTUARY. 

And thus, there is a loneliness of heart, 
In all deep souls a never-enter'd shrine ; 

Where neither love, nor friendship takes a part, 
Which no eyes witness, but, Jehovah ! Thine. 

But, shall we mourn, that each is circled round 
With veiling mystery from the ken of man 1 

That waters deep within the soul abound 
No word has fathom'd, and no wisdom can 1 

No, rather let such merciful disguise 

Move the just thinker unto grateful prayer ; 

For, who could live beneath terrestrial eyes 
If such could witness all secreted there ! 

And if no mantle by our God were thrown 
Round fallen souls, to hide man's world 
within, 

How should we hate, what now we love to own, 
And cry for darkness to conceal our sin ! 



« THE HOLY CHILD JESUS." 

How beautiful the brow of Jesus was, 
Methinks Imagination's hallow'd dreams 
Would fain adumbrate. Virgin-born was He ! 
Not shaped by sin, but, through o'ershading 

power 
Divinely-perfect, His conception took 
Human Reality in flesh and form 
Embodied. Never did one taint of earth, 
A touch of sensual feeling, or a tone 
Of temper, harshly -loud, or rudely-quick, 
Assail the soul of that mysterious " Child." 
And therefore, Beauty's most ethereal power 
Haply upon His forehead's arching grace 
Was throned ; and from His eye's divine appeal 
Broke a soft radiance, exquisite and deep ; 
Or, on His lips pure Inspiration sat ; 
While from the glory of His heaven-born face 
There beam'd expression on the gazer's mind, 
Awfully mild, and full of melancholy ; 
And, like the cadence of an Angel's sigh, 
Could such be sadden'd, moving more than 

tears. 



s s 2 



628 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



REASON AND FAITH. 

By Unbelief our primal nature fell 
From light to darkness; and by Faith it mounts 
Back to the glory whence its pureness sank : 
But still, that fatal tyranny of Sense, 
Which Adam first around the virgin-soul 
Allow'd to cast its paralysing chain, 
Abides ; and needs a disenchanting spell 
Beyond mere Reason, in its brightest noon, 
To shame or silence. — Yes, the Felt, the Seen, 
And Tangible, alone appears the True ! 
Our touch must regulate the law of truth, 
And to the Body must our high-born Soul 
Stoop like a slave, before the mind admits 
Motives divine, and miracles of grace, 
Or myst'ries, where the Infinite Unknown 
Enshrines His nature, and His love reveals. 
Yet, 'tis the madness of outrageous pride, 
The dismal lunacy of self-esteem ; 
And Reason here a suicide becomes, 
When god o'er God it thus presumes to be, 
And dwarfs the Everlasting down to Man ! 
But, faith is reason in its noblest form ; 
And boasts an evidence most heavenly-bright, 
Sublimely-equal to our Spirit's need, 
In whatsoe'er submissive Love believes 
From Deity derived, our world to save. 
For, breathe we not the Church's sainted air 
Where all is fragrant of the truths of old 1 
And ritual Forms, and ceremonial Types, 
With each high record of auxiliar sway, 
Historic truths, traditionary lore, 
And monuments of sacramental Grace, — 
These have we not ? And, though rej ecting pride 
Back on the blaze of this commingled orb 
Of evidence, a sneer presume to cast, 
Yet, have the wise and wondrous to such light 
Their hearts submitted, and repose enjoy'd. 
And, more than this, a clear-eyed wisdom finds : 
For if unrisen were our spirit's King, 
Then long ere this the Galilean Lie 
Had vanish'd ! — for the Creed its claims involve, 
Binds on the world offensive purity 
Which flesh endures not: and if Christ were 

dead, 
Tomb'd in the darkness of sepulchral clay, 
How could His promise with our souls to be 
Present for ever, — still on earth be proved 
Infallible, through faith's unbounded world ? 
A living Christian proves a living Christ 
As firmly to the soul, as if the heavens 
Were now uncurtain'd, and our eyes entranced 
Look'd through the Yeil and saw Him shining- 
there 
In glory, bright as what the Martyr view'd, 
When Stephen mounted from his mangled clay 
In bleeding triumph, to his Master's breast. 



GOD IN MATERIALISM. 

God in creation is a glorious thought ; 

Making the Matter, which we touch, or see, 

Like mute religion on our senses act ; 

And to all forms and faculties of Things 

A power imparting, more than mere delight. 

'Tis thus, in nature God alone we hail 

The ground of Being, and the grace of all 

That in this temple of Creation stands. 

No dead Abstraction, no almighty Law 

To faith suffices :— Life itself is God 

In will, and wisdom, actively employ'd : 

It spurns the idol, Second Cause, and springs 

On to the Infinite and only First ! 

Creation a Theocracy becomes, 

When thus perceived ; intelligibly ruled 

By that Great King, Whose hidden sceptre sways 

Alike the dew-drop, and the host of worlds. 

And, blest is he, who thus through nature walks 

Companion'd by its Author ! Scenes and 

sounds 
Are unto him as Tokens of His power, 
Perpetual Teachers of mysterious love. 

Feeling the work, but Faith the worker views 
Devoutly : and the pomp of heaven's display, 
The floor of ocean, the green face of earth, 
And each variety which Objects wear, 
With more than language to his mind appeals, 
Proclaiming Him, Whose Power no sabbath 



But quickens nature with incessant laws. 
And how this acts where'er we walk, or muse ! 
Freshens the grass, and beautifies the flower, 
Gives to the canopy of heaven a grace 
Beyond the symmetry of clouds to form ; 
And so with reverence the soul attunes, 
The very air-song seems to warble truths 
Celestial ; syllables by Angels toned, 
Haunt the pure breathings of the balmy wind 
Around us heard : and when along the shore 
Haply we roam, in some reflective dream 
When life hangs heavy on the grief-worn 

.heart, 
The billows make a litany of sound 
Which half interprets what sad Thought 

suggests. 

God in creation ! — 'tis a Creed sublime 
Which makes all nature solemn ; and the mind 
With such desire for veneration fills, 
The universe one vast Shechinah grows 
Whence Piety, creation's priestess, draws 
Prophetic glimpses, as the tribes of old 
Drew from the Breastplate, where the Urim 

gave 
Responsive radiance and unerring law. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



629 



THE CHURCH IN CANADA. 

(INSCRIBED TO THE BISHOP OP TORONTO.) 

Records of Grace divinely move 

Tlie Church's heart with hymned praise, 

When the deep thought, how guardian Love 
Has camp'd around her peril'd ways, 

In some high mood of heaven-born calm 

O'er mem'ry breathes a solemn balm ; 

Till Christ Himself in shadows seems 

To rise upon Her ancient dreams. 

" For ever with you, I shall be," — 

Here is Faith's charter, strong as heaven ! 
Framed by incarnate Deity 

And to His mystic Body given, 
When, for Her mission-work on earth, 
The sacrament of second Birth 
Her Lord imparted ; and the grace 
To spread it o'er earth's boundless race. 

Though manacled in murd'rous flame, 

The martyr'd herald of The Cross 
Hath gloried in Messiah's name 

And counted life, not death, a loss : — 
That Charter, like a living power 
Sustain'd him in some tortured hour ; 
While viewless Angels, hov'ring nigh, 
Wafted to heaven his farewell-sigh. 

Yes, fire and sword, and dungeon-gloom, 

And all which Hell and Hate have done 
To bury truth in falsehood's tomb, 

And blast the triumphs Faith has won, 
The heroes of the Church have braved : 
And never left Her cause enslaved, 
Since all they suffer' d, fann'd the zeal 
Her sacramental Warriors feel. 

Thus Canada ! thy church and creed 
Pure as our own, from England bred,* 

When Loyalty was doom'd to bleed 
And banner'd Treason myriads led, 

A sworn allegiance nobly kept 

While havoc round thee raged, and swept, — 

Ark'd in the promise of thy Lord, 

And safe within His shelt'ring Word. 

By Lake Ontario's rocky shore 

Where creedless pagans once abounded, 

And exiles heard the torrent roar 
By wood and wilderness surrounded, 

* See the Rev. Ernest Hawkins* valuable work, 
entitled "Annals of the Diocese of Toronto." At 
page 3 he says: "Canada was the asylum of suffer- 
ing loyalty; some of its earliest settlers were 
refugees from the United States." 



Churches arise ; and saintly Bands 
Have come from far and famous lands ; 
And apostolic Symbols reign 
O'er rescued swamp and ransom'd plain. 

But never, till that Day of light 

When God shall grief and guilt disclose, 
Will thankless myriads learn aright 

What to her Church Canadia owes : 
For, social worth, and moral grace, 
Freedom divine, and all we trace 
Of present heaven in heart and home 
From Faith, and not from Culture, come. 

The churchless, soon, are godless, too ! 

The unbaptised grow base and blind ; 
And where no sacraments renew 

The sin-worn heart and earth-toned mind, 
All virtues die ; all vices bloom ; 
The soul becomes a sensual tomb, 
And men the Saviour yearn'd to cherish, 
Eternalise their guilt, and perish ! 

Hence, laurell'd with a wreath of love 

Be Stuart's * patriarchal name ; 
While Langhorn, in the Church above 

With Addison, of kindred fame, 
May oft, perchance, the Past revive, 
And view salvation's harvest thrive 
From germs divine 'twas theirs to sow 
Through scorching years of toil and woe. 



THE INSPIRATION OF DREAMS. 

No incantation which the outer -sense 
In the full glow of waking life perceives, 
Rivals the magic by mysterious Night 
Evoked, when Dreams, like messengers from 

heaven 
Rise from eternity, and round the soul 
Hover and hang, ineffably-sublime ; 
But mocking language, when it tries to catch 
The true expression of their awful power. 

And, how religious is the sway of Dreams, 
Which are the movers of that secret-world 
Where most we suffer, learn, and love, 
Building our Being up to moral heights, 
Stone after stone, by rising truths advanced 
To full experience, and to noble aims. 
The tombs of time they open, till the forms, 
The faces and the features of our Dead 
Lighten with life, and speech, and wonted 
smiles ! 

* For interesting records of these Apostles in the 
Church of Canada, consult Mr. Ernest Hawkins' 
"Annals," &c. 



630 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



While mcm'ry beautifies the Thing it mourns, 
A nd to the Dead a deeper charm imparts 
Than their gone life in fullest glory had. 
And thus, in visions of the voiceless night, 
Apparel'd with that beauty which the mind 
Gives to the loved and lovely, when no more, 
Rise from their tombs the Forms of fleeted 

days, 
Friends of bright Youth, the fascinating-dear ! 
Till back returns life's unpolluted dawn ; 
And down the garden-walk, or cowslipp'd field 
Where once he prattled, full of game and glee, 
The man, transfigured back to childhood, roves 
Tender as tears. So, on the wind-bow'd mast 
The sailor-boy in dreams a mother hails, 
And hears her blessing o'er his pathway 

breathed ; 
Or, pale and gasping, ere his life-drops ebb 
For ever, how the Soldier thus depicts 
In the soft dream of some remember'd day, 
The hands which rear'd him ; or the hearts that 

heaved 
With omens, when the charm of tented fields 
Seduced him from the sweets of sainted home 
And virtue. Dreams are thus half-miracles ; 
All time they master ; and all truths embrace 
Which melt the hardest, and our minds affect 
With things profounder than our Creed asserts. 



SACREDNESS OF INFANCY. 

A dew-drop, trembling on the stem of Life ; 
A rose-bud peeping into fairy bloom ; 
A billow on the Sea's maternal breast 
Leaping, amid some jubilee of airs 
By glad winds caroll'd ; or, a dancing beam 
Of sunlight, laughing in its brightest joy ; 
In truth, whate'er is delicate and soft, 
Minute and fragile, innocent or gay, 
Oft to the mirror of the mind presents 
Types of that beauty which a tender babe 
To feeling Manhood's fascinated eye 
Affordeth ; touch'd at times with solemn 

hues, 
Which Hearts prophetic cannot fail to cast 
Hound a frail Heritor of life unknown ! 

But, when o'er Eevelation's book we bend, 
There do we find, with more than love confirm'd, 
Whatever Nature by her mute appeals 
Hath prompted : for the Bible e'en to babes 
Lends the sweet mercy of its soft regard 
And bland protection. Other creeds may scorn 
Such aidless Being ; and the gibing laugh 
Of Science o'er their frailness may uplift 
Its godless pean ; but in this we boast, — 
That Christianity the cradle seeks, 



Stoops to a babe with condescending brow ; 
And while the Pagan, by her creed trans- 

form'd 
From yearning softness into heartless stone, 
Commits her infant to broad Ganga's stream 
Foodless to perish, Christ in Spirit comes, 
Commands the Priesthood on its forehead plant 
The sealing water, and the mystic sign, 
And bids it welcome to His Ark of grace. 



CHRIST IN THE HEART'S CLOUD. 

He stood before her, but she could not see 
That Holy One : and oh ! how often, thus, 
The sad experience of a stricken mind 
Like Mar}-, cannot view the Lord it loves, 
Though in the mercy of our ev'ry breath, 
And in the promise of His perfect Word, 
In prayer, and praise, and sacramental life, 
Together with that unbreathed thought which 

tells 
Home to the heart acceptance in the skies, 
When the free spirit of assuring grace 
Glows in our bosom, — though in each and all 
Christ to the conscience doth himself present, 
Yet, Mary-like, the soul mistakes Him, still ! 
Some carnal shade, or clouding sin prevents ; 
And the high faculty of seeing Faith 
Grows undiscerning; or, in nature's eye 
The tear of sorrow doth so thickly stand, 
That through it, God himself grows unbeheld 
A moment : nothing but dark grief is seen ! 



WORLDLINGS. 



How much Anxiety the heart corrodes 
Wasting the moral health of man away, — 
We seldom ponder, till too late perceived ! 
When, under burdens, which ourselves inflict, 
The Intellect of half its glorious life 
Is sapp'd, while conscience turns a crippled 

thing ; 
The heart gets aged ere the head grows old, 
And those bright virtues, which might nobly 

shine 
In that clear firmament of thought and power 
Where lofty Manhood would exult to act, 
Rarely, if ever, into influence dawn. 
For else the grandeurs, graces, charms, and 

scenes, 
The smiles of matin, and the shades of night, 
Sun, moon, and star, wild mountains and glad 

seas, 
Meadows and woods, and winds and lulling 

streams. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



631 



AVitli fruits, and flowers like hues of paradise 
Amid us scatter'd, — would so well impress 
The moral being, that responsive Mind 
Upon the Beautiful would back reflect 
An answer, most intelligibly pure, 
To each appeal of Beauty. But the World 
Can so infect the myriads of mankind, 
That all those latent harmonies, which link 
Nature to man by loveliness and might, 
Lie undiscern'd ; and though a spirit deep, 
A living sentiment of love and truth, 
In all Creation cultured souls may find, 
How few perceive it ! but, on objects gaze 
With eye unmoved ; as if by God unmade 
Their beauties, and by Him unform'd their 

powers ! 
Nature to them in all her shrines is mute ; 
Nor to Her mystic oracles, which yield 
Such music to Imagination's ear, 
Can the cold worldling condescend to list. 



THE PEOPLE AND PRAYER BOOK. 

Nor be forgot, that England's Prayer Book 

gives 
Pure, full and plain, The Word by which she 

lives ; 
Not dungeon'd in some dead and alien tone, 
But where the peasant-boy perceives his own. 

There, lisping Childhood, when it longs to 

learn 
Truths for which Prophets bled, and Martyrs 

burn, 
In such pure liturgy of grace may find 
All which can feed the heart, and form the 

mind. 

For, Common Prayer, if catholic and true, 
Must not be tinged with individual hue, 
But be proportion'd to the soul of Man, 
In deep accordance with Redemption's plan. 



INDIVIDUAL PROVIDENCE. 

And, there are moments, when mysterious Life 
Is so attended with a train of Facts 
Sudden and strange, through which a mercy 

glares 
With such intensity of sacred light 
Full on the conscience, — that Paternal care 
To us revealing God's elective will, 
Runs through the heart with overwhelming 

proof ! 
And bids it, like ecstatic Hagar, cry, 



By Heaven when mercy-struck to more than 

prayer. 
And He, the Infinite by Form array 'd, 
Who took our Nature in all sinless truth 
Into His Own, as Man embodied loved, 
In modes and shapes of individual cast. 
For, while in Providence th' unblemish'd Lord 
Moved on the lines of Justice and of Truth, 
Boundless, beyond respect of single homes 
Or spirits ; He, in walks of social life 
Loved like a Man, and chose the friend He 

will'd: 
And hence, the winning might Emmanuel 

wields 
By His example ! for, on Person, Place, 
And Time, His pure affections deign'd to 

shed 
Their fullness. He who wept a City's doom, 
As if the crashing of its crumbled Avails 
Rang in his ear, while Roman butchers bathed 
Their swords in slaughter, also, by a grave 
Wept o'er the dead, most humanly perturb'd, 
And to His bosom took the mild St. John ! 



A PRODIGAL'S RETURN. 

And now, behold him, wither'd, tatter'd, bow'd ; 
Pale with long famine, wearily he drags 
His homeward-track ; but, so by suff' ring worn, 
That through the village, where his boyhood 

dwelt, 
Unknown he steals, disguised in haggard woe. 
Oh, what a tide of memory there rolls, 
And what a gush of agony and grief 
Runs through his being, when that hill he gains, 
Climb'd in calm hours of vanish'd innocence, 
And underneath him in the sunset pale 
Looks on the landmarks of paternal home ! 
Mute with remorse, amid the tranquil scene 
Awhile he ponders ; till the silent forms 
Of Things grow eloquent with meek reproach : 
Meadow, and tree, and each familiar nook 
Instinct with meaning, to his mind appeals 
With more than language from Rebuke's 

harsh lip. 
For, Nature yet her old expressions wore, 
And each loved haunt remain'd familiar still. 
There, was the olive he had loved to watch ; 
There, was the vine his infant hand had 

pluck'd ; 
And there, a field-path, where he often paced 
As bright in spirit as the joyous beam 
Beside him, and with step as gaily-swift 
As the wild breeze which hurried o'er his head ; 
Nothing look'd alter'd : — for, the fig-tree stood, 
And caught the day-gleam in its dying glow 
As oft his boyhood watch'd it, when he sat 



632 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Under the twilight of its laden boughs 
And fondly wove his fancies ; and, how sweet 
The lulling cadence of yon well-loved stream ! 
E'en as of old, so wound its waters still 
In stainless beauty, down their pebbled way : — 
Nothing has changed ; but, oh, how changed 
is He ! 



MORAL INFLUENCE, 

Our moral centre is a point minute : 
But our circumference, oh ! who can grasp, 
In action, suff'ring, or involved Result? 
A smile, a glance, a single breath, a tone, 
A look of meaning, or a laugh of scorn, 
The mere expression of the hectic mind 
Clothing our features, — each may, haply, thrill 
Some chord which touches by effectual ties 
Events unborn ; and make th' eternity 
We dread, to vibrate with the deed we do ! 

Oh ! for a sense of Duty more sublimed, 
In all our ways, our wishes, and our words : 
A sense that we are links in that long Chain 
Of Consequence, which e'en from Adam's sin 
To our last error, its unbroken length 
So reaches, that we cannot act alone ! 
But rather, each with each is so inwove 
By past connection, or by future power, 
That Conduct grows immortal ; and the act 
Erom soul to soul with multiplying power, 
Itself repeateth, when the Agent sleeps 
In cold oblivion, by the world forgot. 
The blemish'd morals and the blotted mind 
How often thus our Rev'rence would escape ! 
And 'stead of reckless pride, religious care 
The paths would purify where Virtue walks, 
And solemnize existence. Action, then, 
Inward, or bodied forth in social form, 
Of sacredness in every sphere would breathe ; 
Till the whole Earth a mystic Temple grew 
Hallow'd by God, by angels overwatch'd, 
And by Humanity in all its moods 
Devoutly-trodden : then would Duty spread 
Its canopy above our ways and walks, 
E'en as the heaven o'ervaults the varied earth 
For ever : Faith would be our Law supreme, 
And guarded Life one long religion prove. 



THE LAKE OF BEAUTY. 

A MORNING SCENE AT VEV AY. 

Lake Leman ! in the hush of this deep hour 
The poetry of waters is thy power ; 
And o'er my spirit steals that lulling calm 
Which bathes the earth in some celestial balm. 



Here from my window, with a spell-bound gaze, 
I view yon shore beneath a silver-haze 
Unshroud its glories ; till, with dim uprise 
The Alpine summits cleave the sun-lit skies. 

Far to the east, those mountain-kings enthrone 
Their rocky grandeurs o'er the ice-born Rhone, 
Whose foreheads, pure as angel-brows, present 
Their dazzling whiteness to the Firmament. 

And who can mark thine awful Mountains 

gleam, 
When faintly -hued with morn's seraphic beam ; 
Or, crimson'd o'er with magical array 
Caught from the rosy death of ling'ring day, 

Nor feel them, like an infinite Control, — 
Embodied hymns, where Silence to the soul 
Speaks more of God, than thunder, wave, or 

wind, 
With dark-wing'd Terrors, from the storm 

combined ? 

Thus may true Poets from their presence gain 
Fresh purities, which o'er the conscience reign ; 
Till thoughts grow vaster than the lyre can own, 
And Man seems lifted to his Maker's throne. 

But, Leman ! once again to thee I turn, 
And from thine everlasting beauty learn 
Profounder Wisdom than a sage can teach, 
Whose words are bounded by the sense's reach. 

While soft, yet stern, though mild, majestic too, 
Serenely-bright, and exquisitely-blue, — 
Almighty Taste around thy scene hath cast 
What makes thy loveliness the unsurpass'd ! 

For ever varied ! — rock, and terrace, field, 
Vineyards and turrets, tower and village yield 
A concentrated Spell, which thus imparts 
A more than landscape to melodious hearts. 

And seldom, since the bend of beauteous skies 
Enrich'd thy waters with reflected dies, 
Hast thou, fair Leman ! more ideal bliss 
For mind created, than on morns like this. 

The grace, the gentleness, and glow of heaven 
Now to thy charms are so intensely given, 
That on thy waveless sea of fairy sound 
The Heart seems floating, as we gaze around. 

And hark ! the drip of yon descending oar 
In wafted grace as glides the boat ashore, 
With what a cadence it enchants the ear, 
And drops in radiance, like a dazzling tear, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



633 



Down on the waters ! — where a breezy strife 
Makes Leman palpitate with rippling life, 
And liquid glances, as the broken sun 
Laughs on the dimpled stream it lights upon. 

Earth, air, and sky, and range of rocky pass, 
Glaciers, and crags, and sternly-wild morass, 
The bird, and foliage, field and distant towers, 
Yine-mantled hills, and fancy-haunted bowers, 

Blent with the mellow chimes of matin-bell 
Heaved o'er the Lake with deep and dying 

swell, — 
Oh ! how can words such pictured "Whole 

combine, 
Or Leman roll through this imperfect line? 

E'en like a Consciousness of sound and scene 
Nature doth now her master-spells convene ; 
And lovingly this hour for man array 
As though She treasured what Ms eyes survey ; 

While leafy murmurs from yon flutt'ring trees 
Quiver abroad like new-born ecstasies, 
And gleams come dancing down the golden air, 
As though bright angels hover'd everywhere. 

Yet, in mine incapacity of speech 
This lulling paradise of Lakes to reach, 



Still can I feel, that even thus the soul 

Bows in its unbreathed thought to that Control 

Which God intended, Who to scene imparts 
Predestined magic, framed for deathless hearts, 
Whose pulse with His eternity shall glow — 
When Earth has vanish'd like an air-born show. 

A purifying calm of central power 
Attunes high feeling to this chasten'd hour ; 
And from the World's more artificial scene, 
Oft shall it woo me to this Lake, I ween. 

Meanings divine endow a Morn like this 
With magic that outsoars an earth-made bliss; 
The very soil grows sanctified and fair, 
And deepens poetry to silent prayer. 

Beauty is hallow' d, when on mind it leaves 
An impress grander than mere Sense conceives; 
Till all without, within, below, above, 
Becomes transfigured to almighty Love. 

And thus, that God from Whom vast nature 



Inspires religion through the heart's repose; 
And so connects it with creation's plan 
That heaven seems throbbing through the 
earth on Man ! 



INDEX. 



A perfect will, 93 ; exemplified only in Christ, ib. 
Abbey de la Trappe, feelings of awe inspired by 
the view of it, 10, n. 

Abel's death, and entrance into heaven, 105, 350. 

" Abide with us," 63. 

Abraham is commanded to sacrifice Isaac, 75, 113 ; 
the moral of the transaction, 76 ; his prevalence in 
prayer, 97. 

" Absent from the body — present with the Lord," 47. 

Academic discipline, necessity of it, 420 ; frivolous 
objections of West and Gray to, ib. 

Accession, Queen's, service for the anniversary of the, 
166. 

Action, the history of, different from that of Mind, 
559. 

Adam and Eve exiled from Eden, 49. 

Addison, recollections of him at Oxford, 394, 421. 

Affliction, the Christian's lot, 34 ; benefit of, ib., 183, 
1S4, 515. 

Albion, anciently the seat of idolatry, 82 ; which was 
dislodged by Christianity, ib. 

"Alone, it is not good that man should be," 41, 43. 

Alps, reflections on their majestic grandeur, 112, 113. 

Ambition, its origin, nature, and influence, 344, 362. 

Andalusia, historical associations connected with, 
337. 

Angelic contest, 237. 

Angels, guardian, their ministrations unheeded, 4S, 
81, 101, 131 ; then- creation, qualities, and offices, 
80, 117, 352 ; seek to understand the mystery of 
human redemption, ib. ; ingratitude to them cen- 
sured, 101 ; their care of heedless, unheeded infancy, 
131 ; then- ministrations upon our Lord during his 
temptations and sorrows, ib. ; extracts from the 
early fathers, and from several of our own divines, 
on spiritual agencies and ministrations, 380. 

Anger, the duty of suppressing it, 130. 

Antichrist, his predicted doom approaches, 250. 

Apostrophe to a departed mother, by a daughter, 
614. 

Ararat, the peak of, 113. 

' ' Are they not all ministering spirits ? " 131. 

Arctic regions, described, 17; moonlight, 18; the 
Aurora Borealis, ib. ; the awful silence, ib. 

Aristotle, his extraordinary mental powers, 322 ; 
affirms that we all possess a species of mental 
divination, ib. 

Arragon, historical associations connected with, 337. 

Arts, the fine, produced and fostered in all ages by 
religion, 4, n. 

xlsaph, St., description of the city, and surrounding 
scenery, 598. 

Ascetics, date of the rise of, 283. 



Association, the law of, exemplified in flowers, 129. 

Assumption of the Virgin Mary, the Feast of, 14S, n. 

Athanasian Creed, its Scriptural statements respecting 
the twofold nature of Christ, 123. 

Atheism, danger of falling into it on the part of those 
who consider the natural, to the exclusion of the 
moral, attributes of the Deity, 3, n ; absurdity of 
Atheism, 347. 

Atheist, rebuked by the ocean in a storm, 8 ; 
apostrophe to an, 24 ; his absurd creed confuted by 
his feelings, 347; and transcends the creed of 
devils, ib. 

Atonement, the great doctrine of the, 351. 

Attributes of the Deity, our notions of them neces- 
sarily analogical, 1. 

Avarice, its degrading and ruinous tendency, 50, 
344, 259, 360. 

Ave Maria, the salutation scripturally interpreted, 
146. 

Awfulness of speech, 136. 



Bacon, Lord, his definition of poetiy, 4 ; observations 

on the philosophy of, 418, n, 531. 
Ballad-singer, lines on a, 600. 
Baptism, impressiveness of the rite of, 20, 153 ; 

objections to the efficacy of the rite answered, 155. 
Baptismal regeneration, 39, 134. 
Baptismal vow, awful consequences of the breach of 

it, 141. 
Baptised infants, regenerated, 60. 
Barrow, Dr. Isaac, on our Lord's human frame and 

affections, 519. 
Battle, God the soldier's shield in the hour of, 14. 
Beautiful influences, 618. 
Beauty, lines on, 613. 
Believer's destined work, 98. 
Bells, for churches, earliest introduction of, 427. 
Benevolence, its effects, 344. 
Benson, Christopher, extract from his Hulsean 

Lecture, on the respective influences of Solitude and 

Society, 439. 
Bernard, St., Abbot of Clairvaux, on the reverence 

due to the Virgin Mary, 149, n. ; on spiritual 

agencies and ministries, 380. 
"Better days," 590. 
Bible, the language of, necessarily finite, 1 ; its 

inestimable value, 50 ; the printing of the Bible, 

1S9. 
Bible and Prayer-Book, 152. 
Bigotry, its characteristics, 351. 

Biographical summary of eminent characters con- 
nected with the University of Oxford, 439, 451. 



636 



INDEX. 



Biography, its great and prevalent defect, 384. 

Blandina, the martyr, her affecting story recorded by 
Eusebius, 322. 

" Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord," 139. 

Bowies' edition of Pope's works defended from the 
strictures of Madden, 398 ; his extended acquaint- 
ance with literature, 427 ; love of learned retire- 
ment, ib. ; account of church bells, ib. 

Bodily suffering, spiritual benefits of, 37. 

Books and the Bible, accelerate the progress of the 
Reformation, 189. 

Bourdaloue, on the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, 
149, n. ; his profane exaltation of the priest in the 
matter of transubstantiation, 265, n. 

British church, passage from Bishop Lloyd's tract 
concerning the primitive freedom and Catholic 
antiquity of the, 169, n. 

Brother, the duty of seeking forgiveness of a, 130. 

Brown, Dr. , on the incentives to labour ministered 
by the imperfection of our faculties, 380 ; on the 
marks of design in the works of nature, 383 ; on 
the prevalence of vanity, 420; on the moral 
advantages of trial and affliction, 515. 

Bull, bishop, sermon on the reverence due to the 
Virgin Mary, 148, n. 

Buonaparte, observation of, respecting the tranquil- 
lising effect of the sound of the Sabbath bell, 19, n. ; 
his love of power and supremacy, 379 ; incident in 
his life, 601. 

Burial of the dead, Service for the, 360. 

Burke, Edmund, on the adequacy of Scripture 
language alone to a description of the majesty of 
the material universe, 385. 

Burnet, Thomas, of the Charter House, on the 
advantage of habituating the mind to meditations 
on things unseen and eternal, 560. 

Burns, his genius, and melancholy fortunes, 305, 306. 

Butler, Alban, on the Feast of the Assumption, 
148, n. 

Butler, Charles, his observations on the feeling of awe 
inspired by a view of the Abbey de la Trappe, 
10, n. 

Butler, bishop, on the testimony borne by the analogy 
of nature to the Scripture doctrine of a Mediator 
between God and man, 520. 

" By thy words thou shalt be justified," 136. 

Byron, Lord, his genius, aberrations, and end, 306, 
308 ; his gloomy forebodings, 322 ; observations on 
the sensibility of genius, exemplified in the case of 
Petrarch, 380 ; his opinion of the genius of Pope, 
398 ; reflections at Churchill's grave, 414 ; his low 
estimate of female excellence, 431 ; his sensitive- 
ness to critical censure, 432 ; his imitators, 445, n. 



Caesar on the banks of the Rubicon, 602. 

Calvary, Mount, reflection on, 114. 

Calvin, his character contrasted with Luther's, by 

Coleridge, 176, n. 
Canada, the church in, 629. 
Canning, George, brief account of his school and 

college life, 424 ; extracts from his correspondence, 

425. 
Captivity, its abundant consolations, 14. 
Catechism, its admirable adaptation to the feeding of 

Christ's " Lambs," 155. 
Cathedral music, 371 ; its powerful effect in tran- 

quillising or moving the mind, 20, 277. 
Celibacy of the clergy, the vow of, enjoined by 

Martini., 284, n. 



Centre of Revealed Truth, 181. 

Corutio, the Jesuit, his formula for subjugating the 
human will, 267, n. 

Chalmers, Dr., observations of, on the boasted but 
unreal connexion between certain facts of physical 
science and the truths of God's moral government, 
11, n ; on the contest for an ascendancy over man 
amongst the higher orders of intelligence, 353, n. , 
382, 385. 

Chastisement, the lot of the Christian, 34. 

Chat'eaubriand, on the Christian and Jewish in- 
habitants of modern Jerusalem, 523 ; on the ruins 
of the Cities of the Plain being still discernible 
beneath the waters of the Dead Sea, 524. 

Chatterton, his genius and fate, 439. 

Chief of sinners, 94. 

Childhood, characteristics of, 20, 33, 84, 367 ; children, 
mind of little, 33. 

Christ, his presence with his church, 12 ; the grand 
refuge, 35 ; weeping, 43 ; Christ or despair, the only 
alternatives, 45 ; Christ in communion with the 
soul, 63 ; his sympathy with his people, 66, 89, 90, 
91, 115, 185 ; his signs, 72 ; he is our portion, 79; his 
temptation, 108, 114 ; his transfiguration, 113 ; our 
Pattern in temptation, 114 ; his teaching contrasted 
with that of Moses, 117; his influence felt for good 
throughout creation, 182 ; God and man, 232 ; his 
resurrection, 233; the genuineness of sundry 
reputed portraits of him discussed, 518, 519. 

Christian, the, the highest style of man, 29 ; bound 
to war against his spiritual foes, 99. 

Christian friendship, 213 ; tried by affliction, 214. 

Christianity, its characteristics, 182, 351. 

Chrysostom, St., his fine comment on Matt. v. 44, 
130, n. 

Church, the, can never be widowed, 47 ; disciplined 
by suffering, 183. 

Churches, the perished ones, 249. 

Church bells, account of their first introduction, 427. 

Church yard, country, 365, 552. 

Churching of women, the Office for the, 161. 

Churchill, brief account of him, 413 ; visit to his 
grave, ib. 

City of the Plague, 553. 

Civil liberty finds an inviolable home in England, 
274. 

Clarke, Dr. , his remarks on the folly and danger of 
considering the moral apart from the natural 
attributes of the Deity, 3, n. 

Clarkson's efforts for the abolition of slavery, 572. 

Clement of Alexandria, on the origin of Greek 
philosophy, 522. 

Clement, St., his testimony to the constancy of the 
female martyrs, 322; on the doctrine of the 
resurrection, 559. 

Clouds, religious thoughts connected with them, and 
suggested by them, 145. 

Coleridge, his remarks on Christ's omnipresence, 2 ; 
on the connexion between religion and the fine 
arts, 4, ii. ; on the duty of making all other 
knowledge auxiliary to divine, 5, n. ; holds that 
truths of revelation are mirrored in the works of 
nature, 27 ; his character of Luther, 176 ; contrasts 
it with Calvin's, ib. ; his character of the Church of 
Rome, 179 ; on the evidences of Christianity, 383. . 

Collins, recollections of him at Oxford, 422. 

Collyridian worship of the Virgin Mary, 283. 

Commerce of England, its wide domain, 359. 

Commination Service, the, 162. 

Communion with nature, 233, 235. 



INDEX. 



637 



Conceptions of the mind the fountains of action, 2G2. 

Conduct springs from Mind, 261. 

Confirmation, 156. 

Connubial happiness, 50. 

Conscience, the guilty one, constantly haunted by 

terror, 16 ; naturally shuns the thought of Jehovah, 

45 ; witnesses for God against the sinner, 54, 20 S ; 

the misery of a disturbed conscience, 133 ; its true 

influence ensured by Christianity, 466. 
" Consider the lilies," 100. 
Constance, the Council of, deprives the laity of the 

cup in the Eucharist, 2SS. 
Consumption, characteristics of the disease, 39, 41 ; 

statistics respecting it, 40, n. 
Consumption, the fair victim of, 554. 
Conviction and confession, 97. 

Conybeare, bishop, on spiritual agencies and minis- 
tries, 3S1. 
Corinne, death of, 602. 
Cowley, stanzas of, on friendship, 43S. 
Cowper, lines on slavery, 572. 
Creation instinct with love, 131. 
Creed, our, learnt under the cross, 110. 
Creeds, barren ones, will one day be denounced, 123. 
Crime, in vain seeks to shroud itself from the eye of 

God, 16. 
Crimes recorded are warnings to posterity, 165. 
Critic, qualifications of a good one, 418, 419 ; defects 

of a bad one exposed, 433. 
Cronburgh Castle, historical associations, 291 ; old 

legend connected with, 320 ; Hamlet, ib. 
Cross, sign of the, on the forehead, date of its use on 

common occasions, 283. 
Crowd, the Christian not called to shun the, 99. 
Crown of thorns, conjecture respecting it, 529. 
Crucifixion, lines on the, 614. 
Culprit awaiting the hour of execution, reflections of, 

370. 
Cup, in the Eucharist, formally denied to the laity 

by a canon of the Council of Constance, 288. 
" Cursed is the ground for thy sake," 46. 



Dangers, our real ones caused by trifles, 101. 
Dante, denounces some of the corruptions of Popeiy, 

187 ; his Beatrice, 302 ; characteristics of his poem, 

ib. ; implacably resents the injuries he experienced 

at the hands of Florence, 322. 
D'Avenant, William, recollections of him at Oxford, 

423. 
Day of Judgment, terrors of the, 25. 
Dead, power of the, 36. 
Death of friends, 21, 78 ; of the sceptic, 25 ; of an 

infant, 92. 
Death of Corinne, 602. 
Death's progress, 549 ; death has no historian, ib. ; 

death of the infidel, ib. ; of the saint, 550 ; death 

never pauses, ib. ; the dead infant, 551 ; death of 

the captive, 555 ; the Christian alone triumphs in 

death, 558. 
Dejection, stanzas written in, 616. 
Deluge, the, description of, 350. 
Demoniac agency, 353. 

Departed, not dead, 64, 110 ; a veil rests over their 
4 condition and pursuits, 111 ; the removal of the 

righteous beclouds this lower world, 115, 116; ought 

to be revered, not grieved for, 139. 
Descartes' Treatise on Man, singular effect of the 

perusal of it upon the feelings of Malebranche, 

418, n. 



Diderot, on the general insensibility to the grandeur 
of the works of creation, 527. 

Digby, Sir Kenelm, his work entitled " the Broad 
Stone of Honour," commended, 322. 

Discipline, church, opposed by self-will, 162. 

Disease, statistics of, 40, n. 

Divine love, 21. 

Divine Omniscience, 625. 

Divine nature, all the knowledge we possess of it, 
analogical, 1. 

Divine thirst, 95. 

Divine truths, not immediate objects of the under- 
standing, 12. 

Divine faithfulness, 138. 

Divine secrets, 151. 

Divine walk, 52. 

Doddridge, Dr., on spiritual agencies and ministries, 
382. 

Domestic life, and wedded love, 232, 364. 

Domestic peace, the duty and blessedness of con- 
ferring it, 126. 

Dove, the, contrasted with the raven, 61. 

Dread sacrifice, 75. 

Dreadful prayer, the, 617. 

Dreams, terrific ones visit the guilty conscience, 16, 
352 ; the Inspiration of Dreams, 629. 

Dying parent, 22. 



Eden, exiles from it, ever feel a yearning to return, 
49. 

Edgeworth, Miss, on the influence of woman, 291. 

Edward VI., anecdote of, 175. 

Edwards, Jonathan, on the mutual recognition of the 
saints in another life, 383. 

Egypt, the plagues of, 8. 

Ellesmere Lake, described, 597. 

Ellis, "W. , his account of the progress of Missionaries 
among the Polynesian Islanders, 521. 

Elsinore, morning scene at, 291. 

Emmaus, address of our Lord to the two disciples on 
the way to, 70. 

England, Church of, primitive and apostolic, 272 ; 
assailed by sectarian rancour, ib. ; but impregnable, 
ib. ; exalted destiny that awaits her, 273 ; for which 
her trials are fitting her, ib.; efforts for the diffusion 
of the Gospel in foreign climes, 468. 

England, the home of divine truth, and civil liberty, 
274, 467; apostrophe to, 275, 467; natural and 
moral aspect of, 340, 357, 353 ; Shakspeare and 
Milton, 359 ; factories, thirst of gain, Mammon- 
worship, 360 ; deification of intellect, ib. ; threat- 
ening moral symptoms, 361; fanaticism and its 
correlative, 363 ; the summer sabbath-morn, 364, 
365, 468 ; peasantry of, 591. 

England's protest against Jesuitism, 270. 

English martyrs, 89. 

" Enoch walked with God," 52. 

Envy, its origin, and baneful influence, 344, 345. 

Erasmus, furthers the Reformation by his Greek 
studies, and by his translation of the New Testament 
into Latin, 188 ; his craven and irresolute heart, ib. 

Eucharist, office for the, 168 ; the presence of Christ 
discerned only by faith, ib. 

Eventide, the charms of, 9 ; meditation at, 69. 

Evil, moral, all inquiry into its origin must for ever 
baffle the intellect of man, 515. 

Evil spirits, their incessant and universal agency, 66. 

Exile, man in his best estate, always feels himself an, 



Expressive night, 73. 

Eye of Christ, power of the glance of the, 140. 



Factories, in England, reflections on them, 360. 

Fading scene, COS. 

Faith, its omnipotence as a principle of action and 

suffering, 193 ; nobleness of, 588. 
Fallen angels, their ceaseless activity, 238. 
Fallen man, still retains some indications of his 

original perfection, 133. 
Fame, the love of, duty of moderating it, 5 ; mis- 
chievous and miserable consequences of indulging 

it, 374, 375; the uses of it to a generous mind, 

521. 
Fanaticism, and its correlative, 363. 
Farmer, Dr., on the origin of the plot in Hamlet, 321. 
Fashionable life, dissected, 362. 
Fears, guilty ones rebuked, 107. 

Feigned history, its use, according to Lord Bacon, 4. 
Fenelon, on the character of the Virgin Mary, 148, n. 
Fiends and angels are contending for human souls, 

238. 
Field of battle, reflections on a, 357. 
First soul in heaven, 105. 
Flood, the, description of, 350. 
Flowers, their sacredness, 100, 129 ; the lesson, which 

they teach, 129 ; the law of association exemplified 

in them, ib. 
Follow Christ, 101. 
France, natural and moral aspect of, 340 ; political 

reflections, ib. 
French Eevolution, barbarities by which it was 

marked, 23. 
Friends, death of, 21 ; estrangement of, 60. 
Friendship, pleasure of Christian, 21, 213 ; tried by 

affliction, 214 ; lasts for ever in heaven, 215, 260. 
Friendship of the worldly, 213 ; lines by Persius and 

Cowley on, 43S. 
Fuller, Thomas, on the origin of the apophthegm, 

"He looks as the devil over Lincoln," 445, n. 



Genius, its characteristics, 261, 344 ; of no sex, 295 ; 
its pernicious influence when misapplied, 360, 361, 
564 ; sensibility of genius, 379 ; pains of, 595, 606. 

German theology, its mischievous tendency, 340. 

Gibbon, Edward, his observations on female devotion, 
322 ; on his studies at Oxford, 421 ; his commenda- 
tion of an exqiiisite fragment cf a philosophical 
poem by Gray, 521. 

1 ' Give me neither poverty nor riches," 49. 

Glory of departed saints, 47. 

Glory of the Mountains, 112. 

Gloves, custom of perfuming them, 449 ; mentioned 
by Shakspeare in the " Winter's Tale," ib. 

"God," and "the Lord God," determinate use of 
these terms in the Old Testament, 514. 

God in materialism, 628. 

God, our notion of his nature necessarily analogical, 1. 

God, from eternity, 29. 

God, the creator, 30. 

God's curse upon the ground, 46 ; his faithfulness, 13S ; 
his heroes, 190 ; man, the work of God, by man 
himself is marred, 276 ; the visible creation attests 
the existence and many of the attributes of God, 
352. 

God, by Christ, reconciles to himself all things, both 
visible and invisible, 522. 



Goethe, on the character of Hamlet, 321. 

Gold, the love of, its degrading and ruinous tendency, 
50. 

Gospel, its universal triumph anticipated, 19. 

Grace, prevenient, the cause of all that is good in 
man, 138 ; sovereignty of, 626. 

Gray, his frivolous objections to the strictness of 
academical discipline, 421 ; his observations on the 
uses of good fame, 521 ; exquisite fragment of a 
philosophical poem of his, ib. ; hues on his tomb, 
622. 

Greece, ancient and modern contrasted, 339. 

Gregory of Tours, on the death and assumption of the 
Virgin Mary, 149, n. 

Grief allied to glory, 184. 

Grotius, on the term "Devil," in the New Testament, 
382. 

Grove's essay on " Novelty," in the Spectator, com- 
mended by Dr. Johnson, 562 ; extract from it, ib. 

Guiding tenderness of God, 144. 

Guilt, horrors of, under the eye of Divine justice, 15, 
352. 

Guilty fears, 107. 

Gun-powder Treason, Service for the anniversary of 

• the, 164. 



Hagar, in distress, is comforted by the angel, 6S. 

Hallam, on the feelings with which Dante resented 
his unjust treatment by Florence, 322. 

Hamlet, the scene of his death, 321 ; Goethe's opinion 
respecting his character, ib. ; Dr. Fanner on the 
origin of the plot in the play of, ib. 

" Hannah spake with her heart," 57. 

Happiness, worldly, an excess of it to be deprecated, 
49 ; vainly sought by most, 362. 

Harmony, moral power of, 71. 

Hazlitt, his chequered life, 429 ; his writings, ib. 

" He shall give his angels charge over thee," 101. 

"He sighed," observations upon the words, 137. 

Health, force of its contrast with sickness, 38. 

Heart, the, deceitful above all things, 72 ; a grateful 
one, true incense, 79. 

Heart's sanctuary, the, 627. 

Hearts which have no echoes, 88 ; merciful appoint- 
ment by which our hearts are veiled from all 
human scrutiny, ib. ; God alone can fathom the 
depths of their pollution, 130. 

Heathenism, denied a Providence, and dreaded the 
tomb, 126. 

Heaven, vision of, 560 ; the full glories of, mercifully 
veiled from us, 145. 

Heaven populous with infant souls, 627. 

Heber, bishop, his estimable character, 403 ; extracts 
from his correspondence, 436 ; his Carmen Seculare, 
ib. ; and "Palestine," ib. ; recollections of him at 
Oxford, 437 ; letter descriptive of his character in 
India, 438 ; observations on Good Angels, 382. 

Hell, vision of, 563. 

Herbert, George, "Walton's account of his last hours, 
170, n. 

" Here we have no abiding home," 55. 

Heresy rent the church within, as soon as persecution 
had ceased to assail it from without, 240 ; Arianism 
— Platonism — Popery, ib. » 

History, the development of mind, the ennobling of 
man, 262 ; the evolving of the will of God, 271. 

Holy, the, alone are happy, 270. 

Holy Spirit, influence of his operation upon the mind 
of the beholder of the visible works of God, 12 ; his 



INDEX. 



nature and office, 39, 242 ; address to, 69, 74, 2S2 ; 

omnipresence of the, 241 ; apostrophe to, 282, 2S3. 
Hooker, Richard, Walton's account of his last 

moments, 171, to. ; on spiritual agencies and 

ministries, 381 ; his conduct at Oxford, 412, n. ; 

anecdote of, ib. ; on the incarnation and atonement, 

523 ; and on the hour of our Lord's mortal agonies, 

52S ; and on his ascension, 530. 
Horace, his low estimate of female -worth, 429 ; 

example of his patron Maecenas, ib. 
Home, Thomas Hartwell, his tabular view of the 

prophecies relative to the Messiah and his kingdom, 

517—519. 
Horsley, bishop, on the origin of the Sibyl oracles, 

522. 
Human nature, unrenewed, naturally inclined to 

Popery, 210. 
Human need, and divine supply, 185. 
Human teaching, an erring guide, 208. 
Humility without faith, 236. 
Hurd, bishop, on the purpose for which the Messiah 

appeared, 455. 
Hymns, 607. 
Hypocrisy, described, 346, 347, 363 ; death of the 

hypocrite, 565. 



"I beseech thee, show me thy glory," 85. 

Ideal, a love for it enthroned in eveiy reflective mind, 3; 

subserviency of poetry to this, ib. 
Idiot boy, the, 17. 

Idolatry, its fearful prevalence, 18 ; its rise, 466. 
Idolising earthly objects, sin and danger of, 55. 
Idols in the heart, 82, 360. 
Image of God, man created in the, 38. 
Immortality, the hope of, a sure guide in speculation 

on life and conduct, 5 ; the soul made immortal, 

22, 24, 111. 
Imperfection of the best of men, 191. 
" In the beginning — God," 29. 
Incarnation, the, both the centre and circumference 

of the manifested Jehovah, 2. 
Individual providence, 631. 
Infancy in heaven, 51; lines on infancy, 617; the 

sacredness of infancy, 630. 
Infant innocence, 20, 83, 626; their feebleness and 

strength, 132. 
Infants and infancy, 83, 587. 
Infant death, 92, 627. 
Infant fellowship with God, 132. 
Infidel objections answered, 236. 
Infinity and immortality, the sense of, deeply seated 

in the human soul, 3, 210, 512. 
Influence of conduct, never dies, 137. 
Ingratitude to angels, 101. 
Innocent III. forbids the translation of the Holy 

Scriptures, and the reading of them in any ver- 
nacular language, 286. 
Innovation, the love of, its pernicious tendency, 351. 
Inquisition, the chief seat of the, in Spain, 337. 
Inspiration of the past, 89. 
Inspiration of the ideal, 210. 
Intellect, the, can find its perfect satisfaction and 

repose only in the Truth, 273 ; deification of, in the 
t present day, 360. 

" It is not good that man should be alone," 41, 158. 
Italy, natural and social aspect of, 337. 



Jealousy, its origin and effects, 346. 



Jenyns, Soame, his observations on the inadequacy 

of reason to serve as a guide in matters of religion, 

521. 
Jerome, St., on learned solitude, 390, n. 
Jesuits and Jesuitism, 260. 
Jews, their return and conversion, 251. 
Jews, their final restoration to Palestine, 524 ; 

symptoms of its approach, ib. ; their doctrinal 

character at the time of our Saviour, 526. 
John the Baptist's preaching, 86 ; baptises our Lord, 

93. 
Johnson, Samuel, recollections of him at Oxford, 422. 
Jones, of Nayland, the difference between the history 

of action and the history of mind, set forth by, 559. 
Jonson, Ben, brief account of him, from Wood's 

Athense, 424. 
" Joseph could not refrain himself," 127. 
Josephus, on the city and temple of Jerusalem, 524 ; 

on the origin of the Feast of Lights, 527 ; extracts 

from his account of the siege and capture of 

Jerusalem, 527, 528. 
Judas Iscariot, conjectures respecting the mode of 

his death, 529. 
"Judge not," 135. 
Judgment-day, terrors of the, 25. 
Juvenal, his general character as a satirist, 430 ; his 

Sixth Satire censured, ib. 



Keith, on the final and lasting restoration of the Jews 

to Palestine, 524. 
Kindness, a word of, its healing efficacy, 47. 
King, Dr., his observations on our notions of the 

Divine nature, 1. 
Klopstock, on the belief of a mystic communion 

between the living and the dead, 521, 522 ; letter 

from his wife, Meta, to Richardson, 522. 



Laboue, designed for man's benefit, 47. 

Lady, the character of a devout one necessary to 

complete the personages of the drama of the world, 

322. 
Landscape, influence of a beautiful one upon the 

mind, 291. 
Latimer and Ridley, account of their martyrdom, by 

Foxe, 428. 
Latin language, the universal use of, in divine service, 

commanded by Vitalianus, 2S4, n. 
Law, is mind in ruling action, 261. 
" Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven," 95. 
Lazarus, Christ weeps at the tomb of, 43. 
Learning, pursuit of Fame by means of, 363. 
Leman, lake, lines on, 632. 
Life is a fading leaf, 67. 

Life, our station in, assigned by Providence, 102. 
Life, the shortest, often the lot of the most beloved, 

115. 
Life a spiritual conflict, 240. 
Lilies, types of moral purity, 129. 
Literature, sound, most successfully cultivated in 

Britain, 274. 
Little, nothing is, in this world, 216. 
Logic, advantages arising from the proper study of a 

good system of, 393, to. 
Loneliness, lines on, 620. 
Lost feelings, 619. 

Lloyd, bishop of St. Asaph, his observations concern- 
ing the primitive freedom and Catholic antiquity of 

the British Church, 169, n. 



Locke, John, his opinions respecting the system of 
education pursued at Oxford in his time, 421, 424. 

London, its visible and moral aspect, 369, 606; pre- 
valence of mortality, 556; midnight reflections, 593. 

Love, holy, no sacrifice accepted without it, 79. 

Love, its beneficial influence when well regulated, 
345, 346 ; the baneful influence of debased love, 345. 

Love, divine, 21. 

Lowth, bishop, on the origin of poetry, 3 ; his digni- 
fied reply to Warburton's attack, 444 ; on our Lord's 
Parables, 528. 

Loyola, extraordinary vigour of his intellect, 262 ; his 
bravery at the siege of Pampeluna, 263 ; religious 
idealism, ib. ; his pilgrimage to Jerusalem, ib. ; his 
self-inflicted tortures, 264; his vow and success, 
265 ; serpentine wisdom, 266 ; spiritual aggression, 
ubiquity of guile, ib. ; mechanism for souls, 267. 

Luther, Martin, his solemn declaration touching the 
article of Justification before God, 175; Herder's 
lines in praise of him, ib. ; Coleridge's attestation of 
his heroic character, 176 ; contrasts it with Calvin's, 
ib. ; Schlegel's character of him, ib. ; and Arch- 
deacon Manning's, ib. ; and Dr. Pusey's, 177 ; and 
Professor Smyth's, 179; and Bishop Atterbury's, 
180 ; extract from the author's biographical preface, 
179; prevalence of spiritual darkness before he 
appeared, 186 ; his fitness for his task, ib. ; the 
solitary monk, ib. ; Melancthon, 187 ; preparation, 
ib. ; Dante, Petrarch, the AlbigenseSj the School- 
men, Lombard, Wickliffe, Huss, Jerome of Prague, 
187, 188 ; Reuchlin's Hebrew, and Erasmus' Greek 
studies, 188 ; the invention of gunpowder, the 
mariner's compass, the fall of Constantinople, dis- 
covery of America, the printing-press, ib. ; Luther 
one of God's heroes, 190 ; his indomitable intre- 
pidity, 191 ; his failings and infirmities, 193 ; ani- 
mated by faith and duty, 193 ; his early years give 
promise of the grandeur of his after career, 194 ; 
his genius nursed by solitude, 195 ; his mother's 
instruction and training, ib. ; his rigid discipline in 
boyhood, 196 ; begs his bread in Magdeburgh and 
Eisenach, ib. ; Ursula, ib. ; solaced by music, ib. ; 
Erfurth, ib. ; the Bible, 197; fallen nature in 
religious forms, ib. ; the thunderbolt, ib. ; the 
convent life, 198 ; revival, ib. ; his first sermon at 
Wittemberg, 199 ; goes to Rome, ib. ; the truth 
flashes upon his mind, 200 ; Indulgences, ib. ; affixes 
his ninety-five theses to the door of the church 
at Wittemberg, 201 ; justifying grace, ib. ; the 
supremacy of the popedom, its groundless nature, 
and mischievous effects, 202 ; mystery of iniquity, 
203 ; sacramental God, 204 ; sorcery, 209 ; Luther's 
passion for the Perfect and the Pure powerfully 
actuated him, 211 ; friendship between him and 
Melancthon, 212 ; their characters contrasted, ib. ; 
diverse, but united, 214, 215 ; Luther translates the 
Bible into German, 213 ; Pleissenburg, 216 ; burns 
the Pope's bull at Wittemberg, 217; his apology 
for the truth, ib. ; denounced by Pope Alexander 
in the cathedral at Worms, ib. ; Luther's hymn, 
Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott, 219 ; he is arrested 
in the forest of Thuringa by friendly hands, who 
carry him, for safety, to the castle of Whartburg, 
221 ; night in the Whartburg, ib. ; Patmos, 223 ; 
spiritual loneliness, ib. ; reaction, 224 ; toil and 
thought, ib. ; translation of the Bible into German, 
225 ; darkness in the hour of light, 226 ; Munzer, 
227 ; mental resurrection, ib. ; ideal raptures, 228 ; 
affections made free, Luther married, 229, 230 ; 
power of prayer, 231 ; domestic life and wedded 



love, 232 ; his passion for music, 234 ; draws up a 
catechism, 235 ; Satanic temptations, 240 ; review 
of Papal Rome, 243 ; present need of men imbued 
with Luther's spirit, ib. ; Rome unchanged, ib. ; 
probable design of Providence in permitting the 
lengthened existence of so colossal an imposture, 
244 ; the Man of Sin, 246 ; hope and harp of prophecy, 
247 ; Rome shall be destroyed, 247, 248 ; seventh 
vial sounded, 249 ; antichrist, 250 ; millennial visions, 
250 ; Luther's anticipation of death, 253 ; his last 
moments, and death, 254; "dead, yet speaketh," 
255 ; Melancthon delivers his funeral oration, 256, 
n. ; epitaph of Magalena, Luther's daughter, 258 ; 
extracts from his Colloquia, 259; Luther the mouth- 
piece of mankind, 271. 

Lust, its debasing influence, 345. 

Lucretius, on the influence of religion, 383. 



Macattlay, Mr., his unfair and absurd reproduction 
of an attack upon an amended edition of the author's 
poem on "The Omnipresence of the Deity," 28; 
and on other poems of the author, 402, n. ; his 
criticism criticised, 433; extract from Clarkson's 
pamphlet, 434 ; Mr. Maunder's testimony, ib. 

Mackenzie, on susceptibility of character, 385. 

Madden's "Infirmities of Genius," animadversions 
on, 398, n. 

Maecenas, influence of his character upon that of 
Horace, 429, 430. 

"Make thee an ark," 59. 

Malebranche, singular effect produced upon his feel- 
ings by the perusal of Descartes' "Treatise on Man," 
418, n. 

Mammonism of the present age, 211, 273, 370. 

Man created by God, but marred by himself, 276. 

Manhood, characteristics of, 20. 

Man's limited apprehension relative to the origin and 
destiny of things, Paley's illustration of, 514. 

Marathon, starlight on, 592. 

Marie Antoinette, her barbarous treatment, 23. 

Mariner, the shipwrecked, 15. 

Mariolatry, the sinfulness and danger of, 146, 148, n. 

Marius, lines on, 601. 

Marriage, authority and subjection conciliated, where 
love commands and love obeys, 46; happiness of, 
21 ; the Marriage Service, 157. 

Martin's pictures, 372. 

Martyn, Henry, his missionaiy labours and success, 
and his early death, 438. 

Martyr King, the, Service for, 165. 

Martyrs, the fruits of their sufferings imperishable, 427. 

Martyrdom, the doom of the benefactors of mankind, 
191. 

Mass, the, Romish doctrine of, 206, n. 

Materialism of the present age, 211. 

Material results are but thoughts arrayed in formal 
being, 262. 

Materialism and its creed, 273. 

Matilda, queen, her imprisonment in Cronburgh 
Castle, 291, 292 ; her melancholy story, 320. 

Maternal love, 24, 68. 

Maternal training of children, 162. 

Matrimony, the Service of, 157. 

Mechanism for souls, 267. 

Meditation at eventide, 69. 

" Meek, blessed are the," 120. 

Melancthon's funeral oration for Luther, 256, n. 

Mental thraldom, designed and earned into effect by 
the Jesuits, 267, 268. 



INDEX. 



641 



"Merciful, blessed are the," 122, 41S, n. 

Messiah, poem on the, 453 ; design and plan, 455 ; the 
religion of a fallen creature must be a revealed one, 
the religion of nature is the religion of despair, 
405, 466; the rise of idolatry, 466; the advent of 
Christianity, 467 ; gradual advance of divine truth, 
ib. ; types, and prophecy, ib. ; prevalent expectation 
of the coming of a divine Messenger, 470; the 
Annunciation, ib. ; the Virgin's visit to Hebron, ib. ; 
angelic anthem, 472 ; the Circumcision, 474 ; the 
visit of the magi, 475 ; Christ, in the temple, dis- 
putes with the doctors, 476 ; John the Baptist, and 
the commencement of Christ's public ministry, ib., 
477, 478 ; the temptation, 480 ; the miracle at Cana, 
481 ; the temple purged, 482 ; Nicodemus, 483 ; the 
woman of Samaria, 483, 484; the miraculous draught 
of fishes, 485 ; Peter called to the apostleship, ib. ; 
the sercnon on the Mount, 4S6 ; the leper healed, 
487 ; the storm on the lake of Tiberias, the miracu- 
lous calm, the amazement of the rescued shipmen, 
488; the maniac restored to reason, 489; the 
daughter of Jairus restored to life, 490 ; the twelve 
apostles chosen, 491 ; raising of the widow's son at 
Nain, 492; the female penitent forgiven, 493; the 
impotent man at the pool of Bethesda, ib. ; the 
miracle of the feeding of the five thousand at 
Bethsaida, 494; the Saviour walks upon the sea, 
495 ; the transfiguration, 496 ; the ambition of the 
apostles rebuked, ib. ; the adultress reproved and 
dismissed, 497; the raising of Lazarus, 497, 498; 
Christ enters Jerusalem amidst the hosannahs of 
the multitude, 499 ; he mourns over the city, and 
predicts its downfal, ib. ; washes the disciples' feet, 
502; the Supper instituted, and the treachery of 
Judas detected, 502, 503 ; our Lord's farewell to his 
disciples, 503 ; the last visit to the garden of Geth- 
semane, 504 ; our Lord is apprehended by the ser- 
vants of the High Priest, ib. ; the arraignment, and 
sentence, 505 ; the procession to Calvary, and the 
Crucifixion, 506; Christ's last agonies and death, 
507; the resurrection, 508; Christ, risen, shows 
himself to his disciples, 509; his scriptural titles, 
ib. ; the ascension, 510 ; apostrophe to Palestine, 
510, 511 ; and to Poetry, 512 ; the last judgment, 
513. 

Midnight, thoughts suggested by, 11, 376, 420 ; mid- 
night in London, 593. 

Milner, on Peter's denial, and our Lord's look upon 
him in the judgment-hall, 529 ; on " Gabbatha," ib. 

Millennial visions, 250. 

Miller, Dr., on the spirit with which Tacitus has 
described the ancient Germans, 321 ; on the reverence 
entertained by them for the female character, ib. 

Milman, on the deepening solemnity of the denun- 
ciations of the prophets, 515 ; on the Jewish cere- 
nial, 521 ; on the final ratification of the law, 525. 

Milton, the immortality of his works accounted for, 
4 ; suggests fit subjects for lofty poetry, 27, 455 ; 
his sublime genius, 359 ; his description of female 
loveliness, 430 ; apostrophe to the Trinity, 530 ; 
his notion of poetry , ib. 

Mind is power, 290, 360 ; the source of conduct, 261 ; 
mind's supremacy over matter, 237, 261 ; deep the 
guilt of polluting it, 295 ; action of mind on mind, 
418, n. ; the difference between the history of action 
and that of mind, 559. 

Minstrel's funeral, the, 623. 

Missions, their need and success, 18. 

Moderation, 49. 

Moment, vast importance of a, 293. 



Monasticism, its cowardly retreat from the world, 99, 

I 402; date of its rise, 283, n. 

Montanvert, apostrophe to, 113. 

Moonlight, thoughts suggested by, 10, 342, 554 ; 
sabbath moonlight, 280. 

Moral balance, doctrine of a, asserted and exemplified, 
384. 

Moral government of God, boasted but unreal con- 
nexion between it and certain facts of physical 
science, 11, n. 

Moral influence, 632. 

Moral power of harmony, 71. 

Morning, reflections on a bright one, 9, 309 ; a sabbath 
morning, 275 ; lines on, 603. 

Moses, our Lord's teaching contrasted with his, 117. 

Mother, thoughts on a deceased, 36. 

Mother's grief, 151, 36S. 

Mothers, theology for, 626. 

Mountains, glory of the, 112 — 114. 

" Mourn, blessed are they that," 119. 

Murderer, the, tracked by Divine justice, 16. 

Music and the evil spirit, 58 ; street music more than 
sound, 59, 71 ; effect of association, 71 ; its sacred 
character, ib. ; its beneficial effects upon the mind 
according to Plato, 355, n. ; general observations on 
music, 371 ; stanzas for music, 600. 

Mussulman's creed, 526. 

" My soul thirsteth for God," 95. 

My first-born, 134. 

Mystery of iniquity, 203. 

Mystery of suffering, 1S3. 

Mystery, universal, 203. 



Name without nature, 103. 

Nature, vague notions suggested by the term, 11 ; 

bespeaks the hand of Omnipotence, 117; communion 

with, 233 — 235 ; the beauties of, fully visible only to 

the heart renewed, 281. 
Neology of Germany, its rise and tendency, 340. 
Newman, John Henry, his character of the Church of 

Rome, 178. 
Newton, bishop, his idea of a "substantial wife," 

402, n. 
Newton, John, on spiritual agencies and ministries, 

382. 
Newton, Sir Isaac, his matchless genius, 23S, 239. 
" Night unto night showeth knowledge," 73. 
Night scene of the sabbath, 281, 469, 511. 
Night, lines on, 604. 
Noah, his faith and intrepidity, 350. 
Noon, lines on, 603. 
" No peace for the wicked," 91. 
Novelty, essay on, by Grove, extract from, 562. 



" O that I had wings like a dove ! " 60. 

Obedience, is made up of joy and adoration, 115 ; the 
vital breath of religion, 143. 

Ocean, in a storm, reflections on the, 8. 

" Of such is the kingdom of heaven," 5S7. 

Old age, its characteristics, 20 ; a virtuous one, 557. 

Olives, Mount of, 114. 

Omnipresence of the Deity, our notions of it, neces- 
sarily imperfect, 1 ; danger of our humanising the 
idea of it, 2 ; remarks of Coleridge on Christ's omni- 
presence, ib. ; danger of sundering our ideas of the 
Divine presence from his moral attributes, 3, n. ; 
Omnipresence of the Spirit, 241. 

Orcine, the valley of, its exquisite beauty, 70. 




Ordination, Office for the, of priests and deacons, 167. 

Organ, powerful effect of its tones, 20. 

Organ-boy, lines on an, 599. 

Oriental Church, totally alienated from the Roman, 
284, n. 

Oteley, lines on, 59S. 

Our duty is our glory, 31. 

Our pattern in temptation, 114. 

Our time companion, 56. 

Our morrows belong to God, 57. 

Our true centre, 14S. 

Oxford, University of, brief review of its past history, 
and of the illustrious names that are connected with 
it, 390—405 ; design of collegiate studies, 391, n ; j 
architectural glories of Oxford, 405 ; collegiate life, i 
406 ; the Bodleian, 409 ; the Clarendon, ib. ; vast 
collection of Bibles in various languages, 410 ; night, 
415; Academic discipline, 421 ; frivolous objections 
to the strictness of it, ib. ; Locke's opinion of the 
system of education pursued at Oxford in his time, 
421 ; Addison, ib. ; Steele, ib. ; Collins, 422 ; Johnson, 
ib. ; D'Avenant, 423 ; Wesley, ib. ; James Hervey, 
ib. ; Ben Jonson, 424 ; Denham, 427 ; Pitt, Earl of 
Chatham, ib. ; Lisle Bowles, ib. ; Evelyn, 428 ; J 
martyrdom of Latimer and Ridley, related by Foxe, 
428; Southey, 429; great bell "Tom," at Christ 
Church, 438 ; biographical summary, 439 — 451 ; 
Shelley, 440 ; custom of sei-ving up at Christmas a 
boar's head at Queen's college, 443, 



Pain, bodily, owes its origin to sin, 38. 
i Pains of genius, 595. 

Painting, its magical effects, 371. 
Paley, Dr., his illustration of man's limited appre- 
hension of the origin and destiny of things, 514. 
Palmer's " Origines Liturgicse, " referred to in proof of 

the Gallic origin of many of our choral hymns, 153, n. 
Papal novelties, tabular view of the leading ones, 

283—288. 
Papistry, the work and master-piece of Satan, 244, 245. 
Parables of our Lord, Bishop Lowth's observations 

on the, 528. 
Paradise of the dead, 84, 252 ; abode of redeemed 

souls departed, ib. 
Parental love, its intensity, 68 ; its source divine, ib. 
Paris, Dr., on the connexion between the visible and 

unseen world, 522. 
Patrick, Bishop, on spiritual agencies and ministries, 

380 ; on the interdiction to Adam in Paradise, 514. 
"Peacemakers, blessed are the," 125. 
Pearson, Bishop, on the testimony borne by the 

works of creation to the power and wisdom of the 

Creator, 520 ; on the mode of crucifixion, 530 ; on 

the state of souls departed, ib. 
Peasantry of England, 591. 
Perfection, yearnings of the soul for, 3 ; poetry 

ministers to this, ib., 210. 
" Perfect through suffering," 35, 183. 
" Perfect peace," 77. 
Persecution of the Church from without followed 

by heresy within, 240. 
" Persecuted for righteousness' sake, blessed are they 

who are," 126. 
Perseverance in prayer, its great and unfailing efficacy, 

138. 
Persius, lines of, on friendship, 438. 
Pestilence, a city invaded by the, 553. 
Peter, moved to godly sorrow by the glance of his 

Divine Master's eye, 140. 



Petrarch, denounces several of the corruptions of the 
papacy, 187 ; anecdote of, 870. 

Philosophical speculations, the charms of, 261; their 
tendency to abstract the mind from external im- 
pressions, ib. ; their vast practical influence, 262. 

Philosophy of poetry, observations on the, 418. 

Physical science, boasted but unreal connexion between 
the facts of, and the truths of God's moral govern- 
ment, 11. 

Plato, his observations on the beneficial effect which 
music has upon the mind, 355, n. ; sighs for a light 
above and beyond that of nature, 466 ; professes 
that he was indebted to the barbarians for much of 
his knowledge, 523. 

People, the, and the Prayer Book, 631. 

Poetry, its origin, to be found in religion, 3 ; a dispro- 
portion frequent between its merit and its popu- 
larity, ib. ; subserviency of poetry to the universal 
passion for the ideal, ib., Lord Bacon's definition 
of, 4 ; its vast domain, 5, the author's obligations to 
its solace in affliction, 28 ; philosophy of, 418, n. ; 
apostrophe to, 512. 

Poetiy of clouds and skies, 144. 

Poor in spirit, blessed, 117. 

Pope, Alexander, on the moral advantages of a taste 
for the study of the works of nature, 385 ; held 
that knowledge is the only happiness of minds, ib. ; 
his low estimate of the female character, 430. 

Popery, founded upon the principles of corrupt 
nature, 207, 209 ; loves the crucifix, but hates the 
cross, ib. ; its sorcery, ib. ; why permitted to subsist 
so long, 244 ; constructed on the Judaic model, ib. ; 

Population, its astounding rapidity of progress, 273. 

Poverty, its abundant consolations, 14. 

Prayer Book, the, the best comment on the Bible, 
27, 152, 153. 

Prayer on earth the omnipotence of man, 66, 67, 
231, 232 ; the Hearer of prayer inspires us to pray, 
75 ; wisdom of prayer, 96, 97, 137 ; exemplified, ib. 

Prayer with the heart alone, 57, 58. 

Prayers at sea, 163 ; a mother's anxious thoughts 
about her sea-faring child, ib. 

Press, the, of England, its influence for good or 
evil, 374. 

Prevailing intercession, 65. 

Pride, its nature and pernicious influence, 130, 343, 
360. 

Printing press, invention of the, 1S8 ; its might, as a 
moral lever, ib. ; gives irresistible impulse to the 
progress of the Reformation, 189; books and the 
Bible, ib. 

Prison, enumeration of great works composed in, 
393, n. 

Prisoner, the, thoughts of, 17. 

Private confession first ordained, 283, n. 

Prodigal's return, 631. 

Prophets of old, 89. 

Providence, lines on, 625. 

Public worship, scripturally performed, 276, 277. 

Pulpits and preachers of the middle ages, 406, n. 

" Pure in heart, blessed are the," 124. 

Purgatory, first steps towards, taken from Platonism, 
2S3, 7i. 

Pusey, Dr., his character of Luther, and of the 
Reformation, 177 ; remarks on Ernesti's principles 
of interpretation, ib. 



Rapidity of transit, and of transmission of thought, 
in the present day, reflections on, 273. 




Raven, the, contrasted with the dove, 61. 

Real and unreal, 261. 

Reason, its inadequacy as a guide and comforter to 

man, 466, 521. 
Reason and Faith, 62S. 
Reconciliation, the holy commandment concerning, 

130. 
Recovery from sickness, thoughts suggested by, 10 ; 

effects of the skies and clouds, 145. 
Refinement, the highest intellectual, often conjoined 

with the foulest depravity of nature, 94. 
Reflective stanzas, 612. 
Religion, 363; religion of nature, the, is but the 

religion of despair, 466. 
Religion of the young, 89. 
Religion and the sea, 81. 
Religion, has in all ages given birth and sustenance 

to the fine arts, 4, n. 
Religious subjects erroneously held to be unfit for 

poetiy, 4. 
Religious instinct, 208. 
" Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth," 

89. 
Repentance, preached by John the Baptist, 86 ; its 

general character and operation, 87 ; works by love 

ib. 
Restoration of the Royal Family, service for the 

anniversary of the, 165. 
Retirement of the worldling, 366, 367. 
Revelation, not absolute, but relative, 1. 
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, on the influence of seats of 

learning upon the feelings, 390, n. 
Rhine, the, historical associations connected with, 

340 ; beautiful scenery, ib. 
Ridley and Latimer, account of their martyrdom, by 

Foxe, 428. 
" Righteousness, blessed are they that do hunger and 

thirst after," 121. 
Rome, church of [see Popery]. 
Rome, the magic city, 245; shall be destroyed, 247, 

248 ; ancient and modern, contrasted, 338 ; the 

influence of Pagan Rome felt even to the present 

hour, ib. 
Rosary of the Blessed Virgin, instituted by Dominic 

2S6. 
Rousseau, on the social influence of woman, 291 ; his 

testimony to the majesty of the Scriptures, and to 

the perfection of Christ's character, 518. 
Ruin, feelings of awe inspired by a venerable one, 10, n. 



Sabbath, blessedness of the, 19 ; observance of, in 

rural districts, ib., 364. 
Sabbath-morn, reflections on, 275, 46S ; the temple 

opened, 276 ; the performance of Scriptural public 

worship, 276, 277 ; Sabbath-evening, 278 ; sunset, 

279 ; night, 280 ; moonlight, ib. 
Sacramental birth, 39. 

Sacraments, the Christian, their inestimable value 50. 
Sacredness of flowers, 100. 
Saints, departed, glory of, 47. 
Satan, fell, though untempted from without, 109 ; the 

parodist of God, 204 ; the god of this world, 239. 
Scarborough, descriptive sketch of, 5S1. 
Sceptic's death, 25. 

Schiller, on the philosophy of poetiy, 418. 
Schism, the sinfulness and danger of, 126. 
Schlegel, A. W., on the qualification of a sound critic, 

419, n. ; on the propensity to sadness in the human 

mind, 531 ; on the contrast between the religious 



feelings of the ancient Greeks and those of the 
Christian, 5:J2. 

Science, worsliips second causes, 117 ; opposes divine 
revelation, 248. 

Scott, Sir Walter, revolting scene at Versailles de- 
scribed by him, 23, n. 

Sea, in a storm, S ; confutes the Atheist, ib. ; God 
the sole ruler of it, 81 ; described by the poet, and 
the painter, ib. ; commerce identified with it, ib. ; 
and valour, ib. ; a symbol of divine grace, 82 ; seen 
in a calm by moonlight, 281. 

Sea-faring boy, a mother's anxious thoughts about, 
163, 164. 

Sectarianism occasions estrangement of friendship, 
60, 126. 

Segur, on the influence of woman compared with 
that of man, 321. 

Self, its universal sway, 273. 

Self, universally and intrinsically evil, 94. 

Self-idolatry, its end, 566. 

Self-ignorance, the parent and nurse of pride, 131. 

Self-mistrust, commended, 115. 

Self-righteousness, the offspring of pride, 208. 

Seneca, on the benefits arising from trials and 
afflictions in this life, 515. 

Sensual doubt, 260. 

Sentiment of flowers, 129. 

Seven, symbolical meaning of the number, 515. 

Seventh vial sounded, 249. 

Shakspere, his design in the play of Hamlet, 321 ; 
his matchless genius, 302, 303, 359 ; his acquaintance 
with W. D'Avenant, 423. 

Shelle5 T , Percy Bysshe, brief biographical notices of, 
440 ; style of his poetry, ib. ; reviewers, ib. ; Med- 
win's account of his life and writings, 441 ; Slatter's 
recollections of him at Oxford, 442. 

Shipwreck, description of a, 15, 551. 

Sibylline books, then origin and nature, 522. 

Sickness, thoughts of the Divine Omnipresence in- 
spired by, 10 ; spiritual benefits arising from, 38, 
41, 158, 159. 

Silence of the soul, 127. 

Silent Prayer, 57, 58. 

Sin, the essence of all, in the mind, 94. 

Sinai, stupendous accompaniments of the giving of 
the law there, 8, 113. 

Sinfulness of sin, 109. 

Slave-market, in America, description of a, by Basil 
Hall, 379. 

Slavery, speech delivered by the author against, 570. 

Smith, Pye, his observations on the symbolical 
meaning of the number seven, 515 ; on the volun- 
tary humiliation of the Son of God, 524. 

Social, and yet alone, 41 ; the cause of God, social, 99. 

Social existence, pertains to the Deity, 42. 

Socrates, his expectation of a Divine mediator an 
restorer, 520. 

Soldier, God his shield in the hour of battle, 14. 

Solitude, the religion of, 48, 486 ; the Christian need 
not seek solitude, 99 ; solitude and society con- 
trasted, 439. 

Sorcery of Rome, 209. 

Soul, the human, nothing created can fill its vast 
capacity, 44 ; made immortal, 111 ; Jesuit formulas 
for subjugating it, 267. 

South, Dr., extract from his sermon " On the Divine 
Mercy," 514. 

Southey, Robert, his character and writings, 400 ; his 
observations on unsound criticism, 437, n. ; recol- 
lections of him at Oxford, 429. 



Sovereignty of Divine Grace, 620. 

Spain, natural and social aspect of, 337 ; cruelties 

perpetrated by the Spaniards in South America, 379. 
Speech, tremendous issues dependent upon the exer- 
cise of, 136. 
Speed, on the influence of things visible upon our 

minds, 385. 
Spring, reflections on the advent of, 9 ; the poetiy of, 

116. 
St. Pierre, his "Studies of Nature " referred to, 352, n, 
Stael, Madame de, on the prevalence of selfishness 

and egotism, 531 ; on the superiority of a starlight 

night to day, 559. 
Stanzas for music, 600. 
Starlight, thoughts suggested by, 10 ; starlight on 

Marathon, 592. 
Starry dreams, 78. 
Steele, recollections of him at Oxford, 421 ; example 

of his powers as a pathetic writer, ib. 
Stephen, St., his martyrdom, 467. 
Storm, the, calmed by Christ, 353. 
Street funeral, 548. 
Strive not with the spirit, 53. 
Study, injurious effects of excessive, 415, 416. 
Sublime of Prayer, 85. 

Submission to God, the only real freedom, 115. 
Suffering, bodily, spiritual advantages of, 37, 183, 184. 
Suicide, the, 564. 
Summer morn, described, 357. 
Summer waves, lines on, 600. 
Sun, reflections on its appearance after a storm at 

sea, 9. 
Sunset, described, 368, 376. 
Supper, the Lord's, institution of, 503. 
Swiss scenery, described, 70, 337; summer and winter, 

ib. 
Sympathy, 355. 



Table of Prophecies relating to the Messiah and his 

kingdom, 515 — 517. 
Taylor, Isaac, on the adumbration of the invisible 

God in the visible universe, 520. 
Taylor, Jeremy, on the agency of angelic beings, 385 ; 

on the mysterious operations of the Holy Spirit 

upon the human heart, 519. 
Tell, "William, his heroic spirit, 337. 
Temple, under the old law, with its appendages, a 

masterpiece of ideal beauty, 4, n. 
Temptation, our pattern in, 114 ; the benefits of 

temptation, ib. 
Tertullian, on the folly and danger of considering the 

moral apart from the natural attributes of the 

Deity, 3, n. 
The arkless dove, 61. 
The beatitudes, 117—127. 
The believer's wish, 54. 
The Blessed Virgin, 146. 
The bow of promise, 62. 
The cataract, 595. 
The departed year, 609. 
The dying girl, 39. 
The first man, 32. 
The gates of life, 141. 
The heart's treasure, 95. 
"The Holy Child Jesus," 627. 
The homeless one, 104. 
The hospital, 40. 
The idea of God, 29. 
" The maid is not dead, but sleepeth," 110. 



The poetry of spring, 116. 

The prayerless, 74. 

The Redeemer's sigh, 72. 

The single eye, 133. 

The stage-coach, 574. 

The universal prayer, 567. 

The weeping Christ, 43. 

Thought, moves and governs the world, 262. 

Thunderstorm, described, 8. 

Tiberias, lake of, Josephus' description of its shore, 
501. 

Time and eternity, 251. 

Time, soothing charm of, 34 ; spirit of, 604. 

Town and country contrasted, 366, 367. 

Trance, the, 619. 

Transubstantiation, defence of the doctrine, from the 
Catechism of the Council of Trent, 205, n. ; ration- 
alism of the church of Rome iD this matter, ib. ; 
Canons of the Council of Trent respecting transub- 
stantiation, 206, n. 

Tree of knowledge of good and evil, Vitringa's remarks 
on it, 514. 

Trent, Council of, Canons and Catechism of, respecting 
transubstantiation, and the sacrifice of the mass, 
205, 206, n. 

Trial, advantages of, 114. 

Trifles, our true dangers caused by, 101. 

Trinity, the, address to, 32. 

Turner, Sharon, his encouragement of the author's 
labours, 28 ; his persuasion of the coming of a new 
state of mind and feeling upon mankind, 384. 

Twilight, reflections on, 9, 368, 469. 

Twilight of our being, 145. 



Unbelief, the palsy of the soul, 193. 

" Universal Bishop," the title of, first assumed by 

Boniface III., 284, n. 
Unrest, moral, the cause and remedy of, 273. 
Untruth, the great, 42. 



Vale of Clwyd, lines on the, 596. 

Vanity, its prevalence and final cause, 420, 

Vanity of all created good, 44. 

Venice, described, 337. 

Village and city maiden contrasted, 366. 

Village church, the, endeared to the thoughtful 
heart, 160. 

Virgin Maty, the worship paid her by the Church of 
Rome, contrasted with the due respect paid her by 
the Church of England, 147, 148 ; Bishop Bull's 
sermon on her true eminence, 147, n ; the assump- 
tion and immaculate conception of the Virgin Mary, 
148, n. 

Virtues, our, often only disguised self, 87. 

Virtue, trial gives it lustre, 114 ; triumph of, 355. 

Visible creation, the, attests the hand of a Creator, 
352. 

Visitation of the sick, the Service for the, 158. 

Vitringa, his observations on the tree of knowledge 
of good and evil, 514. 

"Vive L'Empereur," incident in the life of Buona- 
parte, 601. 

Voice of God in the cool of the day, 45. 

Voice of those no more, 1 09. 



Walton, Izaak, his account of George Herbert's last 
hours, 170, n. ; and of Richard Hooker's, 171, n. 



INDEX. 



645 



"Want and poverty, abundant consolations of, 14. 

Warburton's attack upon Lowth, 444; his observa- 
tions upon the commanded sacrifice of Isaac, 514. 

War, its fearful accompaniments, 555. 

Water, the, that accompanied the Israelites in the 
desert, 18. 

Wedded love, 21, 50. 

" Weep not for the dead," 47. 

Wellington, his funeral, 535 ; his unparalleled victories, 
ib. ; the simplicity of his character, ib. ; the funeral 
procession, 537; St. Paul's, 539; final apostrophe, 
543 ; eulogies, 543—546 ; forty lines on, 590. 

Wesley, John, his unparalleled activity, 423 ; recollec- 
tions of him at Oxford, ib. 

West, the friend of Gray, his frivolous objection to 
the strictness of academical discipline, 421. 

Westminster Abbey, 370, 371. 

Whately, Archbishop, on our inadequate conceptions 
of the attributes of the Deity, 519 ; on the state of 
the disembodied soul, 532. 

White, Kirke, his genius, intense study, and untimely 
death, 439. 

Whitgift, Archbishop, his last moments, 171, n. 

" Wicked, no peace for the," 91. 

Wilberforce, William, his heroic self-denial, patience, 
and zeal, in effecting the abolition of slavery, 572. 

Wilson, Professor, his encouragement of the author's 
labours, 28 ; his education at Oxford, 445 ; excel- 
lence of his poetry, ib. ; his numerous feeble imi- 
tators, ib. ; De Quincey 's account of his academical 
career, 446. 

Winds, their majestic fury described, 8. 

Wisdom comes from woe, 184. 

Wisdom of prayer, 96. 

Wisdom, the associate of tenderness, 69. 

Wolfe, on solitude and society, 439. 

Wollaston, his acute remarks on the unsubstantial 
nature of historical renown, 521. 

Woman, the light of home, 291 ; influence of, in 



reference to history, ib. ; gentle, but powerful, 295 ; 
genius is hers, as well as man's, ib. ; her mission, 
ib. ; her influence in relation to sentiment, 297 ; 
injustice of history and of poets, ancient and 
modern, to female worth, 298, 429 ; her gradual 
degradation, 299 ; chivalry, ib. ; Christianity the 
social restorer of woman, 300, 429 ; home her 
domain, 301 ; Dante and Beatrice, ib. ; Petrarch 
and Laura, 302; Shakspere and his love, 303; 
Tasso and Leonora, 304 ; Milton, ib. ; Klopstock, 
305 ; Burns, 306 ; her influence in connexion with 
domestic life, 309, 401 ; female charms in all climes, 
paramount in England, ib. ; the country parson's 
daughter, 310 ; wedding scene, 318 ; Segur, on the 
influence of woman, compared with that of man, 
321; Tacitus' account of the women of ancient 
Germany, ib. ; unrequited love, 346. 

Wordsworth's "Excursion," slow growth of its popu- 
larity, 6, n. ; lines on Oxford, 405 ; fine passage 
quoted by him from William Gilbert, 525; his 
moral and intellectual character pourtrayed, 588. 

Woi-ks of creation, attest the hand of God, 22. 

World of spirits, 110, 261. 

World, the redeemed, transcends the world created, 
32. 

Worlds, a dream of, 607. 

Worldly epicureanism, successfully encountered by 
true poetry, 4. 

Wren, Sir Christopher, his studies at Oxford, 449; 
his connexion with the formation of the Boyal 
Society, 450. 



"Ye shall not surely die," 42. 

Young, Edward, on the' moral benefits of a taste 

for gardening, 527 ; on the propensity to sadness in 

the human mind, 531. 
Youth, the season of temptation, 354. 
Youthful genius, its fate, 525. 



THE END. 



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